Her red lips, with the
quaintly up-turned corners, smiled at him with a new frankness, and
the black eyes--the eyes so black as to resemble spots--had lost
their half-indolent reserve and brimmed over quite frankly with the
joy of life. She scooped up a handful of the dry, clean sand from
either side of her, raised it aloft, and let it trickle slowly
between her fingers. The wind snatched at the sand and sprayed it
away in a beautiful plume.
"Isn't this REAL fun?" she asked him.
"Why, Miss Bishop!" cried Orde, finding his voice. "What are you
doing here?"
A faint shade of annoyance crossed her brow.
"Oh, I could ask the same of you; and then we'd talk about how
surprised we are, world without end," said she. "The important
thing is that here is sand to play in, and there is the Lake, and
here are we, and the day is charmed, and it's good to be alive. Sit
down and dig a hole! We've all the common days to explain things
in."
Orde laughed and seated himself to face her. Without further talk,
and quite gravely, they commenced to scoop out an excavation between
them, piling the sand over themselves and on either side as was most
convenient. As the hole grew deeper they had to lean over more and
more.
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