I'll stick to my word as the wind to the tree-tops.

No--I don't mean that.

As the stream to the shore.
No-" He stopped and laughed.

All figures of speech conspired to make him break his word.
Somewhere from out the forgotten world came six long, lingering strokes of a bell.

Sandy and Ruth untied the canoe and paddled out into midstream, leaving the willow bower full of memories and the vireo still hopping about among the branches.
"I'll paddle you up to the bridge," said Ruth; "then you will be near the post-office." Sandy's voice was breaking to say that she could paddle him up to the moon if she would only stay there between him and the sun, with her hair forming a halo about her face.