I read somewhere once that souls were like flowers,' said Priscilla. 'Then your soul is a golden narcissus,' said Anne, 'and Diana's is like a red, red rose. Jane's is an apple blossom, pink and wholesome and sweet.' 'And our own is a white violet, with purple streaks in its heart,' finished Priscilla.

Good night, belovedest. Your sleep will be sweet if there is any influences in the wishes of your own.

I'm not a bit changed - not really. I'm only just pruned down and branched out. The real me - back here - is just the same.

Listen to the trees talking in their sleep,' she whispered, as he lifted her to the ground. 'What nice dreams they must have!

That doesn't sound very attractive," laughed Anne. "I like people to have a little nonsense about them.

But it ain't our feelings we have to steer by through life--no, no, we'd make shipwreck mighty often if we did that. There's only the one safe compass and we've got to set our course by that--what it's right to do.

most people worry so much, they think you're not right if you don't worry.