sharp steel, into two
irreconcilable halves,--the secular and the ecclesiastical. Babbett,
who had watched him closely, had not failed to perceive the irksome
twitches of the muscles of his face: she now approached the singers,
saying,--

"Why, a'n't you ashamed of yourselves? Can't you sing a single decent
song?"

Constantine replied,--

[Illustration: Can't you sing a single decent song?]

"Well, if you don't like it,
I like it the more;
And, if you can do better,
Just put in your oar."

"Yes," said Florian: "we'll sing a good song if you'll join in."

"Oh, yes, I'll join in."

"What shall it be?" asked Peter.

"'Honest and true.'"

"'Is my wealth and my store'? no, I don't like that," said Constantine.

"Well, then, 'Ere the morning dew was wasted.'"

"Yes." Babbett sang lustily, and the others fell in:--

"Ere the morning dew was wasted,
Ere the night-blown grass was shrunk,
Ere another's eye had tasted,
On my love mine eyes were sunk.

"Shoot the fox and rabbit early,
Ere they travel in the wood;
Love the girls ere they grow surly,
Or forget how to be wooed.

"Till with vines the millstone teemeth,
And the mill-race runs with wine,
While life's current in us streameth,
Thou art mine and I am thine."

Ivo thanked Babbett warmly for the pretty song; but Constantine
immediately followed it up with

"I'm as poor as a mouse:
There's no door to my house,
There's no lock to my door,
And I've no sweetheart more.

"It's all up with me
Over land and sea:
When the Danube dries up
Our wedding shall be.

"And it will not dry up,
And is wet to this day;
To find another sweetheart
I must up and away."

"Now let's have 'A boy he would a walking go,'" said Babbett.

"Keep your boy at home," replied Constantine.

"Oh, you! If you'd been kept at home, they wouldn't have turned you out
like a dog in the wrong kennel."

"Strike up," said Florian; and they sang:--

"Blithe let me be,
If 'tis but well with thee,
Although my youth and freshness
Must wither hopelessly.