"Won't somebody repeat
'There is sweet music here that softlier lies?'"
Kitty asks, letting her eyelashes fall on her sun-flushed cheeks. Her face,
as I saw it, sitting behind her in the grass, was so pretty--upside down
like the reflection of the waterfall, its colors all the more wonderfully
blended.
We did not all speak at once. Then Harshaw said, to break the silence, "I
will read it to you, if you don't mind."
"Oh, have you the book?" Kitty asked in surprise.
He went to his tent and returned with _a_ book, and sitting on the grass
where she could hear but could not see him, he began. I trembled for him;
but before he had got to the second stanza I was relieved: he could read
aloud.
"Now _there_ is a man one could live on a Snake River ranch with," I felt
like saying to Kitty. Not that I am sure that I want her to.
When he had finished,
"O rest ye, brother mariners; we will not wander more!"
Tom remarked, after a suitable silence, that it was all well enough for
Harshaw, who would be in London in six weeks, to say, "We will not wander
more!" But how about the rest of us?
Kitty sat straight up at that.
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