being—meeting his perceptions and recorded in his imagination, clothed in color and motion and talk and laughter and fresh air, the head turning with frank gay light in the eyes, the lips parted in speech, while the springing step goes rhythmically over the wide-stretching earth under sunlight and blue heavens."
"It will be a long time," said Cornelia, "before Dorothy needs to trouble her head with that. Meanwhile, we shall occupy ourselves with the rudiments. Shall we see you at mail-time to-morrow?"
"Yes," I said, "and we'll take up Oliver's case, perhaps. There's going to be a fine sunset. 'Voir!"
