doing managed to tire
himself out.

* * * * *

It was dusk, which is to say nearly ten o'clock, when he awoke from
another nap. A silence, astonishing after the day-long uproar, greeted
his ears. The wind had gone down with the sun, and the world was
enfolded in a delicious peace.

The lake was like a polished floor. Above the tree-tops behind him the
sky was still bright, while over across the water sat Night in robes,
awaiting her cue. On the island there was not a cheep nor a flutter to
break the spell.

Sam wondered idly what had aroused him. He saw with a frown that there
was food beside him as before. But it had been there some time. It was
cold, and sand had drifted into the plate.

At last he heard the sound which had awakened him. It was a strain of
music which came stealing as gently on the air as the first breath of
dawn. Sam's breast was like wax to music.

Without thinking what he was doing, he kicked himself free of the
blankets, and arose to go closer. It was like a lovely incantation,
drawing him irrespective of his will.

He did not instantly recognize the source of the music. It might have
been the song of a twilight bird, a thrush, a mocking-bird. He forgot
for the moment that there are no song-birds so far north.

Presently he knew it for the voice of a woman singing softly, and a
good way off--Bela! Still he did not stop.

"I guess I can listen to her sing without giving anything away," he
told himself. But his breast was dangerously seduced by the sweetness
of the sound.

As he drew closer the detached notes associated themselves into a
regular air. It had nothing in common with the rude, strident chants
of the Indians that he had heard on the rivers. It was both familiar
and elusive. It was like an air he knew, but with a wild, irregular
quality different from our airs. It was mournful, sweet, and artless,
and it made the heart swell in his breast.

As he progressed around the beach he saw her fire. It was dark enough
now for the blaze to shine. Drawing still closer he saw her beside it,
and frowned, remembering his injuries--but the song drew him still.

He began to listen for the words. Suddenly he recognized it--one of
the loveliest of old English songs. Evidently it had been transmitted
from ear to ear until it had acquired the character of a new race of
singers.

He progressed from bush to bush. He wasn't going to have anything to
do with her,