"I should not enjoy it." Emma did not know what to make of this, for she could think of nothing more delightful, but immediately she bethought herself.
"Oh, of course you don't know how pleasant it is, because you don't have such flowers where you live, and strawberries don't grow wild there; but you will enjoy going out to pick them; you can't help it, it seems as if you could never pick enough; it's such fun that you hate to have it time to go home." "Yes, I always think it must be beautiful to be out-of-doors," said Nora thoughtfully.

"But when I go it tires me terribly, and there's not a bit of fun when I'm all tired out." Emma looked at her companion as puzzled as if she were speaking in a foreign tongue.

"Tired" was a word unknown to Emma's vocabulary.

Her greatest sorrow when evening came, was that the day was done and she must go to bed.

No day was long enough to tire her nimble feet, and her only regret was that she ever had to stop walking and running and climbing.