"You are wiser than I am, if you know where we are going."
"I thought you knew the way. You were to have been our guide."
"We are on the wrong road. You should have turned to the left."
"But have you no idea where this will lead us?"
"Into a cedar swamp, for what I know. Had we not better turn back?"
"O, don't speak of turning back. I am in no mood for turning back. Let us keep on. I am sure this will bring us out somewhere."
"As you please," said Morton, knowing himself to be in the position of an angler, whose only chance of managing his salmon is to give it line.
"Holding a convention behind the tree, I suppose. At least, I left them there."
"And did not Mr. Stubb dare the fatal leap?"
"He tried, and was thrown into a mud puddle."
"No; beaver and broadcloth were the principal sufferers. But his conceit is shaken out of him for twenty-four hours, at least."
"Then I have wrought a miracle, and can claim to be canonized on the strength of it."
"I hope you may be; but I never expected to see your name in the calendar of saints."
"As you will not allow me to be a saint, I suppose you consider me as mad. Sanctity and madness, they say, are of kin."
"A hair's breadth, or so, on this side madness."
"Then I am entitled to great credit for keeping my wits at all. What reasonable girl would not be driven mad with Mrs. Primrose to watch her, and disapprove of her, and correct her? Strange--is it not?--that some people--if Mrs. Primrose will allow me to use so inelegant an expression--are always rubbing one against the grain."
"To give you your due, I think you have paid off handsomely any grudge you may owe in that quarter."
"There is consolation in that. Tell me--you are of the out-spoken sort--are you not of my opinion? Let me know your mind. Mr. Stubb is----"
"For uninteresting, say insufferable. If Lucifer wishes to gain me over to his side, let Mrs. Primrose be made my guardian angel, and his work is done."
"Your horse has cast a shoe," said Morton, abruptly,--"yes; and he is lame besides."
"It is this broken, stony road. I wish we were at the end of it."
"So do I. If the clouds would break for a moment, and show us the sun, I could form some idea of the direction we are following."
"Why," said Fanny, in alarm, looking at her watch, "the sun must be very near setting."