But don't be in such a hurry, I have a thousand questions to ask, a thousand things to tell." "I should love to hear them all, Richard, but I cannot keep my mother waiting." Before I could get hold of the handle of the pail, he had seized it and was swinging it along with as much ease as if he had a bunch of roses in his hand.

We ascended the little hill together, he talking all the time, in a spirited, joyous manner, laughing at his awkwardness as he stumbled against a rolling stone, wishing he was a school-boy again in the old academy, whose golden vane was once an object of such awe and admonition in his eyes.
"By the way, Gabriella," he asked, changing from subject to subject with marvellous rapidity, "do you ever write poetry now ?" "I have given that up, as one of the follies of my childhood, one of the dreams of my youth." "Really, you must be a very venerable person,--you talk of the youthful follies you have discarded, the dreams from which you have awakened, as if you were a real centenarian.

I wonder if there are not some incipient wrinkles on your face." He looked at me earnestly, saucily; and I involuntarily put up my hands, as if to hide the traces of care his imagination was drawing.
"I really do feel old sometimes," said I, smiling at the mock scrutiny of his gaze, "and it is well I do.

You know I am going to be a teacher, and youth will be my greatest objection." "No, no, I do not want you to be a teacher.

You were not born for one.
You will not be happy as one,--you are too impulsive, too sensitive, too poetic in your temperament.