He literally burst forth: "Three little leaves of Irish green, United on one stem, Love, truth, and valor do they mean, They form a magic gem." The Angel's eyes widened curiously and her lips parted.

A deep color swept into her cheeks.

She had intended to arouse him.

She had more than succeeded.

She was too young to know that in the effort to rouse a man, women frequently kindle fires that they neither can quench nor control.
Freckles was looking over her head now and singing that song, as it never had been sung before, for her alone; and instead of her helping him, as she had intended, he was carrying her with him on the waves of his voice, away, away into another world.