The maples are turning red already. The setting sun threw a glorious
light through their tinted foliage, and the still bosom of the lake
reflected it in a softened, changeable hue of mingled crimson and
silver. Flora was standing at the door. I somehow found myself there
also; but I talked over my shoulder to Aunt Tabitha about potatoes.
"I have a fancy for a walk round the pond," said Flora. After a pause,
she looked at me, as much as to say, "Don't you see, you monster, it
is too late for me to go alone?"
"Miss Flora, I will second your wish, if you can drum up a third
party," said I, point-blank.
Flora blushed, and pouted for a moment, then beckoned to Little Ugly,
who disobligingly suggested that the grass would be wet. It so
happened there was no dew, and Flora convinced her of the fact by
running in the grass, and then presenting the sole of her shoe for her
inspection. Miss Etty, her ill-chosen objection being vanquished, went
for her bonnet, and we set forth, Miss Flora's arm in mine as a matter
of course, and Miss Etty's in hers, save where the exigencies of the
woodland path gave her an excuse to drop behind. A little boat tied to
a stump, suggested to Flora a new whim. Instead of going round the
pond, which I now began to like doing, I must weary myself with rowing
her across.
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