perfume such as summer has no skill to
concoct, or perhaps she lacks the material. Esther drew in deep breaths
for the mere pleasure of breathing, and looked on all the world of
nature before her with an eye of quiet but intense content.

Christopher had been quite right in his hint about Esther's eyes. They
were of uncommon character. Thoughtful, grave, beautiful eyes; large,
and fine in contour and colour; too grave for the girl's years. But
Esther had lived all her life so far almost exclusively with grown
people, and very sober grown people too; for her mother's last years
had been dulled with sickness, and her father's with care, even if he
had not been--which he was--of a taciturn and sombre deportment in the
best of times. And this last year past had been one heavy with
mourning. So it was no wonder if the little girl's face showed undue
thoughtfulness, and a shade of melancholy all premature. And
Christopher was honestly glad to see the melancholy at least vanish
under the influence of the open earth and sky. The thoughtfulness, he
hoped, would go too some day.

The walk in itself offered nothing remarkable. Fields where the grass
was very green and fast growing; other fields that were rocky and
broken, and good for little except the sheep, and sometimes rose into
bare ridges and heights where spare savins were mingled with a variety
of deciduous trees; such was the ground the two went over this morning.
This morning, however, glorified everything; the fields looked soft,
the moss and lichens on the rocks were moist and fresh coloured, grey
and green and brown; the buds and young leafage of the trees were of
every lovely hue and shade that young vegetation can take; and here and
there Esther found a wild flower. When she found one, it was very apt
to be taken up by the roots with her little trowel, and bestowed in her
basket for careful transport home; and on the so endangered beauties in
her basket Esther looked down from time to time with fond and delighted
eyes.

'Are you going for cresses, Christopher?'

'No, Miss Esther, not at this time. Sarah has set her mind that she
must have boiled greens for dinner; and her will must be done. And here
is the article--not boiled yet, however.'

He stopped and stooped, and with a sharp knife cut a bunch of
stout-looking leaves growing in the grass; then made a step to another
bunch, a yard off, and then to another.

'What are they, Christopher?'

'Just dandelio