"She certainly is the bravest and most unselfish girl I ever
imagined," he thought, as they left the highest point after enjoying
the view. "With an art so inimitable as to be artless, she has tried
to give me enjoyment. Instead of regarding herself as one to be
entertained, she has been pouring forth words, fancies, snatches
of song like sparkling wine, and I am exhilarated instead of being
wearied."
When at last they found a spring at which to eat their lunch, he told
her so, concluding, "This mountain air does you good, Madge."
"So do you," she replied, with a piquant nod. "Don't be conceited when
I tell you that you are good company."
"No; but I can't help being happy."
"Oh, indeed! It doesn't seem to take much to make you happy."
"Not very much from you."
"Pass me a biscuit, Graydon; I want something more substantial than
fine speeches after our climb. Isn't all this truly Arcadian--this
mossy rug on which we have placed our lunch, the trees whispering
about us overhead, and the spring there bubbling over with something
concerning which it murmurs so contentedly?"
"I wonder what they think of us! I can imagine one thing."
"You are always imagining. The idea of your being a banker! Well,
there is a loud whisper from the trees.
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