He did not see her again until the next afternoon. He heard her singing on Big Rock, and walking down to the creek, followed up the bank until he came to the foot of the rock. It was very steep on that side, almost unscalable. She heard him climbing up. His hat fell off; a moment later his bare red head peeped above the surface, then his smiling, ruddy face rose slowly over the edge, much as she had seen the full red moon rise over the edge of the cliff that capped her mountain.

"Jeannette, really, I can read."

"Let me see."

And he wrote on another card:

"_Ah vie! Ah vie! Jai trouve la place ou tu demeures._"

She took it saying: "Now since you have had your second lesson in penmanship, you may go home. I am busy embroidering a Christmas present for a friend and as this is the twenty-third of July, am too busy upon it to be disturbed."

That evening Simeon and his wife sat out upon the porch; Jeannette and Sandy upon the door-step. He had his fiddle and was playing "Turkey in the Straw," keeping time with his foot, his face lit by a happy smile.

Jeannette's slipper tapped the floor in minor accompaniment. She looked into his face; saw the brightness of it in the darkness, and whispered: "Your music is most suggestive: I never felt so much like dancing as I do tonight."

Sandy thought his cousins had forgotten their rule of retiring with the chickens. The old rooster crowed. "Listen at Old Speck, he thinks it's almost day." Simeon gave an enormous yawn; they thought he would never close his mouth. It went shut with a snap, followed by the remark: "It's time all honest folks were in bed." It was nearly nine o'clock; and he and his wife went in.

How glorious the night; how peaceful and starry; a time for visions, not words, therefore no one spoke. The bold, bad captain, taking advantage of the darkness, made Jeannette's hand a prisoner. It fluttered as a frightened bird; then it lay still, either having lost hope of escape or resigned to a captive fate. Suddenly it escaped.

"Captain, I'm surprised! Get pencil and paper; you must have your third lesson in penmanship. Look on the mantel and bring me a couple of matches."

He took a card from his case and wrote: "_Jeannette, Mein Liebchen: Willst Du mich Heiraten?_"

He handed her the card; she read it; the match went out. There was a little scuffle, a smothered exclamation. A great owl, whose downy wings made no noise, lit in the elm by the gate and observing them through his night optics, exclaimed: "Who! Who!" Surprised, the captain released his prisoner; she darted into the doorway, calling: "Goodnight, Captain, hope to see you tomorrow."

Her dream love ended that night; the talisman that drove it from this material to the spirit world, where it was doubtless happier, was a very human kiss. Most of you girls know the kind-they were smuggled in from Europe when our boys came home.

The following afternoon, Jeannette, book in hand, sought the shelter of her vine-clad bower. On the bench was a note which she read. She had just finished it, when the Captain stood at the entrance.

"Come in, Captain, it is time for a reading lesson."

He sat down beside her, took the book and read-almost a page.

"If you do not care for the book read this." She handed him a card, marked in the upper left-hand corner, "Lesson No. 1," and he read:

"_Chi si marita alla svelta si pente Adagio._"

"Translate; I do not read Italian, or is it Spanish?"

"Teacher, I do not want to."

"If you do not I will send you home."

"Well, here goes: 'Marry in haste and repent at leisure'."

"Just such sentiment as I expected. May I ask if you are speaking from European experience?"

"No, merely quoting an absurd axiom."

She handed him another card, marked "Lesson No. 2."

"Read."

"_Ah vie! Ah vie! Jai trouve la place on tu demeures._"

"Translate."

"O Life! O Life! I have found the place where thou dwellest."

"You may give a more specific interpretation of your meaning at the close of your lesson. Read this," giving him a card marked: "Lesson No.

3."

"_Jeannette, Mein Liebchen: Willst Du mich Heiraten?_"

"Translate."

"Sure, sure. 'Jeannette, My Love: Will you marry me?'"

"Now you may read the poem I found in here. It seems to be in your handwriting."

A Voice Jeannette Should Hear.

I.

Jeannette, by man though rarely seen; Is a friend of Running Water, To the Mountain, fairest daughter, To the forest, stateliest queen.

She hears mystic voices whisper As a spirit to his sister.

Songs you and I have never known.

The trees speak of coming showers, Earth creatures of twilight hours; The owl tells secrets of the night, The robin sings of dawn's delight, The lark of harvest and ripe moon; But when love whispers I'll call soon, She's thinking of the distant moon.

II.

Jeannette, think you your paradise Will always remain quite this nice, Unless real love shall come as guest?

Fair one, think you the summer sun Will last until your life is done And spirit love not flit away; Nor sun sink low in golden west, Nor night come round at end of day?

Do you not fear those long, black nights, Which come with winter's storm and rain, And put an end to life's delights, Giving voice to trouble and pain?

Then whisper to love the pa.s.sword, And he will enter, having heard.

III.

Sentiment may own yesterday, But love today has right of way; Hope builds castles for tomorrow, Of warm sunbeams, not of sorrow; Memories drape life with sadness; Love walks hand in hand with gladness.

To the past we dedicate tears, Love owns today and coming years; Take his warm hand and walk with me; Let life be what the future be, I wish it spent, Jeannette, with thee; And when old age delves in the past, May love say, "I have held full sway, For memories fair crown each day."

Then, for more than an hour, an angel without the bower, kept strangers away and enjoined silence. He did not stand with flaming sword, but with finger on his lips.