"
Whereat Daisy fell into a muse. Her question recurred to her;
but it was hardly likely, she felt, that her little companion
could enlighten her. Nora was a bright, lively, spirited
child, with black eyes and waves of beautiful black hair;
neither at rest; sportive energy and enjoyment in every
motion. Daisy was silent.
"What is supposed to be going on here?" said a stronger voice
behind them, which brought both their heads round. It was to
see another head just making its way up above the level of
their platform; a head that looked strong and spirited as the
voice had sounded; a head set with dark hair, and eyes that
were too full of light to let you see what colour they were.
Both children came to their feet, one saying, "Marmaduke!" the
other, "Mr. Dinwiddie!"
"What do two such mature people do when they get together? I
should like to know," said the young man as he reached the
top.
"Talking, sir," said Daisy.
"Picking wintergreens," said the other, in a breath.
"Talking! I dare say you do. If both things have gone on
together, like your answers," said he, helping himself out of
Nora's stock of wintergreens, — "you must have had a basket of
talk."
"_That_ basket isn't full, sir," said Daisy.
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