"I guess I won't tell that, please, 'cause, of course, you were only in fun." "And what the harm to tell it," said the Skipper, lightly, "even if it come not true?
Dreams are pretty things; my faith, I love to dream mine self.

Tell thy friend, Colorado! tell the dream, all the wholeness of it." There was no resisting the deep, sweet voice.

The little boy raised his head again, and looked frankly into the kind, dark eyes.
"I used to dream that I was taken away!" he said, in a low voice.
"Away?
Good!" the Skipper repeated.
"Away," the boy murmured, and his voice grew soft and dreamy.

"Away from the land, and the fields where the grass dries up so soon, and winter comes before you are ready to be cold.

Some one would come and take me in a ship, and I should live always on the water, and it would rock me like a cradle, and I should feel as if I had always lived there.