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“And when, Mr. Carman,” she inquired, “will you bring home a daughter to your mother?”

“And when, Mrs. Spring Fragrance, do you think I should?” returned the young man.

Mrs. Spring Fragrance spread wide her fan and gazed thoughtfully over its silver edge.

“The summer moons will soon be over,” said she. “You should not wait until the grass is yellow.”

“The woodmen’s blows responsive ring,

As on the trees they fall,

And when the birds their sweet notes sing,

They to each other call.

From the dark valley comes a bird,

And seeks the lofty tree,

Ying goes its voice, and thus it cries:

‘Companion, come to me.’

The bird, although a creature small

Upon its mate depends,

And shall we men, who rank o’er all,

Not seek to have our friends?”

quoted Mr. Spring Fragrance.

Mrs. Spring Fragrance tapped his shoulder approvingly with her fan.

“I perceive,” said young Carman, “that you are both allied against my peace.”

“It is for your mother,” replied Mrs. Spring Fragrance soothingly. “She will be happy when she knows that your affections are fixed by marriage.”