"'Would you care to have some, my dear?' she added, looking at me. I gave a delighted assent, and she had gathered two lovely carnations, when we heard a quavering voice from under the green shade inquire-- "'What is it?' "Our friend was at the old gentleman's side in a moment, speaking very distinctly into his ear, as if he were deaf, whereby we heard her answer, "'It's a gentleman and his little daughter, James, admiring our carnations, and I am gathering a few for the young lady, dear James.' "'Quite right, quite right,' he croaked. 'Anything that we have. Anything that we have.' "It was a great satisfaction to me afterwards to remember that my father had thanked these good people 'properly,' as I considered. As for myself, I had only been able to blush and stammer out something that was far from expressing my delight with the lovely nosegay I received. Then the slender lady went back to her gardening. Her sister took up the knitting which she had laid down, the old gentleman nodded his lamp-shade in the direction where he supposed us to be and said, 'Good evening, sir, Good evening, miss;' and we went our way. "The road wound on and on, and down and down, until we found ourselves on the edge of the river. A log lay conveniently on the bank, and there we seated ourselves. The tide was out, and the river bed was a bed of mud except for a narrow stream of water that ran down the middle. But, ah! how the mud glistened in the evening sunshine which was reflected on it in prismatic colours. Little figures were dotted here and there over its surface, and seawards the masts of some vessels loomed large through the shining haze. "'How beautiful everything looks this evening!' I exclaimed. "'I see them walking in an air of glory,' murmured my father, dreamily. "He was quoting from a favourite old poem, which begins-- 'They are all gone into a world of light, And I alone sit lingering here.' "This 'air of glory,' indeed, was over everything. The mud and the tide pools, the dark human figures, the black and white seagulls that sat like onyx pebbles on the river bed, the stream that spread seawards like a silver scroll, the swans that came sailing, sailing down the stream with just such a slow and stately pace as white-winged ships might have come down the river with the tide, to pass (as the swans did pass) into that 'world of light,' that shining seaward haze, where your eye could not follow them unless shaded by your hand. "I do not quite know how long we sat gazing before us in silent enjoyment. Neither do I know what my father's thoughts were, as he sat with his hands clasped on his knees and his blue eyes on the river. For my own part, I fancied myself established in one of the little houses as 'hostess,' with a sign-board having a fish painted upon it hanging outside the door, and a bower of woodbine, sweet-briar, jessamine, and myrtle commanding a view of the river. The day dream was broken by my father's voice.