e dusk we saw tigers come out of the jungle to drink.
We'd both travelled quite some, but you wouldn't have thought it. Ivy
Bower and Right Bower had just run away from school for to see the world
"so new and all."

Some honey-moons a man keeps finding out things about his wife that he
don't like--little tricks of temper and temperature; but I kept finding
out things about mine that I'd never even dared to hope for. I went
pretty near crazy with love of her. At first she was a child that had
had a wicked, cruel nightmare--and I'd happened to be about to comfort
her when she waked and to soothe her. Then she got over her scare and
began to play at matrimony, putting on little airs and dignities--just
like a child playing grown-up. Then all of a sudden it came to her, that
tremendous love that some women have for some of us dogs of men. It was
big as a storm, but it wasn't too big for her. Nothing that's noble and
generous was too big for her; nor was any way of showing her love too
little. Any little mole-hill of thoughtfulness from me was
changed--presto!--into a chain o' mountains; but she thought in
mountains and made mole-hills of 'em.

We steamed into Singapore and I showed her the old _Boldero_, that was
to be our home, laid against the Copra Wharf, waiting to be turned into
an ark. The animals weren't all collected and we had a day or two to
chase about and enjoy ourselves; but she wasn't for expensive pleasures.

"Wait," she said, "till you're a little tired of me; but now, when we're
happy just to be together walking in the dust, what's the use of
disbursing?"

"If we save till I'm tired of you," says I, "we'll be rich."

"Rich it is, then," said she, "for those who will need it more."

"But," says I, "the dictionary says that a skunk is a man that
economizes on his honey-moon."

"If you're bound to blow yourself," says she, "let's trot down to the
Hongkong-Shanghai Bank and buy some shares in something."

"But," says I, "you have no engagement ring."

"And I'm not engaged," says she. "I'm a married woman."

"You're a married child."

"My husband's arm around my waist is my ring," says she; "his heart is
my jewel."

Even if it had been broad daylight and people looking, I'd have put her
ring on her at that. But it was dark, in a park of trees and
benches--just like Central Park.

"With this ring," says I, "I thee guard from all evil."

"But there is no evil," said she. "The world's all new; it's