'Do you mean counting from the very beginning, or since we have grown up?'
'I don't think it's fair for you always to poke borax at me. Why don't you be serious?'
'I don't like being serious. I have been to church once already. The proper way to spend a hot Sunday is to be like chaff that the storm carrieth away——'
'What do you mean by that? Is it another parable?'
'I mean to lie in a hammock in the west veranda, and think whatever idle thoughts choose to come into your head, or read your favourite poets, or listen to a bird on a branch hard by. Do you hear that white-breasted swallow in the top of the Moreton Bay fig-tree?'
They were silent for a few minutes, and the liquid, melodious carols of the little minstrel filled the air.
'But I would much sooner listen to you than to that little rubbish,' said the young man in an emphatic tone.
'Oh, what bad taste! Wouldn't you like to know what it really feels like to float in the air like a sunbeam?' asked the girl mischievously.
'He only flies and sings for his tucker—I can get mine without that. Besides, I would sooner be on the earth near you than anywhere you could mention. Stella, it was close to this very spot I first asked you to be my wife, when we were both of an age to marry. Do you remember it?'
The girl looked at her companion with undisguised amusement.