He greeted the doctor with a severe smile.
"I am much obliged to you, Mr.Faber," he said, "for bringing me home my little runaway.

Where did you find her ?" "Under my horse's head, like the temple between the paws of the Sphinx," answered Faber, speaking a parable without knowing it.
"She is a fearless little damsel," said the minister, in a husky voice that had once rung clear as a bell over crowded congregations--"too fearless at times.

But the very ignorance of danger seems the panoply of childhood.

And indeed who knows in the midst of what evils we all walk that never touch us!" "A Solon of platitudes!" said the doctor to himself.
"She has been in the river once, and almost twice," Mr.Drake went on.
"-- I shall have to tie you with a string, pussie! Come away from the horse.

What if he should take to stroking you?
I am afraid you would find his hands both hard and heavy." "How do you stand this trying spring weather, Mr.Drake?
I don't hear the best accounts of you," said the surgeon, drawing Ruber a pace back from the door.
"I am as well as at my age I can perhaps expect to be," answered the minister.