Rosalind had gone so far as to lay aside a certain volume of sermons whose aspiring note had more than once made music of the momentary discords of her life; but I reminded her that such a work would be strangely out of place in a forest where there were sermons in stones.

Finally we had decided to leave books behind and go free-minded as well as free-hearted.

It had been a serious question how much and what apparel we should take with us, and that point was still unsettled when the apple trees came to their blossoming.

It is a theory of mine that the chief delight of a vacation from one's usual occupations is freedom from the tyranny of plans and dates, and thus much Rosalind had conceded to me.
There had been an irresistible charm in the very secrecy which protected our adventure from the curious and unsympathetic comment of the world.

We found endless pleasure in imagining what this and that good neighbour of ours would say about the folly of leaving a comfortable house, good beds, and a well-stocked larder for the hard fare and uncertain shelter of a strange forest.