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"I don't know certainly, but it will be some time this week." "And of course you'd rather be dressed up and not seen, than seen when not dressed up. Right, my Fair Emmajane; so would I. Not that it makes any difference to poor me, wearing my fourth best black and white calico and expecting nobody.
"It depends upon Abijah's Latin and your pronunciation," teased Rebecca. "Go on; I will turn my eyes toward the orchard." The Fair Emmajane, looking none too old still for the "little harbor," but almost too young for the "unknown seas," gathered up her courage and recited like a tremulous parrot the boyish love letter that had so fired her youthful imagination.
The ballad was a great favorite of hers, and she counted on doing telling execution with it in the present instance by the simple subterfuge of removing the original hero and heroine, Alonzo and Imogene, and substituting Abijah the Brave and the Fair Emmajane, leaving the circumstances in the first three verses unaltered, because in truth they seemed to require no alteration.
"Then, if she can, I must sing the third verse, just to clear your reputation from the cloud cast upon it in the second," laughed her tormentor, going on with the song: "'Oh, hush these suspicions! Fair Emmajane said, 'So hurtful to love and to me! For if you be living, or if you be dead, I swear, my Abijah, that none in your stead, Shall the husband of Emmajane be!"
Her high, clear voice, quivering with merriment, floated through the windows into the still summer air: "'A warrior so bold and a maiden so bright Conversed as they sat on the green. They gazed at each other in tender delight. Abijah the Brave was the name of the knight, And the maid was the Fair Emmajane." "Rebecca Randall, stop! Somebody'll hear you!"
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