120 UNDER THE TREES. 



dreams, and I was dreaming them again when 

 Rosalind laid the apple blossoms on the study 

 table, and answered, decisively, &quot; To-morrow.&quot; 



&quot; To-morrow,&quot; I repeated ; &quot; to-morrow. But 

 how are you going to get ready ? If you sit up all 

 night you cannot get through with the packing. 

 You said only yesterday that your summer dress 

 making was shamefully behind. My dear, next 

 week is the earliest possible time for our going.&quot; 



Rosalind laughed archly, and pushed the apple 

 blossoms over the woefully interlined manuscript 

 of my new article on Egypt. There was in her 

 very attitude a hint of unsuspected buoyancy and 

 strength ; there was in her eyes a light which I 

 have never seen under our uncertain skies. The 

 breath of the apple blossoms filled the room, and a 

 bobolink, poised on a branch outside the window, 

 suddenly poured a rapturous song into the silence 

 of the sweet spring day. I laid down my pen, 

 pushed my scattered sheets into the portfolio, 

 covered the inkstand, and laid my hand in hers. 

 &quot; Not to-morrow,&quot; I said, &quot; not to-morrow. Let 

 us go now.&quot; 



n. 



Now go we in content 



To liberty and not to banishment. 



I HAVE sometimes entertained myself by trying 

 to imagine the impressions which our modern life 



