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 both voices were in the running. Then it was that Jim rose to his feet—that the singers faced one another with sparkling eyes—that the whole hut rang and trembled with enchanting sounds. After that the voices sank and slackened, and died away in a soft embrace—pianissimo. And poor little Miss Jenny knew what she had done, and was instantly stunned by the buffets of a dozen different emotions.

'I've no right to know Italian; please keep it quiet, miss,' said Jim humbly, speaking first, and as though nothing much had happened, yet with a rather sad smile; 'and some day I'll—show you how the whim works.'

For at this moment Macdonald's buggy swept in front of the hut and pulled up.

And Jim said that night to his mate:

'Stumpy, you recollect what I was saying to you not so long since about wimmin? Keep clear of 'em, Stumps, my son. Never let me catch you frightening 'em no more, and getting your master mixed up in it, or I'll chuck you down the blessed whim, little Christian though you are!'