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 ; for 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 . And I had a beautiful dream , Janet . I dreamed that the old orchard blossomed again , as it did that spring eighteen years ago . I dreamed that its sunshine was the sunshine of spring , not autumn . There was newness of life in my dream , Janet , and the sweetness of forgotten words . '' `` Was n't it strange about MY dream ? '' whispered the Story Girl to me . `` Well , you 'd better come in and have some breakfast , '' said Aunt Janet . `` These are my little girls -- Felicity and Cecily . '' `` I remember them as two most adorable tots , '' said Uncle Blair , shaking hands . `` They have n't changed quite so much as my own baby-child . Why , she 's a woman , Janet -- she 's a woman . '' `` She 's child enough still , '' said Aunt Janet hastily . The Story Girl shook her long brown curls . `` I 'm fifteen , '' she said .
`` And you ought XXXXX see me in my long dress , father . ''
about as at by for in into of that to