they said many kind and
comely things about the people they had met. The two women, in
particular, had been charmed out of themselves by the sight of a young
girl surrounded by her admirers; all evening, it appeared, they had been
triumphing together in the girl's innocent successes, and to this
natural and unselfish joy they gave expression in language that was
beautiful by its simplicity and truth.

Take them for all in all, few people have done my heart more good; they
seem so thoroughly entitled to happiness, and to enjoy it in so large a
measure and so free from after-thought; almost they persuaded me to be a
Jew. There was, indeed, a chink of money in their talk. They
particularly commended people who were well to do. "_He_ don't
care--ain't it?" was their highest word of commendation to an individual
fate; and here I seem to grasp the root of their philosophy--it was to
be free from care, to be free to make these Sunday wanderings, that
they so eagerly pursued after wealth; and all this carefulness was to be
careless. The fine good-humour of all three seemed to declare they had
attained their end. Yet there was the other side to it; and the
recipients of kettles perhaps cared greatly.

No sooner had they returned, than the scene of yesterday began again.
The horses were not even tied with a straw rope this time--it was not
worth while; and Kelmar disappeared into the bar, leaving them under a
tree on the other side of the road. I had to devote myself. I stood
under the shadow of that tree for, I suppose, hard upon an hour, and had
not the heart to be angry. Once some one remembered me, and brought me
out a half a tumblerful of the playful, innocuous American cocktail. I
drank it, and lo! veins of living fire ran down my leg; and then a focus
of conflagration remained seated in my stomach, not unpleasantly, for a
quarter of an hour. I love these sweet, fiery pangs, but I will not
court them. The bulk of the time I spent in repeating as much French
poetry as I could remember to the horses, who seemed to enjoy it hugely.
And now it went--

"O ma vieille Font-georges
Ou volent les rouges-gorges":

and again, to a more trampling measure:--

"Et tout tremble, Irun, Coimbre,
Santander, Almodovar,
Sitot qu'on entend le timbre
Des cymbales de Bivar."

The redbreasts and the b