“Now, isn’t this glorious?” said Dick Langdon, adjusting his spectacles and spreading his hands over the warm blaze. “I believe there must be some Indian about me, for do you know, fellows, that I have often thought I should like to live this way all my life?”
Without waiting for an answer, Dick straightened up, turned his back to the fire and sung, in a clear, mellow voice:
“I’ve a home in the woods, the dark green woods,
’Neath the shade of the old oak tree,
Where the wild birds warble their songs of praise,
In tones so wild and free.
A lovely place is this home of mine—
A quiet, a dear little spot;
And over my casement the vine doth entwine,
Like an angel, to watch o’er my cot!”