don, don! "When the winter is done I will come back home, To the nest swinging under and over, Swinging under and over and waiting for me, Your rover, my snow-bird, your rover-- Your lover and rover, don, don!...

don, don!" It was all very well in the mouth of the sprightly, sentimental Benoit; it was hateful foolishness in Farette.

Annette now came to her feet suddenly, her pale face showing defiance, and her big brown eyes flicking anger.

She walked up to the miller and said: "You are old and ugly and a fool.

But I do not hate you; I hate Solime, my brother, for bringing you here.