|Cloud|: There, there! 'Twas only an excuse To put her lovers off, a wifely ruse, Bidding them bide till it was finished, she Each night the web unravelled secretly.

|Celeste|: He came home safe?

|Cloud|: If I remember right, It was the lovers needed shrouds that night!

It is an old, old tale. I heard it through A Wind whose ancestor it was that blew Ulysses' ship across the purple sea Back to his people and Penelope.

We Clouds pick up strange tales, as far and wide And to and fro above the world we ride, Across uncharted seas, upon the swell Of viewless waves and tides invisible, Freighted with friendly flood or forked flame, Knowing not whither bound nor whence we came; Now drifting lonely, now a company Of pond'rous galleons--

|Celeste|: Oft-times I see A Cloud, as by some playful fancy stirred, Take likeness of a monstrous beast or bird Or some fantastic fish, as though 'twere clay Moulded by unseen hands.

|Cloud|: Then tell me, pray, What I resemble now!

|Celeste|: I scarcely know.

But had you asked a little while ago, I should have said a camel; then your hump Dissolved, and you became a gosling plump, Downy and white and warm--

|Cloud|: What! _Warm_, up here?

Ten thousand feet above the earth!

|Celeste|: Oh dear!

What am I thinking of! Of course I know How cold it is. Pierre has told me so A thousand times.

|Cloud|: And who is this Pierre That tells you all the secrets of the air?

How came he to such frigid heights to soar?

|Celeste|: Pierre's my--He is in the Flying Corps.

|Cloud|: Ah, now I understand! And he's away?

|Celeste|: He left at dawn, where for he would not say, Telling me only 'twas a bombing raid Somewhere--My G.o.d! What's that?

|Cloud|: What, little maid?

|Celeste| (_pointing_): That--over there--beyond the wooded crest!

|Cloud|: Only a skylark dropping to her nest; Her mate is hov'ring somewhere near. I heard His tremulous song of love--

|Celeste|: That was no bird!

(_Drops upon her knees._) O Mary! Blessed Mother! Hear, my prayer!

That one that fell--grant it was not Pierre!

Here is the cross my mother gave me--I Will burn the longest candle it will buy!

|Cloud|: Courage, my child! Your prayer will not be vain!

Who guards the lark, will guide your lover's plane.

The West Wind's calling. I must go!--Hark! There He sings again! _Le bon Dieu garde, ma chere!_

II

|Pierre|: I made a perfect landing over there Behind the church--

|Celeste|: The Virgin heard my prayer!

Now I must burn the candle that I vowed--

|Pierre|: Then 'twas our Blessed Lady sent that Cloud That saved me when the Boche came up behind.

I made a lightning turn, only to find The Boche on top of me. It seemed a kind Of miracle to see that Cloud--I swear A moment past the sky was everywhere As clear as clear; there was no Cloud in sight.

It looked to me, floating there calm and white.

Like a great mother hen, and I a chick.

She seemed to call me, and I scurried quick Behind her wing. That spoiled the Boche's game, And gave me time to turn and take good aim.

I emptied my last drum, and saw him drop Ten thousand feet in flames--

|Celeste| (_shuddering_): Stop! Pierre, stop!

Maybe a girl is waiting for him too--

|Pierre|: 'Twas either him or me |Celeste|: Thank G.o.d, not you!

|Pierre| (_pointing to the church_): Come, let us burn the candle that you vowed.

|Celeste|: Two candles!

|Pierre|: Who's the other for?

|Celeste|: The Cloud!

_Oliver Herford._

CONSTANCY

"You gave me the key of your heart, my love; Then why do you make me knock?"

"Oh, that was yesterday, Saints above!

And last night--I changed the lock!"

_John Boyle O'Reilly._

AIN'T IT AWFUL, MABEL?

It worries me to beat the band To hear folks say our lives is grand; Wish they'd try some one-night stand.

Ain't it awful, Mabel?

Nothin' ever seems to suit-- The manager's an awful brute; Spend our lives jest lookin' cute.

Ain't it awful, Mabel?

Met a boy last Tuesday night, Was spendin' money left and right--- Me, gee! I couldn't eat a bite!

Ain't it awful, Mabel?