"Be it late or early, be it late or soon,
It's I will enjoy the sweet rose in June!"

"Sing out, boys!" shouted Mark, "so the girls can hear you! It's time
they were comin' to look after us."

"Sing, yourself!" some one replied. "You can out-bellow the whole raft."

Without more ado, Mark opened his mouth and began chanting, in a
ponderous voice,--

"On yonder mountain summit
My castle you will find,
Renown'd in ann-cient historee,--
My name it's Rinardine!"

Presently, from the upper edge of the wood, several feminine voices were
heard, singing another part of the same song:--

"Beware of meeting Rinar,
All on the mountains high!"

Such a shout of fun ran over the field, that the frighted owl ceased his
hooting in the thicket. The moon stood high, and turned the night-haze
into diffused silver. Though the hollows were chill with gathering
frost, the air was still mild and dry on the hills, and the young
ladies, in their warm gowns of home-made flannel, enjoyed both the
splendor of the night and the lively emulation of the scattered
laborers.