The days went by, all much alike, in the sunny atmosphere of an overwhelming content. In the woods they found a distant spot which laid no claim to publicity, and here upon the pine carpet with the drowsy rustling of the leaves above, they passed many hours in a serene indifference to the flight of time. Sometimes they brought a book, not a page of which was ever read, but no deceit was necessary, as the only witnesses were occasional birds and squirrels whose ideas of decorum were primitive and none too strict. One bird, who seemed to wear a dress-suit with an orange shirt-front, considered his household in danger and acquired an insolent habit of perching himself upon a bough within a dozen feet, and doing his best to scare them off. But as they reappeared day after day and respected his rights his anger gradually diminished, until at last he varied his vituperations by a peculiar song, both joyous and triumphant, which amused the interlopers. “I should like to know what his little feelings really are,” said the bride, as with a pine-needle she annoyed the sensitive portions of the head reposing in her lap. The upturned eyes lingered for a moment upon the patch of blue between the pine-tops, then with a look of mild surprise turned lazily to her own. “Do you really mean to confess, Gentle Roses, that you don’t know what he says?” As this speech was uttered the instrument of torture was cleverly inserted between the parted lips. “No; and perhaps I don’t care to.” “But listen. There! Don’t you get it? He knows we are on a honeymoon and keeps repeating, in that victorious way: “_Amos has got her! Amos has got her!_” The bride laughed; her face bent over to the one beneath, but the bird upon the bough was not disgusted. He stood his ground and sang his song as if Love and Folly were things to be respected. When the day of departure came they turned their backs with sorrow upon a resting-place whose cosey corners they knew so well and whose groves no grateful lovers could forget. These tender memories were a soothing recompense for descending to an earthly life. As the train moved away she whispered, “Good-by, honeymoon!” “Don’t say that!” exclaimed Amos. “Let us hold on to it forever. I shall die a lover and I expect the same of you.” The promise to Grandmother Jouvenal was not forgotten, and when they left the train at a little station in Maryland a carriage was awaiting them. As they entered the avenue and came in sight of the old house, Molly regarded her companion with eager eyes to be sure that he was properly impressed. “It’s fine!” he exclaimed. “An ideal mansion of the period. And you say it is over two hundred years old?” “Yes, the main house is, but just wait till you see the inside! It’s crammed full of colonial furniture and family portraits.” “What on earth is the circular part at the end of that wing? Is it a circus or only a gymnasium for your grandmother?”