me ban't everybody. You've told me
yourself as God do play a big game, and it doan't become this man or
that woman to reckon their-selves more important than they truly be."

"A great game, yes; but a cursed poor game--for a God. The counters
don't matter, I know; they'll soon be broken up and flung away; and the
sooner the better. It's living hell to be born into a world where
there's no justice--none for king or tinker."

"Sit alongside of me and smell the primrosen an' watch thicky kingfisher
catching the li'l trout. I doan't like 'e in these bitter moods, Clem,
when your talk's all dead ashes."

He sat by her and looked out over the river. It was flooded in sunlight,
fringed with uncurling green.

"I'm sick and weary of life without you. 'Conscious existence is a
failure,' and the man who found that out and said it was wise. I wish I
was a bird or beast--or nothing. All the world is mating but you and me.
Nature hates me because I survive from year to year, not being fit to.
The dumb things do her greater credit than ever I can. The--"

"Now, I'll go--on my solemn word, I'll go--if you grumble any more!
Essterday you was so different, and said you'd fallen in love with Miss
Spring, and pretended to speak to her and make me jealous. You didn't do
that, but you made me laugh. An' you promised a purty verse for me. Did
'e make it up after all? I lay not."

"Yes, I did. I wasted two or three hours over it last night."

"Might 'e get ten shillings for it, like t' other?"

"It's not worth the paper it's on, unless you like it. Your praise is
better than money to me. Nobody wants any thoughts of mine. Why should
they?"

"Not when they 'm all sour an' poor, same as now; but essterday you
spoke like to a picture-book. Theer's many might have took gude from
what you said then."

He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and flung it into her lap.

"I call it 'Spring Rain,'" he said. "Yesterday the world was grey, and I
was happy; to-day the world is all gold, and I'm finding life harder and
heavier than usual. Read it out slowly to me. It was meant to be read to
the song of the river, and never a prettier voice read a rhyme than
yours."

Chris smoothed the paper and recited her lover's lyrics. They had some
shadow of music in them and echoed Clem's love of beautiful things; but
they lacked inspiration or much skill.

"'Neath unnumbered crystal arrows--
Crystal arrows from the quiver
Of a cloud