Read it through once

"I never _shall_ get to London if I don't hurry. The trip was like riding through a long picture-gallery, full of lovely landscapes. The farmhouses were my delight; with thatched roofs, ivy up to the eaves, latticed windows, and stout women with rosy children at the doors. The very cattle looked more tranquil than ours, as they stood knee-deep in clover, and the hens had a contented cluck, as if they never got nervous, like Yankee biddies. Such perfect color I never saw,--the grass so green, sky so blue, grain so yellow, woods so dark,--I was in a rapture all the way. So was Flo; and we kept bouncing from one side to the other, trying to see everything while we were whisking along at the rate of sixty miles an hour. Aunt was tired and went to sleep, but uncle read his guide-book, and wouldn't be astonished at anything. This is the way we went on: Amy, flying up,--'Oh, that must be Kenilworth, that gray place among the trees!' Flo, darting to my window,--'How sweet! We must go there some time, won't we, papa?' Uncle, calmly admiring his boots,--'No, my dear, not unless you want beer; that's a brewery.'