"You have neglected me dreadfully of late." The Captain came to a rigid salute.
"April eleventh, eighteen-sixty-one!" he said with clean-cut precision.

"Good morning, Mrs.Paige! How does your garden blow?
Blow--blow ye wintry winds! Ahem! How have the roses wintered--the rose of yesterday ?" "Oh, I don't know, sir.

I am afraid my sister's roses have not wintered very well.

I'm really a little worried about them." "_I_ am worried about nothing in Heaven, on Earth, or in Hell," said the Captain briskly.

"God's will is doing night and day, Mrs.
Paige.