"
From far ahead of them as they started again, the voices of the
singers came borne down the river; and again Miss Marty's memory
supplied the words of the song:
"The young men of our town, they might if they wo'ld--
For summer is a-comin' in to-day--
They might have built a ship and have gilded her with gold
In the merry merry morning of May."
"The young men . . . the young men . . . they might if they wo'ld."
Ah, Miss Marty, was it only the edge of the morning that heightened
the rose on your cheek by a little--a very little--as the sky paled?
And now the kingfishers were awake, and the woodlands nigh, and the
tide began to gather force as it neared the narrower winding channel.
To enter this they skirted a mud-flat, where the day, breaking over
the tree-tops and through the river mists, shone on scores upon
scores of birds gathered to await it--curlews, sandpipers, gulls in
rows like strings of jewels, here and there a heron standing sentry.
The assembly paid no heed to the passing boat.
Miss Marty gazed up at the last star fading in the blue. How clear
the morning was! How freshly scented beneath the shadow of the
woods! Her gaze descended upon the incongruous top-hat and
gold-laced livery of Scipio, touched with the morning sunshine.
She glanced around her and motioned to Cai Tamblyn to bring the boat
to shore by a grassy spit whence (as she knew) a cart-track led
alongshore through the young oak coppices to the village.
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