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"
Three subjects had been touched upon, and no answer or remark yet forced
upon him. Peter thought of _rouge et noir_, and wondered what the odds
were that he would be forced to say something by Miss Pierce's next
speech.
"I like the New England roadside," continued Miss Pierce, with an
apparent relativeness to the last subject that delighted Peter, who was
used by this time to much disconnection of conversation, and found not a
little difficulty in shifting quickly from one topic to another. "There
is a tangled finish about it that is very pleasant. And in August, when
the golden-rod comes, I think it is glorious. It seems to me as if all
the hot sunbeams of the summer had been gathered up in--excuse the
expression--it's a word of Watts's--into 'gobs' of sunshine, and
scattered along the roads and fields."
Peter wondered if the request to be excused called for a response, but
concluded that it didn't.
"Papa told me the other day," continued Miss Pierce, "that there were
nineteen distinct varieties of golden-rod.


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