"Max Gordon? Yes. Was he a friend of yours?"
"No friend of mine, but of the lassie's here--
"How comes he on? I wager he's a drone,
"And never will put honey in the hive."
"No drone," said Alfred, laughing; "when I left
"He and his axe were quarr'ling with the woods
"And making forests reel--love steels a lover's arm."
O, blush that stole from Katie's swelling heart,
And with its hot rose brought the happy dew
Into her hidden eyes. "Aye, aye! is that the way?"
Said Malcolm smiling. "Who may be his love?"
"In that he is a somewhat simple soul,
"Why, I suppose he loves--" he paused, and Kate
Look'd up with two "forget-me-nots" for eyes,
With eager jewels in their centres set
Of happy, happy tears, and Alfred's heart
Became a closer marble than before.
"--Why I suppose he loves--his lawful wife."
"His wife! his wife!" said Malcolm, in a maze,
And laid his heavy hand on Katie's head;
"Did you play me false, my little lass?
"Speak and I'll pardon! Katie, lassie, what?"
"He has a wife," said Alfred, "lithe and bronz'd,
"An Indian woman, comelier than her kind;
"And on her knee a child with yellow locks,
"And lake-like eyes of mystic Indian brown.
"And so you knew him? He is doing well."
"False, false!" said Katie, lifting up her head.
"O, you know not the Max my father means!"
"He came from yonder farm-house on the slope."