Therefore the black-bird hopped a little further along the branch, and peered over to look down at her with first one round eye, and then the other, as she sank upon the seat, near by, and leaned her head wearily against the great tree, behind. And thus he saw, upon the pint and gold of her cheek, something that shone, and twinkled like a drop of dew.

If the Black-bird wondered at this, and was inclined to be curious, he st.u.r.dily repressed the weakness,--for here was the audience--seated, and waiting--all expectation for him to begin.

So, without more ado, he settled himself upon the bough, lifted his head, stretched his throat, and, from his yellow bill, poured forth a flood of golden melody as he burst forth into his "Song of Memory."

And what a song it was!--so full of pa.s.sionate entreaty, of tender pleading, of haunting sweetness, that, as she listened, the bright drop quivering upon her lashes, fell and was succeeded by another, and another. Nor did she attempt to check them, or wipe them away, only she sat and listened with her heavy head pillowed against the great tree, while the Blackbird, glancing down at her every now and then with critical eye to mark the effect of some particularly difficult pa.s.sage, piped surely as he had never done before, until the listener's proud face sank lower and lower, and was, at last, hidden in her hands. Seeing which, the Black-bird, like the true artist he was, fearing an anti-climax, very presently ended his song with a long-drawn, plaintive note.

But Anthea sat there with her proud head bowed low, long after he had retired for the night. And the sun went down, and the shadows came creeping stealthily about her, and the moon began to rise, big and yellow, over the up-land; but Anthea still sat there with her head, once more resting wearily against "King Arthur," watching the deepening shadows until she was roused by Small Porges' hand upon hers and his voice saying:

"Why,--I do believe you're crying, Auntie Anthea, an' why are you here--all alone, an' by yourself?"

"I was listening to the Black-bird, dear,--I never heard him sing quite so--beautifully, before."

"But black-birds don't make people cry,--an' I know you've been crying--'cause you sound--all quivery, you know."

"Do I, Georgy?"

"Yes,--is it 'cause you feel--lonely?"

"Yes dear."

"You've cried an awful lot, lately, Auntie Anthea."

"Have I, dear?"

"Yes,--an' it--worries me, you know."

"I'm afraid I've been a great responsibility to you, Georgy dear," said she with a rueful little laugh.

"'Fraid you have; but I don' mind the 'sponsibility,--'I'll always take care of you, you know!" nodded Small Porges, sitting down, the better to get his arm protectingly about her, while Anthea stooped to kiss the top of his curly head. "I promised my Uncle Porges I'd always take care of you, an' so I will!"

"Yes, dear."

"Uncle Porges told me--"

"Never mind, dear,--don' let's talk of--him."

"Do you still--hate him, then, Auntie Anthea?"

"Hush, dear!--it's very wrong to--hate people."

"Yes, a course it is! Then--perhaps, if you don't hate him any more--you like him a bit,--jest a--teeny bit, you know?"

"Why--there's the clock striking half-past eight, Georgy!"

"Yes, I hear it,--but--do you,--the teeniest bit? Oh! can't you like him jest a bit--for my sake, Auntie Anthea? I'm always trying to please you,--an' I found you the fortune, you know, so now I want you to please me,--an' tell me you like him--for my sake."

"But--Oh Georgy dear!--you don't understand."

"--'cause you see," Small Porges, continued, "after all, I found him for you--under a hedge, you know--"

"Ah!--why did you, Georgy dear? We were so happy--before--he came--"

"But you couldn't have been, you know; you weren't married--even then, so you couldn't have been really happy, you know;" said Small Porges shaking his head.

"Why Georgy--what do you mean?"

"Well, Uncle Porges told me that n.o.body can live happy--ever after, unless they're married--first. So that was why I 'ranged for him to marry you, so you could _both_ be happy, an' all revelry an' joy,--like the fairy tale, you know."

"But, you see, we aren't in a fairy tale, dear, so I'm afraid we must make the best of things as they are!" and here she sighed again, and rose. "Come, Georgy, it's much later than I thought, and quite time you were in bed, dear."

"All right, Auntie Anthea,--only--don't you think it's jest a bit--cruel to send a boy to bed so very early, an' when the moon's so big, an'

everything looks so--frightfully fine? 'sides--"

"Well, what now?" she asked, a little wearily as, obedient to his pleading gesture, she sat down again.

"Why, you haven't answered my question yet, you know."

"What question?" said she, not looking at him.

"'Bout my--Uncle Porges."

"But Georgy--I--"

"You do like him--jest a bit--don't you?--please?" Small Porges was standing before her as he waited for her answer, but now, seeing how she hesitated, and avoided his eyes, he put one small hand beneath the dimple in her chin, so that she was forced to look at him.

"You do, please,--don't you?" he pleaded.

Anthea hesitated; but, after all,--_He_ was gone, and n.o.body could hear; and Small Porges was so very small; and who could resist the entreaty in his big, wistful eyes? surely not Anthea. Therefore, with a sudden gesture of abandonment, she leaned forward in his embrace, and rested her weary head against his manly, small shoulder:

"Yes!" she whispered.

"Jest as much as you like--Mr. Ca.s.silis?" he whispered back.

"Yes!"

"A--bit more--jest a teeny bit more?"

"Yes!"

"A--lot more,--lots an' lots,--oceans more?"

"Yes!"

The word was spoken, and, having uttered it, Anthea grew suddenly hot with shame, and mightily angry with herself, and would, straightway, have given the world to have it unsaid; the more so, as she felt Small Porges' clasp tighten joyfully, and, looking up, fancied she read something like triumph in his look.

She drew away from him, rather hastily, and rose to her feet.