They both looked happy—Jessie was unsophisticated, and her countenance, when it turned on me, seemed to say, “Mr Slick, I have taken your advice, and I am delighted I did.” And the doctor looked happy, but his face seemed to say, “Come now, Slick, no nonsense, please, let me alone, that’s a good fellow.”
Peter perceived something he didn’t understand. He had seen a great deal he didn’t comprehend since he left the Highlands, and heard a great many things he didn’t know the meaning of. It was enough for him if he could guess it.
“Toctor,” said he, “how many kind o’ partridges are there in this country?”
“Two,” said the simple-minded naturalist, “spruce and birch.”
“Which is the prettiest?”
“The birch.”
“And the smartest?”
“The birch.”
“Poth love to live in the woods, don’t they?”
“Yes.”