The Composer

om, the waters glimmered. Then she gave a quaint nod.

"H6 bien vogue la galere!"

He had small knowledge of French, but her compliance was unmistakable.

He helped her into the canoe; she laughed to feel into what a fragile bark she was trusting herself; and she had a little approving smile to note his balance, and the mastery of his hand as he wielded the paddle and pushed off.

Both were silent for a while. He brought her jealously away toward the extremity of the lake into a solitude of still waters, patched with dreaming lilies, bordered with overhanging willows, mirroring a glorious sky. She leant her chin on her clasped hands, and looked out across Johnny into some distance far beyond the lake horizon, her eyes dark with thought. Johnny looked at her. She did not seem to mind that. Indeed it would have required ultra sensitiveness to find objection in a gaze at once so guileless and so earnest.

Johnny was actually thinking hard wondering who she might be, whence she had c