my husband"—"It was you, Fanny," said he, interrupting her, "I am certain it was your sweet face, and not my hard, sunburnt one, that made them brighten up so."
"Hannah French, has my husband a hard, sunburnt face?" said Fanny, raising her voice very loud—for she knew how very handsome poor Hannah thought he was.
"Sunburnt!" exclaimed Hannah,—"no, indeed—sometimes I have seen it smutted with the stuff which he is cooking over the great pots in his furnace; but he is not sunburnt—he is fireburnt."
"There," said Mr. Floss, laughing, "you will not appeal to Hannah French again about my beauty—but go on, dearest; tell Gabriella all about your walk. I should really be glad to know, too, for although I was with you, yet my mind was so occupied with what I had been cooking, as Hannah calls it, in that great pot, that I just followed where you led; and yet I was sensible, all the time, of what you were saying. Her voice, Gabriella, is always so musical that I feel its influence even when the sound only makes an impression."
"So mother always said," answered the modest Gabriella. "Fanny never hurt her sweet voice by crying or getting in a passion, as some of us did when we were children."
Well, Fanny was not elated by all this fond praise; she felt that it was love which had dictated it, and it came over her gentle nature like a sunbeam, where all was mild and gracious before; she laid her hand gently on her husband's arm and proceeded.
"All this took up half an hour; and, cool as the weather was, I could not help thinking how much of summer still remained; for almost every window had rosebushes and geraniums in it, and our widows' row looked like one long green-house; for
