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 hand. For the song had come to an undignified end in the full tide of the second verse, and—and Miss Jenny was on one side of the gate and Jim on the other.

'You were singing Rigeletto?'said Jenny.

'Yes; I was forced to sing something for very joy.'

' I have heard Roberto sing that thing; and, do you know, you sing exactly like Roberto, and look like him too!'

No answer.

'Are you Roberto?' cried Jenny, in the greatest excitement.

'Can it make any difference to you? Even so, should I not be miles beneath you still?'

Miss Jenny did not answer.

'You own that I should—and,' cried Jim, 'that's the best of it! You take me for what I am. Very well; I'll tell you what I was—I was Roberto! Does it make any difference?'

It did not—but it made them practically silent. The full moon sank lower, and peeped under the very broad brim of Jim's wideawake. That was bad taste on the moon's part.

'You were to tell me your whole history,'