e but somehow
because it seemed natural, and when the child laughed he knew he had
made a hit and kept on, singing now, not a cradle song but a man's song,
something he had not himself thought of since he heard his old
grandmother drone it between smokes, while she sat by the fire and
dreamed of times past. It was something about Malbrook--"gone to the
army"--"hope he never'll come back." And there was Tira now, within the
circle of his fascination, bending a little toward him, her eyes darker
than he had seen them for many a day, her white arms wide, as if she
invited him. He wondered how a woman with her black hair could have a
skin so white; but he never guessed the lovely arms were stretched
toward the child and not to him, and that they would have snatched the
baby but for that amazing laugh. He stopped, breathless more from his
thoughts than his gay exertion, and gave a shout.

"Here!" he cried, to Tira, in a joviality of finding her at one with him
and the day (this first prime day of spring, a day that ought to make a
person shake a leg), "you take him. Fine little chap! Set him on the
ground ag'in an' you an' me'll have a tell."

Tira took the step toward him and lifted her arms for the child. She was
glad the wild game had ended. Martin put the baby into her arms, but
instantly she felt his hands on her elbows, holding her.

"Guess that's the way to git you, ain't it?" he inquired, in jovial good
humor. "You can't scratch with the youngster between us. You can't cut
an' run. By thunder, Tira! you're as handsome as you were that day I see
you first an' followed you home? Remember? You're like"--his quick mind
saw it at a leap--"you're like this cherry tree, all a-bloom."

He bent his head to her arm, almost as white as the cherry bloom and
kissed it. A shadow dropped upon them. It was only a little sailing
cloud but it startled Tira more than the kiss; the look of the day had
changed so suddenly and as if it were changing for them alone. For there
outside was the bright affluence of spring just as it had been but over
them the warning cloud. She glanced about, in the one instant of
darkening, and on the knoll across the road saw what the kind little
cloud might have been sent to tell her. Tenney stood there, a stark
figure, watching them. Her numbness to the presence of Martin who stood
holding her broke in a throb of fear. The instant before, his lips on
her arm had been no more than the touch of a leaf tha