"Rise, sweet maid, arise, arise,
Rise, sweet maid, arise, arise,
'Tis the last fair morning for thy maiden eyes,"
he sang lustily, out of his sheer joy in being alive, and was surprised to hear Dorothy's clear soprano, Margaret's pleasing contralto, and Crane's mellow tenor chime in from the adjoining room. Crane threw open the door and Seaton joined the others.
"Good morning. Dick, you sound happy," said Crane.
"Who wouldn't be? Look what's doing today," as he ardently embraced his bride-to-be. "Besides, I found some cold water this morning."
"Everyone in the palace heard you discovering it," dryly returned Crane, and the girls laughed merrily.
"It surprised me at first," admitted Seaton, "but it's great after a fellow once gets wet."
"We warmed ours a trifle," said Dorothy. "I like a cold bath myself, but not in ice-water."
All four became silent, thinking of the coming event of the day, until Crane said:
"They have ministers here, I know, and I know something of their religion, but my knowledge is rather vague. You know more about it than we do, Dick, suppose you tell us about it while we wait."
Seaton paused a moment, with an odd look on his face. As one turning the pages of an unfamiliar book of reference, he was seeking the answer to Crane's question in the vast store of Osnomian information received from Dunark. His usually ready speech came a little slowly.