Elizabeth had surveyed it quietly a few minutes, when a little rustling of the patchwork called her attention to the shaking shoulders of her companion.

Miss Cadwallader's pretty face lay back on the pillow, her eyes shut tight, and her open mouth expressing all the ecstatic delight that could be expressed without sound.
"What is the matter ?" said Elizabeth.
Her cousin only laughed the harder and clapped her hands over her eyes, as if quite beyond control of herself.

Elizabeth did not ask again.
"Isn't this a funny place we've come to!" said Miss Cadwallader at last, relapsing.
"I don't see anything very laughable," said Elizabeth.
"But isn't it a _quizzical_ place ?" "I dare say.

Every place is." "Pshaw! don't be obstinate, -- when you think just as I do." "I never did yet, about anything," said Elizabeth.
"Well, how do _you_ like eating in a room with a great dresser of tin dishes on one side and the fire where your meat was cooked on the other?
-- in June ?" "I didn't see the tin dishes; and there wasn't any fire, of consequence." "But did you ever see such a gallant old farmer?
Isn't he comical?
didn't he keep it up ?" "Not better than you did," said Elizabeth.
"But isn't he comical ?" "No; neither comical nor old.

I thought you seemed to like him very well." "O, one must do something.