There, down below, set round its hips with tall rushes, is our pool, all blood-red in the sunset! Can _that_ be colorless water--that great carmine fire?
There are our elms, with their heads in the sunset, too.
"General," say I, very softly, putting my hand through his arm, and speaking in a small tone of unutterable content, "I should like to kiss everybody in the world." "Perhaps you would not mind beginning with _me_," returns he, gayly; then--for I look quite capable of it--glancing slightly over his shoulder at the vigilant couple in the dickey.
"No, I did not mean _really_." We are trotting alongside of the park-paling.

I stand up and try to catch a glimpse between the coachman and footman, of the gate, to see whether they have come to meet me.
We are slackening our speed; we are going to turn in; the lodge-keeper runs out to open the gate; but no, it is needless.

It is already open.

I could have told _her_ that.

Here they all are!--Barbara, Algy, Bobby, Tou Tou.
"Here they are!" cry I, in a fidgety rapture.