Their placards are posted." A shrill trio of naked boys came racing and squabbling, to offer grasshoppers for sale.
"We have seen no placards," replied Heywood.
"You will to-morrow," said the owner of the lark, calmly; and squatting, became engrossed in poking a grasshopper between the brown, varnished splints of the cage.

"Maker of Music, here is your evening rice." The two companions passed on, with Flounce timidly at heel.
"You see," Heywood broke out.

"Warnings everywhere.

Now please, won't you listen to my advice?
No telling when the next ship _will_ call, but when it does--" "I can't run away." She spoke as one clinging to a former answer.

"I must stand by my dream, such as it used to be--and even such as it is." He eyed her sadly, shook his head, and said no more.