a head-piece of mine only
dreams dreams that it cannot even set on paper for others to see."

"You've given up trying whether it can or not, seemin'ly. I never hear
tell of no verses now."

"What 's the good? But only last night, so it happens, I had a sort of a
wild feeling to get something out of myself, and I scribbled for hours
and hours and found a little morsel of a rhyme."

"Will 'e read it to me?"

He showed reluctance, but presently dragged a scrap of paper out of his,
pocket. Not a small source of trouble was his sweetheart's criticism of
his verses.

"It was the common sight of a pair of lovers walking tongue-tied, you
know. I call it 'A Devon Courting.'"

He read the trifle slowly, with that grand, rolling sea-beat of an
accent that Elizabeth once loved to hear on the lips of Raleigh and
Drake.

"Birds gived awver singin',
Flittermice was wingin',
Mists lay on the meadows--
A purty sight to see.
Down-long in the dimpsy, the dimpsy, the dimpsy,
Down-long in the dimpsy
Theer went a maid wi' me.

"Five gude mile o' walkin',
Not wan word o' talkin',
Then I axed a question
And put the same to she.
Up-long in the owl-light, the owl-light, the owl-light,
Up-long in the owl-light,
Theer corned my maid wi' me.

"But I wonder you write the common words, Clem--you who be so much tu
clever to use 'em."

"The words are well enough. They were not common once."

"Well, you knaw best. Could 'e sell such a li'l auld funny thing as that
for money?"

He shook his head.

"No; it was only the toil of making it seemed good. It is worthless."

"An' to think how long it took 'e! If you'd awnly put the time into
big-fashioned verses full of the high words you've got. But you knaw
best. Did 'e hear anything of them rhymes 'bout the auld days you sent
to Lunnon?"

"They sent them back again. I told you 't was wasting three stamps. It
's not for me, I know it. The world is full of dumb singers. Maybe I
haven't got even a pinch of the fire that _must_ break through and show
its flame, no matter what mountains the earth tumbles on it. God knows I
burn hot enough sometimes with great thoughts and wild longings for love
and for sweeter life and for you; but my fires--whether they are
soul-fires or body-fires--only burn my heart out."

She sighed and squeezed his hand, understanding little enough of what he
said.

"We must be patient. 'T is a solid thing, patience