the simple song became for the moment clothed in vicarious majesty.
Jim Silver felt the thrill of it, as did his companion.
"Mar'd like that," said Old Mat sentimentally. "She's same as me. She likes hymns."
The object of the enthusiasm seemed unconscious of it.
She came by at that swift pattering walk of hers—like a girl going marketing as her lovers said—amid the comments of her admirers.
"She's all right, sure!"
"Don't she nip along?"
"He looks grim, Chukkers do."
"Yes; he's for it this time."
"They've injected her—American style."