`` Here you are at forty-five with the roses of sixteen -- and not a gray hair , I 'll wager . '' `` Blair , Blair , it is you who are always young , '' laughed Aunt Janet , not ill pleased . `` Where in the world did you come from ? And what is this I hear of your sleeping all night in the hammock ? '' `` I 've been painting in the Lake District all summer , as you know , '' answered Uncle Blair , `` and one day I just got homesick to see my little girl . So I sailed for Montreal without further delay . I got here at eleven last night -- the station-master 's son drove me down . Nice boy . The old house was in darkness and I thought it would be a shame to rouse you all out of bed after a hard day 's work . So I decided that I would spend the night in the orchard . It was moonlight , you know , and moonlight in an old orchard is one of the few things left over from the Golden Age . '' `` It was very foolish of you , '' said practical Aunt Janet . `` These September nights are real chilly . You might have caught your death of cold -- or a bad dose of rheumatism . '' `` So I might . No doubt it was foolish of me , '' agreed Uncle Blair gaily . `` It must have been the fault , of the moonlight . Moonlight , you know , Sister Janet , has an intoxicating quality . It is a fine , airy , silver wine , such as fairies may drink at their revels , unharmed of it ; but when a mere mortal sips of it , it mounts straightway to his brain , to the undoing of his daylight common sense . However , I have got neither cold nor rheumatism , as a sensible person would have done had he ever been lured into doing such a non-sensible thing ; there is a special Providence for us foolish folk .
I enjoyed my night in the orchard ; XXXXX a time I was companioned by sweet old memories ; and then I fell asleep listening to the murmurs of the wind in those old trees yonder .
So as at for from into of that to with