Page:An orchard princess (IA orchardprincess00barbiala).pdf/49

 With elbows out and heels run in, For lacking of a wife—O! With lips to kiss, but no lips his, He leads a sorry life—O!

"God help the povern Bachelor When heart and hair grow gray, With little joy for aught, my boy,  Save having of his way!"

"That's a silly tune," said Miles. The other blinked across at him calmly.

"There's many a true word spoken in song," he answered, solemnly. "How old are you, Miles?"

"Thirty-one, please your Honor."

"You ought to be married," said the artist, severely. "You're wasting your time."

"The deuce you say! Well, from a confirmed, disgruntled old bach like you that comes well!"

"It would do you good in more ways