"No, indeed," he said, instantly; "nothing is so important as that." She seemed aggrieved then.

"Hum--you didn't look so," she told him.
"Well, I didn't mean to look any other way," he said contritely.

"You know what a bear I am sometimes.

Hollanden says it is a fixed scowl from trying to see uproarious pinks, yellows, and blues." A little brook, a brawling, ruffianly little brook, swaggered from side to side down the glade, swirling in white leaps over the great dark rocks and shouting challenge to the hillsides.

Hollanden and the Worcester girls had halted in a place of ferns and wet moss.