I Would Not Trust A Mouse To

Trust A Girl Of Sixteen For Knowing Well If She Is Pretty; Concerning Her Plainness She May Be Ignorant.

Come! Poor Little Heart! Be Cheery And Brave. We'll Be A Great Deal To One Another, If We Are Thrown Off And Left Desolate.

But Margaret Was At An Age When Any Apprehension, Not Absolutely Based On A Knowledge Of Facts, Is Easily Banished For A Time By A Bright Sunny Day, Or Some Happy Outward Circumstance. And When The Brilliant Fourteen Fine Days Of October Came On, Her Cares Were All Blown Away As Lightly As Thistledown, And She Thought Of Nothing But The Glories Of The Forest.

He Could Remember All About It Now; The Pitiful Figure He Must Have Cut; The Absurd Way In Which He Had Gone And Done The Very Thing He Had So Often Agreed With Himself In Thinking Would Be The Most Foolish Thing In The World; And Had Met With Exactly The Consequences Which, In These Wise Moods, He Had Always Foretold Were Certain To Follow, If He Ever Did Make Such A Fool Of Himself.

She Thought In Would Be Awkward For Both To Be Brought Into Conscious Collision; And Fancied That, From Her Being On A Low Seat At First, And Now Standing Behind Her Father, He Had Overlooked Her In His Haste. As If He Did Not Feel The Consciousness Of Her Presence All Over, Though His Eyes Had Never Rested On Her!