The beauty of the season, the cloudless sun, gilded these few peaceful days.

Susannah compared her child with other children, marvelled at the baby intercourse he held with them, at the likes and dislikes displayed among these pigmy associates; and the other mothers had like sources of interest in these interviews.
One among the emigrants, a dark-eyed woman of about forty years of age, was of better position and education than the others.

One morning she noticed Susannah's child very kindly, speaking of things that did not lie on the surface of life.
"There is a seeking look in his eyes," the lady said; "he smiles, he plays with us all, but he looks beyond for something.

I have seen that look in the eyes of children who were in pain, but yours is at ease." "He has his father's eyes," Susannah sighed.

"My husband is always looking for a virtue that seems to me impossible." Both women turned toward an open grassy space in the midst of the clustered houses where Halsey was now standing, Bible in hand, teaching a little group of children to repeat the beatitudes.