He paused a moment, then sang the same words again. They had come to him as a sort of inspiration some few days before; previously, as he gravely told himself, "he had not known he was one of those darned poet chaps." He was a little ashamed of the weakness, but found the constant repetition of the poor verse, adapted to the tune of a camp hymn, very soothing and comforting. The words softened his nature, and almost brought the tears into his eyes. They made him blissfully miserable, and in this misery he took a melancholy pleasure, as some do in picturing the scene of their own death-bed, the leave-takings, the last touching words they will breathe, and the quiet, happy smile which will set their lips as they hear the angels calling, and see the gates of Heaven open. Having tired out the patient bird, who backed from his hand, ruffling all his feathers the wrong way, and hopped away, he rose from his seat, then turned quickly as a low ripple of laughter fell upon his ear. Such a vision met his gaze as made his great frame tremble. Mariposas, with a teasing smile upon her beautiful face, was standing just behind him: she had been a listener to his idiocy. "That's a fine song, and no mistake, Bob," she said, standing some little distance from him, and flashing defiant glances at him from her dark eyes. "The lady'd be obliged to you for making her name so public. The magpies'll be calling it out to-night." She paused: he had no word to say, but just stood before her drinking in her beauty, longing, yet afraid, to fall down and worship her. "Where's Steve?" she said, sharply, stooping down to the bird, who was examining her shoe-lace minutely. "Gone home," Bob said, finding his tongue. "He'll be at the Paradise by this time likely. Did you want him?" [Illustration: "A VISION MET HIS GAZE."] "One's always pleased to see Steve," she said, eyeing the stained clothes of the splendid specimen of manhood before her with great displeasure. "_He_ keeps himself decent." She paused again. Bob had nothing to say; he looked down at his own clothes and sighed. "Well," she said, sharply, after a moment, "have you nothing to say for yourself?" "No," he answered, humbly. "Some can keep clean, some can't. If," sheepishly, "I had a wife, now----" "A wife!" interrupting him. "D'you suppose any decent woman would undertake _you_? Not she." His expression grew quite hopeless. "You think not?" he said, so sadly that her heart might have been touched. "Well," stooping down and picking up his tools, "I've feared the same myself. It's a bad job, but somehow," looking himself slowly over, "the earth seems to have a spite against me." "Steve can keep clean." "Yes," agreeingly, "it's curious, but that's so. You're quite right, Steve's the better man of us two." She tossed her head and blushed rosy red, but neither agreed nor disagreed with him.