into the measure of the chorus, new undreamt-of and torturing words seemed to sear themselves upon my mind: —
“She cud make — some’un — more happier’n wot he is!
“Some’un — cud make — yer more happier’n wot y’are!
“Dere’s all — kines er people — an’ den dere is Miss Berrit’!
“An’ you’d oughter — git marrit — Mist’ San’s!”
Was it any wonder that I felt that the moon of my intelligence was in its last quarter?
Presently, I had an opportunity of taxing Miss Berrith with what I felt to be her undue reticence. I had been thrashing through the woods for a half-hour with no particular aim but exercise in view, when I came abruptly into a little clearing, where the level pitched sharply down in a kind of rocky terrace, and, pausing, to take breath and survey the vista thus opened to me, I was suddenly aware of a
