"I haven't," declared she, but the dimple turned State's evidence.

The sun had gone under a cloud as the afternoon shadows began to
lengthen, and a light tenderer than sunlight and warmer than moonlight
fell across the river. The water slipped over the stones behind them
with a pleasant swish and swirl, and the mint that was crushed by the
prow of their boat gave forth an aromatic perfume.

Ever afterward the first faint odor of mint made Sandy close his eyes
in a quick desire to retain the memory it recalled, to bring back the
dawn of love, the first faint flush of consciousness in the girlish
cheeks and the soft red lips, and the quick, uncertain breath as her
heart tried not to catch beat with his own.

"Can't you sing something?" she asked presently. "Annette Fenton says
you know all sorts of quaint old songs."

"They're just the bits I remember of what me mother used to sing me in
the old country."

"Sing the one you like best," demanded Ruth.

Softly, with the murmur of the river ac-companying the song, he began:

"Ah! The moment was sad when my love and I parted,
Savourneen deelish, signan O!
As I kiss'd off her tears, I was nigh broken-hearted!--
Savourneen deelish, signan O!"

Ruth took her hand out of the water and looked at him with puzzled
eyes. "Where have I heard it? On a boat somewhere, and the moon was
shining. I remember the refrain perfectly."

Sandy remembered, too. In a moment he felt himself an impostor and a
cheat. He had stumbled into the Enchanted Land, but he had no right to
be there. He buried his head in his hands and felt the dream-world
tottering about him.

"Are you trying to remember the second verse?" asked Ruth.

"No," said he, his head still bowed; "I'm trying to help you remember
the first one. Was it the boat ye came over from Europe in?"

"That was it!" she cried. "It was on shipboard. I was standing by the
railing one night and heard some one singing it in the steerage. I was
just a little girl, but I've never forgotten that 'Savourneen
deelish,' nor the way he sang it."

"Was it a man'?" asked Sandy, huskily.

"No," she said, half frowning in her effort to remember; "it was a
boy--a stowaway, I think. They said he had tried to steal his way in a
life-boat."

"He had!" cried Sandy, raising his head and leaning toward her. "He
stole on board with only a few shillings and a bundle of clothes. He
sneaked his way up to a life-boat and hid ther