d. "I am very foolish, and the laugh is
with you." His lips tried to frame a smile, but failed, and he added:
"Your wit is not my kind, that is all. I beg you both to accept my
congratulations on your nuptials. Undoubtedly, you will be happy
together; two people with such similar ideas of humor must have much to
enjoy in common." He bowed low and, turning, walked out.

The moment he was gone she cried, breathlessly:

"You must marry me, Poleon. You've got to do it now."

"Do you mean dat for sure?" he said.

"Can't you see there's nothing else for it, after this? I'll show him
that he can't make me a toy to suit his convenience. I've told him I
would marry you on Sunday, and I'll do it or die. Of course you don't
love me, for you don't know what love is, I suppose; how--could you?"
She broke down and began to catch her breath amid coughing sobs that
shook her slender body, though they left her eyes dry and feverish.

"I--I'm very unhappy, b-but I'll be a good--wife to you. Oh, Poleon, if
you only knew--"

He drew a long breath. When he spoke his voice had the timbre of some
softly played instrument, and a tremor ran through his words.

"No! I don' know w'at kin' of love is dis, for sure. De kin' of love I
know is de kin' I sing 'bout in my songs; I s'pose it's different breed
to yours, an' I'm begin to see it don' live nowhere but on dem songs of
mine. Dere's long tarn' I waste here now--five year--but to-morrow I go
again lookin' for my own countree."

"Poleon!" she cried, looking up with startled eyes. "Not to-morrow, but
Sunday--we will go together."

He shook his head. "To-morrow, Necia! An' I go alone."

"Then you won't--marry me?" she asked, in a hushed and frightened voice.

"No! Dere's wan t'ing I can't do even for you, Necia, dere's wan t'ing
I can't geeve, dat's all--jus' wan on all de worl'. I can't kill de
li'l' god wit' de bow an' arrer. He's all dat mak' de sun shine, de
birds sing, an' de leaves w'isper to me; he's de wan li'l' feller w'at
mak' my life wort' livin' an' keep music in my soul. If I keel 'im dere
ain' no more lef lak' it, an' I'm never goin' fin' my lan' of content,
nor sing nor laugh no more. I'm t'inkin' I would rader sing songs to
'im all alone onderneat' de stars beside my campfire, an' talk wit' 'im
in my bark canoe, dan go livin' wit' you in fine house an' let 'im get
col' an' die."

"But I told him I'd marry you--that I had always intended to. He'll
believe I was lying,"