ting knife and
fork, and a plate, also blue, before him! "And may I wait on you,
too?"

"Well, as a special favor--" He paused, appearing to ponder deeply and
darkly.

Her eyes were bent upon his face with mute appeal, her suspense so
great she stood stock-still in the middle of the floor, frying-pan in
hand.

"Yes; you may wait on me," he said finally, after perplexed and
weighty rumination.

At that her little feet fairly twinkled, but her hand was ever so
careful as she took the coffee pot from the fire and put it near the
blue plate. A glass--how well she knew where everything was!--she
found in some mysterious corner and, sitting down on the floor,
cross-legged like a little Turk, a mere mite almost lost in the
semi-obscurity of the room, she polished it assiduously upon the
corner of the table cloth until it shone free from specks of dust; all
the time humming very lightly like a bird, or a housewife whose heart
is in her work. A strange song, a curious bit of melody that seemed to
spring from some dark past and to presage a future, equally sunless.

"Your supper is ready, Monsieur," she said, rising.

"And I am ready for it. Why, how nicely the table looks! Really, when
we both grow up, I think we should take a silver ship and sail to some
silver shore and live together there forever and evermore. How would
you like it?"

Celestina's lips were mute, but her eyes were full of rapturous
response, and then became suddenly shy, as though afraid of their own
happiness.

"May I pour your wine?" she asked, with downcast lashes.

"Can you manage it and not spill a drop? Remember Cratinus wept and
died of grief seeing his wine--no doubt, this same vintage--spilt!"

But Straws was not called upon to emulate this classic example. The
feat of filling his glass was deftly accomplished, and a moment later
the poet raised it with, "'Drink to me only with thine eyes!'" An
appropriate sentiment for Celestina who had nothing else to drink to
him with. "Won't you have some of this--what shall I call it?--hash,
stew or ration?"

"Oh, I've had my supper," she answered.

"How fortunate for you, my dear! It isn't exactly a company bill of
fare! But everything is what I call snug and cozy. Here we are high up
in the world--right under the roof--all by ourselves, with nobody to
disturb us--"

A heavy footfall without; rap, rap, rap, on the door; no timid,
faltering knock, but a firm application of somebody's knuckles!