Mere life is a luxury, and the color of the grass, of the flowers, of the sky, the wind in the trees, the outlines of the horizon, the forms of clouds, all give a pleasure as exquisite as the sweetest music to the ear famishing for it.

The world was all new and fresh to Ruth, as if it had just been created for her, and love filled it, till her heart was overflowing with happiness.
It was golden September also at Fallkill.

And Alice sat by the open window in her room at home, looking out upon the meadows where the laborers were cutting the second crop of clover.

The fragrance of it floated to her nostrils.

Perhaps she did not mind it.