"Doan't knaw, 'zactly; but things might fall out if he got to like you, being a bookish sort of man. Anyway, he's very willing to be friends, for that he told me. Doan't bear yourself like Lucifer afore him; but take the first chance to let him knaw your fortune's in need of mendin'." "You say that! D' you think self-respect is dead in me?" he asked, half angry. There was no visible life about them, so she put her arms round him. "I ax for love of 'e, dearie, an' for want of 'e. Do 'e think waitin' 's sweeter for me than for you?" Then he calmed down again, sighed, returned the caress, touched her, and stroked her breast and shoulder with sudden earthly light in his great eyes. "It 's hard to wait." "That's why I say doan't lose chances that may mean a weddin' for us, Clem. Theer 's so much hid in 'e, if awnly the way to bring it out could be found." "A mine that won't pay working," he said bitterly, the passion fading out of eyes and voice. "I know there 's something hidden; I feel there 's a twist of brain that ought to rise above keeping bees and take me higher than honey-combs. Yet look at hard truth. The clods round me get enough by their sweat to keep wives and feed children. I'm only a penniless, backboneless, hand-to-mouth wretch, living on the work of laborious insects." "If it ban't your awn fault, then whose be it, Clem?" "The fault of Chance--to pack my build of brains into the skull of a pauper. This poor, unfinished abortion of a head-piece of mine only dreams dreams that it cannot even set on paper for others to see." "You've given up trying whether it can or not, seemin'ly. I never hear tell of no verses now." "What 's the good? But only last night, so it happens, I had a sort of a wild feeling to get something out of myself, and I scribbled for hours and hours and found a little morsel of a rhyme." "Will 'e read it to me?" He showed reluctance, but presently dragged a scrap of paper out of his, pocket. Not a small source of trouble was his sweetheart's criticism of his verses. "It was the common sight of a pair of lovers walking tongue-tied, you know. I call it 'A Devon Courting.'" He read the trifle slowly, with that grand, rolling sea-beat of an accent that Elizabeth once loved to hear on the lips of Raleigh and Drake. "Birds gived awver singin', Flittermice was wingin', Mists lay on the meadows-- A purty sight to see. Down-long in the dimpsy, the dimpsy, the dimpsy, Down-long in the dimpsy Theer went a maid wi' me. "Five gude mile o' walkin', Not wan word o' talkin', Then I axed a question And put the same to she. Up-long in the owl-light, the owl-light, the owl-light, Up-long in the owl-light, Theer corned my maid wi' me. "But I wonder you write the common words, Clem--you who be so much tu clever to use 'em." "The words are well enough. They were not common once." "Well, you knaw best. Could 'e sell such a li'l auld funny thing as that for money?"