''Tis I am a lady, now that I'm old; I'm sheltered from hunger and want and cold, In a wonderful country that's rich in gold, (And life to the last is sweet). Now in the doorway I sit at my ease, And my son's son he plays at my knees On little stumbling feet. But my heart goes back to the days of old, To a barren country where gorse is gold, For oh! it was there that my love was told, 'Twas there we used to meet! 'They may think I've forgotten the land forlorn, In the happy valleys covered with corn; They may lay me down with my face to the morn, A stone at my head and feet; But I know that before the break o' the day My soul will arise and be far away (The spirits travel fleet),-- Away from the valleys covered with corn, Back again to the land forlorn, For oh! it was there that my Love was born, 'Twas there we used to meet!'[1] Sir Archibald, Mr. Willoughby, and I could have listened for an hour, but I felt that it was time to hurry off the elders of the party, so made dark allusions to the weather. These were sufficient to rouse Mrs. MacGill and Mrs. Pomeroy, who were in a semi-comatose condition induced by copious draughts of tea. We all went to the door of the inn, and Mr. Willoughby came and helped me to my seat in the motor. 'I am coming across to Grey Tor on Saturday,' he said. 'I have some sketches to take over that way. Shall you still be at the inn?' 'Probably,' I answered evasively. 'I hope so,' said he; 'perhaps we may have another talk such as we have had this afternoon.' 'Who knows? Talk is a fugitive pleasure,' I replied. 'Some days it will be good, and others it can't be captured at any price.' 'I'll come in the chance of catching some,' he whispered. And at this moment Mrs. MacGill interrupted us and insisted that I should tie on her shawl. The homeward drive was begun, but it would be too long a story to describe its miseries. Imagination must do its work here. FOOTNOTE: [1] Mary Findlater. VII VIRGINIA POMEROY