"That it were summer?" and there rose up in his mind, blended with fragrant foliage and the tinkling of cattle bells, shouts from the mountains, singing from the valleys, Black Water glittering in the sunshine, the gards rocking in it, and Eli coming out and sitting down, as she had done that evening long ago.
"If it were summer," said she, "and I were sitting on the hill, I really believe I could sing a song."
He laughed and asked: "What would it be about?"
"Oh, something easy, about—I do not know myself—"
"Tell me, Eli!" and he sprang up in delight; then, recollecting himself, he sat down again.
"No; not for all the world!" She laughed.
"I sang for you when you asked me."
"Yes, you did; but—no! no!"
"Eli, do you think I would make sport of your little verse?"
"No; I do not think so, Arne; but it is not anything I have made myself."