So, when she had recovered sufficient breath she let down the flashing,
golden-brown hair, sat up on the rock, lifted her pretty nose skyward,
and poured forth melody.
As she sang the tiresome old Teutonic ballad she combed away vigorously,
and every now and then surveyed her features in the mirror.
_Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten
Dass ich so traurig bin----_
she sang happily, studying her gestures with care and cheerfully flopping
her tail.
She had a very lovely voice which had been expensively cultivated. One or
two small birds listened attentively for a while, then started in to help
her out.
On the veranda of his bungalow, not very far from Northport, stood a
young man of pleasing aspect, knickerbockers, and unusually symmetrical
legs. His hands reposed in his pockets, his eyes behind their eyeglasses
were fixed dreamily upon the skies. Somebody over beyond that screen of
woods was singing very beautifully, and he liked it--at first.
However, when the unseen singer had been singing the Lorelei for an hour,
steadily, without intermission, an expression of surprise gradually
developed into uneasy astonishment upon his clean-cut and unusually
attractive features.
"That girl, whoever she is, can sing, all right," he reflected, "but why
on earth does she dope out the same old thing?"
He looked at the strip of woods, but could see nothing of the singer.
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