It seems to me as if all the hot sunbeams of the summer had been gathered up in--excuse the expression--it's a word of Watts's--into 'gobs' of sunshine, and scattered along the roads and fields." Peter wondered if the request to be excused called for a response, but concluded that it didn't.
"Papa told me the other day," continued Miss Pierce, "that there were nineteen distinct varieties of golden-rod.

I had never noticed that there were any differences." Peter began to feel easy and comfortable.

He made a mental note that Miss Pierce had a very sweet voice.

It had never occurred to Peter before to notice if a girl had a pleasant voice.

Now he distinctly remembered that several to whom he had talked--or rather who had talked to him--had not possessed that attraction.
"Last year," said Miss Pierce, "when Watts was here, we had a golden-rod party.