“Tired? Oh no, not in the least tired,” cried Io, as her husband helped her down the elephant-ladder; “I am only hungry after my delightful ride.”
“I’m famishing!” exclaimed Thud. “My ride has been anything but delightful. I’m as stiff as if I’d been beaten.”
“There is still time for you to return,” observed Oscar.
“I don’t want to return; but I want to ride the elephant—he’s a quiet, sensible sort of beast. Can’t the beggar girl go on the tat?”
Again the proposition met with a decided negative from Oscar.
“It seems hardly worth while to pitch the tent now,” observed Coldstream to Io; “we shall have to do so at night.”
“But not now, oh, not now! with this delightful cluster of trees to spread over us their shade and shed their golden blossoms upon us,” was the cheerful reply.
Thud ate ravenously, and then solaced himself for his fatigues and perils by sleeping on a soft, luxurious rug spread on the ground. Oscar, after his long walk, and with another before him, also stretched himself on the grass, but he did not sleep. He was listening to the voice of his Io, warbling to herself a sweet, happy lay. Io sang as the birds sing, pouring forth the rich notes as if they came spontaneously from a thankful, trustful heart:—
“The angry thunder-cloud
Pours its showers on the vine;