ow, the long
hair hanging over the ears. This she could see, but of his face only
the outline of his left cheek was visible. Strange and unexpected to
herself was the light-hearted calm with which, now that she really saw
him, she could contemplate the great poet.

He ceased writing and leaned against the back, gazing straight ahead.

"The third age past, what then? Why the soldier, i' faith--the
soldier----"

"Full of strange oaths"

came a mischievous whisper from an invisible source--

"and bearded like the pard.
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth."

For a moment the poet sat as though paralyzed with astonishment. Then
rising, he turned and faced the daring girl.

Now she saw the face so well remembered and yet how little known before.
Round it was and smooth, save for the small, well-trimmed mustache above
the beautifully moulded mouth and chin--sensitive yet firm. But above
all, the splendid eyes! Eyes of uncertain color that seemed to Phoebe
mirrors of universal life, yet just now full of a perplexed admiration.

For she was herself the centre of a picture well fitted to arrest a
poet's attention. Her merry face was peering over the smooth white
stone, with four pink finger-tips on each side clinging for greater
security. Behind her a cherry-tree was dropping its snowy blossoms, and
two or three had fallen unheeded upon her wavy brown hair, making a
charming frame for the young eyes and tender lips whose smiling harmony
seemed to sing with arrant roguishness.

With a trilling laugh, half-suppressed, she spoke at last.

"A penny for your thoughts, Master Shakespeare!" she said.

The mood of the astonished player had quickly yielded to the girl's
compelling smile, and his fine lips opened upon a firm line of teeth.

"'Show me first your penny,'" he quoted.

"I'll owe you it."

He laughed and shook his head.

"That would I not my thoughts, damsel."

"Pay them, then. Pay straightway!" she pouted, "and see the account be
fair."

"Nay, then," he replied, bowing half-mockingly, "an the accountant be so
passing fair, must not the account suffer in the comparison?"

The face disappeared for a moment, and then Phoebe emerged from behind
the stone rampart, dusting her hands off daintily one against the other.

"Did not your wit exceed your gallantry, sir," she said, courtesying
slightly