Sandy had not learned that unveiled glances are improper, and if his lips refrained from echoing the vireo's song, his eyes were less discreet.
"You've got a dimple in your elbow!" he cried, with the air of one discovering a continent.
"I haven't," declared she, but the dimple turned State's evidence.
The sun had gone under a cloud as the afternoon shadows began to lengthen, and a light tenderer than sunlight and warmer than moonlight fell across the river.

The water slipped over the stones behind them with a pleasant swish and swirl, and the mint that was crushed by the prow of their boat gave forth an aromatic perfume.
Ever afterward the first faint odor of mint made Sandy close his eyes in a quick desire to retain the memory it recalled, to bring back the dawn of love, the first faint flush of consciousness in the girlish cheeks and the soft red lips, and the quick, uncertain breath as her heart tried not to catch beat with his own.
"Can't you sing something ?" she asked presently.

"Annette Fenton says you know all sorts of quaint old songs." "They're just the bits I remember of what me mother used to sing me in the old country." "Sing the one you like best," demanded Ruth.
Softly, with the murmur of the river ac-companying the song, he began: "Ah! The moment was sad when my love and I parted, Savourneen deelish, signan O! As I kiss'd off her tears, I was nigh broken-hearted!-- Savourneen deelish, signan O!" Ruth took her hand out of the water and looked at him with puzzled eyes.

"Where have I heard it?
On a boat somewhere, and the moon was shining.

I remember the refrain perfectly." Sandy remembered, too.