or and Captain Stevenson join in the chorus softly. It is sung
slowly, like a low wail, Major Shore's clear notes rising above the
rest:

Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flying fishes play,
And the dawn comes up like thunder out er China, 'crost the bay.

As they sing, Carol rides up the hill, and the music falls on his
astonished ear. Singing in their verandah--how can that be?

Eleanor is the first to catch sight of him, but does not speak or move,
though Quinton's presence always quickens her pulses.

The chords of the guitar take up the refrain, and Captain Stevenson,
turning, espies Carol.

"When the mist was on the rice fields, an' the sun was droppin' low,

continues the rich voice.

"Why, there's Quinton!" exclaims Captain Stevenson, breaking into the
melody. "My dear fellow, how was it we missed on the road?"

"I can't imagine," he replies; "I suppose I took a different path."
His eyes shift uneasily, a flush rises to his brow.

"Your wife has been most kind and hospitable," declares Major Short,
laying down the guitar.

"I am delighted she kept you."

"We brought the dog. He has already attached himself to Mrs. Quinton.
I assure you at lunch his preference for her was most marked; he
wouldn't look at us."

"Cupboard love, eh? I suppose she fed him."

"Well, yes, I should rather think so, he will not require anything more
for some time."

"I am afraid," says Quinton, "that I interrupted a concert. You all
looked most Bohemian and enjoying the _dolce far niente_ stage of
existence."

"It was too bad to break off in the middle of your song, Major Short,"
Eleanor murmurs, seating herself beside him and taking up the guitar.
"I wish you could teach me the accompaniment, for I do know a few notes
vaguely, and though I have never learned to sing I can croon a little."

"It really is not difficult," Major Short assures her. "I will send
you the song if you like."

"Thanks, but I cannot read music, only I have rather a good ear."

So he strikes the chords one by one very slowly, while Eleanor repeats
them.

"I should never have picked it out by myself. Now I shall be able to
sing to Carol in the evenings."

"Are they not delightful?" says Eleanor, as the two men ride away. "I
have quite enjoyed to-day, Carol."

"I believe