Dale we ought to have incense, and she'll get so excited about that
that I'll carry the candles by default. I'm going to institute other
reforms also,--I'm going to make the choir sing in tune!"

"If you will only sing as you were singing just now, nobody will
hear the rest of the choir," vowed the young man, who during her
remarks had never taken his eyes off the girl's radiant face.

Helen seemed not to notice it, for she had been arranging the
marigolds; now she was drying them with her handkerchief before
fastening them upon her dress.

"You ought to learn to sing yourself," she said while she bent her
head down at that task. "Do you care for music any more than you
used to?"

"I think I shall care for it just as I did then," was the answer,
"whenever you sing it."

"Pooh!" said Helen, looking up from her marigolds; "the idea of a
dumb poet anyway, a man who cannot sing his own songs! Don't you
know that if you could sing and make yourself gloriously happy as I
was just now, and as I mean to be some more, you could write poetry
whenever you wish."

"I can believe that," said Arthur.

"Then why haven't you ever learned? Our English poets have all been
ridiculous creatures about music, any how; I don't believe there was
one in this century, except Browning, that really knew anything