"Out of wot, Nat?" inquired Mr. Kybird, uneasily.

Mr. Smith, still gazing musingly before him, appeared not to hear the
question. "Nice after the rain, ain't it?" he said, slowly.

"It's all right," said the other, shortly.

"Everything smells so fresh and sweet," continued his nature-loving
friend; "all the little dickey-birds was a-singing as if their little
'arts would break as I come along."

"I don't wonder at it," said the offended Mr. Kybird.

"And the banns go up next week," murmured the boarding-master to himself.
"Well, well."

"'Ave you got anything to say agin it?" demanded Mr. Kybird.

"Cert'nly not," replied the other. "On'y don't blame me when it's too
late; that's all."

Mr. Kybird, staring at him wrathfully, turned this dark saying over in
his mind. "Too late for wot?" he inquired.

"Ah!" said Nathan Smith, slowly. "Nice and fresh after the rain, ain't
it? As I come along all the little dickey-birds--"

"Drat the little dickey-birds," interrupted Mr. Kybird, with sudden
violence. "If you've got anything to say, why don't you say it like a
man?"