It rained yesterday--will it be wet in the woods ?" "No," cried John, "and what does it matter ?" He had a dull feeling of resentment, of loss, of consciousness of new barriers and of distance from the old comrade.
Their way led across the garden, which was showing signs of feeling the chilly nights of the close of summer in this upland, where the seasons sometimes change abruptly.
"The garden has missed Aunt Ann," said Leila.

"Uncle Jim looks at it from the porch, says 'How pretty!' and expects to see roses on his table every day.

I do believe he considers a garden as merely a kind of flower-farm." "Aunt Ann's garden interests her the way Westways does.

There are sick flowers and weeds like human weeds, and bugs and diseases that need a flower-doctor, and flowers that are morbid or ill-humoured.

That is not my wisdom, Leila, it is Mr.Rivers's." "No, John, it isn't at all like you." "Aunt Ann didn't like it, and yet I think he meant it to be a compliment, for he really considers Aunt Ann a model of what a woman ought to be." "I know that pretty well," said Leila.