"But it is so early!" She had her little basket in her hand, and she was holding her blue print gown up over a white petticoat, to keep it from the wet grass.

Her broad hat was on the back of her head, and the wind had blown the curls around her face into a sunny tangle, and made her cheeks as fresh as a wild rose.
"You are the early one, it seems to me," he answered, smiling.
"I've come to get mushrooms for father," she explained.

"It is best to get them early, while the dew is on them.

There are a good many around that little old ruin further up the road, you know." "Yes, I know," he said.

(He felt himself suddenly in a tumult of uncertainty.