Full suddenly he scann’d his shank, As though he had not reckon’d One dip enough, flew to the bank, And gayly took a second! Oh! how the jolly fellow dashed The little waves asunder! Dove in his head and breast, and splashed His pinion-feathers under. Then standing up, as though to rest, He looked around discreetly; Again with zest the pool caress’d, And made his bath completely. Out hopt he where the sun-fed breeze Came streamward warmly tender-- A brilliant prince of Atomies Amid this mountain splendor. Oh, balmy is the mountain air Of May with sunlight in it! And blest is he from town-wrought care Who can in greenwood win it. But sun on Robin’s radiant coat, All drench’d, he fear’d might spoil it, So to an alder grove did float To make his feathery toilet. He pick’d his wings and smoothed his neck, Arranged his vest’s carnation, And flew out without stain or speck To dazzle all creation! ARE YOU MY WIFE? BY THE AUTHOR OF “A SALON IN PARIS BEFORE THE WAR,” “NUMBER THIRTEEN,” “PIUS VI.,” ETC CHAPTER IV. “Here you are, you naughty little maiden, gadding about the country when I want you to be at home to talk to me!” exclaimed Sir Simon, as Franceline burst into the cottage full of her little adventure. “Where have you been all this time?” “Only to see Miss Merrywig, and then I came home by the fields.” “And was any poor mortal lucky enough to meet you coming through the rye?” inquired Sir Simon facetiously. Franceline didn’t see the point a bit; but she blushed as if she did, and Sir Simon was not the man to let her off. “Oh! so that’s it, is it? Come, now, and tell me all about it,” he said, drawing her to a low seat beside his arm-chair, the only one in the establishment, and which his host always insisted on his taking. “You must let me into the secret; it’s very shabby of you to have got one without consulting me. Who is he, and where did you meet him?” “One is Mr. Charlton,” replied Franceline naïvely; “but I don’t know who the other is. I never saw him before. Tell me who he is, monsieur?” “Tell you! Well, upon my word, you are a pretty flirt! You don’t even know his name! A very nice young lady!” “Is he a Frenchman, monsieur? I think he must be from the way he bowed. Is he a friend of yours? Nobody else knows Frenchmen here but you. Do tell me who he is.” “He’s not a Frenchman,” said Sir Simon, “and he’ll never forgive you for mistaking him for one, I can tell you. If you were a man, he would run you through the body for it just as soon as he’d look at you!” “Mon Dieu!” cried Franceline, opening her eyes wide with wonder, “then I don’t care to know any more about him. I hope I shall never see him again.” “Yes, but you shall, though, and I’ll take care to tell him,” declared Sir Simon.