She was in a gay mood. The
morning was beautiful; the soft wind after the rain brought whiffs of
scent from the distant rose-red hawthorn. Though she was here under
shadow of the trees, the sun beyond shone on the fresh and moist grass;
and at the end of the glades there were glimpses of brilliant color in
the foliage--the glow of the laburnum, the lilac blaze of the
rhododendron bushes. And how still the place was! Far off there was a
dull roar of carriages in Piccadilly; but here there was nothing but the
bleating of the sheep, the chirp of the young birds, the stir of the
wind among the elms. Sometimes he could now catch the sound of her
voice.
She was in a gay humor. When she got to the Serpentine--the north bank
was her favorite promenade; she could see on the other side, just below
the line of leaves, the people passing and repassing on horseback; but
she was not of them--she found a number of urchins wading. They had no
boat; but they had the bung of a barrel, which served, and that they
were pushing through the water with twigs and sticks; their shapeless
boots they had left on the bank.
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