“And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. The stores, the drying bins, McClintock's bungalows and the native huts sprawled around an exquisite landlocked lagoon. You are one of the Immortals. ‘Well, water under the bridge is that, miss. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. I do not wish that the soldiers there will see it shine. Mr. ” “I have a clue, at any rate,” he remarked, smiling. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. F.
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