"Well, really, you know, yes. I think there is something special about her," he says, feeling himself in duty bound to say something.,
Over the meadows and into the wood goes Mona, to where a streamlet runs, that is her special joy,—being of the garrulous and babbling order, which is, perhaps, the nearest approach to divine music that nature can make. But to-day the stream is swollen, is enlarged beyond all recognition, and, being filled with pride at its own promotion, has forgotten its little loving song, and is rushing onward with a passionate roar to the ocean.,
"Yes, deliberately," returns he, with wilful recklessness..
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