“Shall I get it?” said Ralph.

“Yes, sir.”

“I think you had better,” said Ralph.

“Well, sir!”

“Now, Fanny—­don’t get angry—­I will—­”

“No, you shan’t!”

“Indeed I will!”

The result of this contention, as to who should gather the primroses, was, that Fanny and Ralph, stooping at the same moment, struck their faces together, and cried out—­the young lady at least.

Fanny blushed very much as she rose—­Ralph was triumphant.

“I’ve got them, however, sir,” she said, holding the flowers.

“And I had a disagreeable accident,” said Ralph, laughing, and pretending to rub his head.

“Disagreeable, sir!” cried Fanny, without reflecting.

“Yes!” said Ralph—­“why not?”

Fanny found herself involved again in an awkward explanation—­the fact being, that Ralph’s lips had, by pure accident, of course, touched her brow.

It would, therefore, have only complicated matters for Fanny to have explained why the accident ought not to be “disagreeable,” as Ralph declared it to be.  The general reply, however, which we have endeavored, on various occasions, to represent by the word “Humph!” issued from the young girl’s lips; and busying herself with the wreath, she passed on, followed by the laughing company.

From the forest, they went to the mossy glen, as we may call it, though that was not its name; and Verty enlivened the company with a description of a flock of young partridges which had there started up once, and running between his feet, disappeared before his very eyes.  Redbud, too, recollected the nice cherries they had eaten from the trees—­as nice as the oxhearts near the house—­in the Spring; and Fanny did too, and told some very amusing stories of beaux being compelled to climb and throw down boughs laden with their red bunches.

In this pleasant way they strolled along the brook which stole by in sun and shadow, over mossy rocks, and under bulrushes, where the minnows haunted—­which brook, tradition (and the maps) call to-day by the name of one member of that party; and so, passing over the slip of meadow, where Verty declared the hares were accustomed to gambol by moonlight, once more came again toward the locust-grove of “dear old Apple Orchard,”—­(Fanny’s phrase,)—­and entered in again, and threw down their treasures of bright flowers and bird’s-nests—­for they had taken some old ones from the trees—­and laughed, sang, and were happy.

“Why! what a day!” cried Ralph; “if we only had a kite now!”

“A kite!” cried Fanny.

“Yes.”

“An elegant college gentleman—­”

“Oh—­suspend the college gentleman, if I may use the paraphrase,” said Mr. Ralph; “why can’t you permit a man to return again, my heart’s delight, to his far youth.”

“Far youth.”

“Ages ago—­but in spite of that, I tell you I want to see a fine kite sailing up there.”