near Langdon except
a few mosquitoes, who couldn't bite through the make-up; and a small and
inquisitive bird that inspected him with disdain and said,
"cheep--che-ep!" so many times that Langdon took it as a personal comment
and almost blushed.

He thought to himself: "If it wasn't that William is actually becoming
ill over his unhappy love affair I'm damned if I'd let even a dicky-bird
see me in this rig. Ugh! What a head of hair! The average girl's ideal is
what every healthy man wants to kick. I wouldn't blame any decent fellow
for booting me into the brook on sight."

He bit into his pad and sat chewing reflectively and dabbling his line in
the water.

"Poor old William," he mused. "This business is likely to end us both. If
we stay here we lose our jobs; if we go back William is likely to
increase the nut crop. I never supposed men took love as seriously as
that. I've heard that it sometimes occurred--what is it Shakespeare says:
'How Love doth make nuts of us all!'"

He chewed his pad and swung his feet, philosophically.

"Why the devil doesn't some girl come and try to steal a kiss?" he
muttered. "It might perhaps be well to call their attention to my
helpless presence and unguarded condition."

So he sang for a while, swinging his legs: "Somebody's watching and
waiting for me!" munching his luncheon between verses; and, as nobody
came, he bawled louder and louder the refrain: "Somebody's darling,
darling, dah-ling!" until a hoarse voice from behind the rock silenced
him:

"Shut up that hurdy-gurdy voice of yours! A defect like that will count
ten points against you! Can it!"

"Oh, very well," said Langdon, offended; "but everybody doesn't feel the
way you do about music."

Silence resumed her classical occupation in the forest; the stream
continued to sparkle and make its own kind of music; the trout, having
become accustomed to the queer thing on the bank and the baited hook
among the pebbles, gathered in the ripples stemming the current with
winnowing fins.

A very young rabbit sat up in a fern patch and examined Langdon with
dark, moist eyes. He sat there for several minutes, and might have
remained for several more if a sound, unheard by Langdon and by Sayre,
had not set the bunch of whiskers on his restless nose twitching, and
sent him scurrying off over the moss.

The sound was no sound to human ears; Langdon heard it not; Sayre, drowsy
in the scented heat, dozed behind his rock.

A shad