"Put your fingers in your ears! If you once listen to her, you can never hear any other thing in life." She folded her arms on one of the bars of the gate, resting her chin upon them, as she looked up at him. "If you will stay with me," she hesitated, searching her mind for further inducements, "I'll tell you tales of Killybegs and the Black Bradley Brothers, who hid their sister in the 'pocheen' barrel"—she waited a minute—"and of the wedding of Peggy Menalis on the old sea-wall."

He shook his head.

"And I'll sing you a funny little song that ends like this":

She sang the tones out sweet and true as a bird. "Is she calling still?" she asked.

"Who?" Frank asked, not following.

"Duty," she answered; and as she spoke she shut her eyes tight and drew the lids together.

"Somehow, I don't hear her so plainly as I did," he returned, with a laugh.

There was another pause, filled by a glance which made his heart throb.

"And if you stayed," she went on, at length, "I could tell you how nice you are."

Frank smiled. "I don't hear her at all now—that Duty person," he said, gayly.

"You are," she hesitated, "a very nice man."

He kept his eyes averted.

"One of the nicest I have ever known."

He fastened his eyes on the Chestnut Ridge.

"The nicest of all," she said, almost in a whisper, her eyes brimming over with laughter.

At the words he sprang to the ground and stood beside her.

"And Duty?" she asked.

"I don't know whether it's Duty or not, but something tells me that there's nothing in all the world of any importance except to stay with you," he answered.

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