It 's no exertion to me , but you do n't look equal to it . '' Laurie lifted his eyebrows and followed at a leisurely pace as she ran downstairs , but when they got into the carriage he took the reins himself , and left little Baptiste nothing to do but fold his arms and fall asleep on his perch . The two never quarreled . Amy was too well-bred , and just now Laurie was too lazy , so in a minute he peeped under her hatbrim with an inquiring air . She answered him with a smile , and they went on together in the most amicable manner . It was a lovely drive , along winding roads rich in the picturesque scenes that delight beauty-loving eyes . Here an ancient monastery , whence the solemn chanting of the monks came down to them . There a bare-legged shepherd , in wooden shoes , pointed hat , and rough jacket over one shoulder , sat piping on a stone while his goats skipped among the rocks or lay at his feet . Meek , mouse-colored donkeys , laden with panniers of freshly cut grass passed by , with a pretty girl in a capaline sitting between the green piles , or an old woman spinning with a distaff as she went . Brown , soft-eyed children ran out from the quaint stone hovels to offer nosegays , or bunches of oranges still on the bough . Gnarled olive trees covered the hills with their dusky foliage , fruit hung golden in the orchard , and great scarlet anemones fringed the roadside , while beyond green slopes and craggy heights , the Maritime Alps rose sharp and white against the blue Italian sky . Valrosa well deserved its name , for in that climate of perpetual summer roses blossomed everywhere . They overhung the archway , thrust themselves between the bars of the great gate with a sweet welcome to passers-by , and lined the avenue , winding through lemon trees and feathery palms up to the villa on the hill . Every shadowy nook , where seats invited one to stop and rest , was a mass of bloom , every cool grotto had its marble nymph smiling from a veil of flowers and every fountain reflected crimson , white , or pale pink roses , leaning down to smile at their own beauty . Roses covered the walls of the house , draped the cornices , climbed the pillars , and ran riot over the balustrade of the wide terrace , whence one looked down on the sunny Mediterranean , and the white-walled city on its shore . `` This is a regular honeymoon paradise , is n't it ? Did you ever see such roses ? '' asked Amy , pausing on the terrace to enjoy the view , and a luxurious whiff of perfume that came wandering by . `` No , nor felt such thorns , '' returned Laurie , with his thumb in his mouth , after a vain attempt to capture a solitary scarlet flower that grew just beyond his reach . `` Try lower down , and pick those that have no thorns , '' said Amy , gathering three of the tiny cream-colored ones that starred the wall behind her .
She put them in his buttonhole as a peace offering , and he stood a minute looking down at them with a curious expression , for in the XXXXX part of his nature there was a touch of superstition , and he was just then in that state of half-sweet , half-bitter melancholy , when imaginative young men find significance in trifles and food for romance everywhere .
Italian Mediterranean archway bunches distaff grotto hatbrim left minute nosegays