She gave him one swift glance that set his heart aglow. She slipped her hand into his proffered arm, and went on demurely in the drenched procession.
END.
FOOTNOTES:
[E] Copyright, 1884, by Frances C. Sparhawk.
THE ORIOLE.
BY CLINTON SCOLLARD.
Oriole, sitting asway
High on an emerald spray,
Why that melodious zest,
Bird of the beautiful breast,
Bright as the dawn of the day?
What are the words that you say?—
"Sing and be merry with May,
Since to be merry is best,"
Oriole?
Winter has wasted away;
Gone are the skies that were gray:
Hear the glad bird near its nest!
Come let us join in its jest,—
Join in the joy of the gay
Oriole!