f cattle loitering in the
rank grass-growth; the winding sweep of the river and the green, rolling
hills beyond; and Bob leaning against the rock beside him, smoking
luxuriously with half-closed eyes, while their horses dozed with
drooping heads a rein-length away.

"Say, Bud," Bob's voice drawled sleepily, "I wisht you'd sing that
Jerusalem song. I want to learn the words to it; I'm plumb stuck on that
piece. It's different from the general run uh songs, don't yuh think?
Most of 'em's about your old home that yuh left in boyhood's happy days,
and go back to find your girl dead and sleeping in a little church-yard
or else it's your mother; or your girl marries the other man and you get
it handed to yuh right along--and they make a fellow kinda sick to his
stomach when he's got to sing 'em two or three hours at a stretch on
night-guard, just because he's plumb ignorant of anything better. This
here Jerusalem one sounds kinda grand, and--the cattle seems to like it,
too, for a change."

"The composer would feel flattered if he heard that," Thurston laughed.
He wanted to be left alone to day-dream and watch the clouds trail
lazily across to meet the hills; and there was an embryonic poem
forming, phrase by phrase, in his mind. But he couldn't refuse Bob
anything, so he sat a bit straighter and cleared his throat. He sang
well--well enough indeed to be sought after at informal affairs among
his set at home. When he came to the refrain Bob took his cigarette from
between his lips and held it in his fingers while he joined his voice
lustily to Thurston's:

"Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
Lift up your gates and sing
Hosanna in the high-est.
Hosanna to your King!"

The near cattle lifted their heads to stare stupidly a moment, then
moved a few steps slowly, nosing for the sweetest grass-tufts. The
horses shifted their weight, resting one leg with the hoof barely
touching the earth, twitched their ears at the flies and slept again.

"And then me thought my dream was changed,
The streets no longer rang,
Hushed were the glad Hosannas
The little children sang--"

Tamale lifted his head and gazed inquiringly up the hill; but Bob was
not observant of signs just then. He was Striving with his recreant
memory for the words that came after:

"The sun grew dark with mystery,
The morn was cold and still,
As the shadow of a cross arose
Upon a lonely hill."

Tamale stirred re