him. "New York will
have to wait till to-morrow. The birds will sing to-night and we will
not count the cost."

"Yes, my lord," she answered demurely.

For to-night she wanted to forget that their birds were only caged
canaries.

CHAPTER 23

"And what are the names of the Fortunate Isles,
Lo! duty and love and a large content;
And these are the Isles of the watery miles
That God let down from the firmament.

Lo! duty and love and a true man's trust,
Your forehead to God and your feet in the dust:
Lo! duty and love and a sweet babe's smiles,
And these, O friends, are the Fortunate Isles."

AND LARKS FOR THE REBEL

Beneath a sky faintly pink with the warning of the coming sunrise Jeff
walked an old logging trail that would take him back to camp from his
morning dip. Ferns and blackberry bushes, heavy with dew, reached across
the road and grappled with each other. At every step, as he pushed
through the tangle, a shower of drops went flying.

His was the incomparable buoyant humor of a lover treading a newborn
world. A smile was in his eyes, tender, luminous, cheerful. He thought
of the woman whom he had not seen for many months, and he was buoyed up
by the fine spiritual edge which does not know defeat. Win or lose, it
was clear gain to have loved her.

With him he carried a vision of her, young, ardent, all fire and flame.
One spoke of things beautiful and her face lit from within. Her words,
motions, came from the depths, half revealed and half concealed dear
hidden secrets. He recalled the grace of the delicate throat curve,
little tricks of expression, the sweetness of her energy.

The forest broke, opening into a clearing. He stood to drink in its
beauty, for the sun, peeping over a saddle in the hills, had painted the
place a valley of gold and russet. And while he waited there came out of
the woods beyond, into that splendid setting, the vision that was in his
mind.

He was not surprised that his eyes were playing him tricks. This was
after all the proper frame for the picture of his golden sweetheart.
Lance-straight and slender, his wood nymph waded knee deep through the
ferns. Straight toward him she came, and his temples began to throb. A
sylph of the woods should be diaphanous. The one he saw was a creature
of color and warmth and definiteness. Life, sweet and mocking, flowed
through her radiantly. His heart sang within him, for the woman h