“I was layin’ there watchin’ the clouds overhead, an’ listenin’ to the plover whistlin’ out in the fiel’s, an’ to the tree-frawg bellerin’ up in the locus’, when all of a sudden I see a blue gleam in an apple tree in the orchard ’crosst the way. I watched it an’ pretty soon made out that it was a woman. She was settin’ there quiet an’ still, like she was readin’, an’ down below I see the top of a chicking coop an’ hear the ole hen cluckin’. I couldn’t see much fer the leaves an’ didn’t git sight o’ her face, but I made out the outlines o’ that blue caliker dress an’ jest kind o’ drank ’em in. “It was the day done it all. ’Fore I knowd it I begin to imagine the face that must ’a’ fit that form. I pictured her like the girls that rides the mowin’ machines in the agricult’ral advertisemen’ chromos--yeller hair an’ all. I wanted to try an’ git sight o’ her face but didn’t dast, fer she’d ’a’ seen me an’ that ’ud a spoilt my chancet. So I lay there dreamin’ like, an’ ’fore I knowd it I could think o’ nothin’ but that girl in the tree, who I figured must ’a’ ben a heap better-lookin’ than a circus lady. “It come sundown, an’ ez I had to hustle to git supper I dragged meself together an’ moved on. I went up the valley fer three days an’ got ’bout thirty mile nearer the river. But I didn’t have no peace. The hull time I was thinkin’ o’ nothin’ but the girl in the blue caliker dress. I never felt so queer before, an’ didn’t know jest what to do. Last I decided I’d hev to go back an’ hev another look at her, so I turned ’round an’ kivered me tracks. “‘Bout one day later, in the afternoon, I reached the orchard. Hanged ef she wasn’t there an’ settin’ in a tree closer to the road! I didn’t dast go near her, fer I knows how ’fraid the weemen is of us men. But I slid inter me ole placet, an’ lay there watchin’ her blue dress wavin’ in the breeze. Then when I seen ez how she’d changed trees, I begin to think mebbe she’d seen me an’ moved up a tree nearer the road kinder so ez we’d be closer.” The Tramp’s voice broke and he paused. “Now quit yer blubberin’, Trampy,” cried the Loafer, “an’ git to the end o’ this here yarn.” The vagrant rubbed his sleeve across his eyes and continued,