The melancholy of his words threw a somber hue about him, and she began to think with mournfulness of those firm thin lips fronting misfortune: those sunken blue eyes under its shadow.
They walked up to Mr.Pole, who was standing with Wilfrid and Emilia on the lawn; giving ear to a noise in the distance.
A big drum sounded on the confines of the Brookfield estate.

Soon it was seen entering the precincts at one of the principal gates, followed by trombone, and horn, and fife.

In the rear trooped a regiment of Sunday-garmented villagers, with a rambling tail of loose-minded boys and girls.

Blue and yellow ribands dangled from broad beaver hats, and there were rosettes of the true-blue mingled with yellow at buttonholes; and there was fun on the line of march.

Jokes plumped deep into the ribs, and were answered with intelligent vivacity in the shape of hearty thwacks, delivered wherever a surface was favourable: a mode of repartee worthy of general adoption, inasmuch as it can be passed on, and so with certainty made to strike your neighbour as forcibly as yourself: of which felicity of propagation verbal wit cannot always boast.