And she pushed a bit of forget-me-not in the dark hair of his breast.

“And you won’t forget me there , will you?” she kissed him on the breast, and made two bits of forget-me-not lodge one over each nipple, kissing him again.

“Make a calendar of me!” he said. He laughed, and the flowers shook from his breast.

“Wait a bit!” he said.

He rose, and opened the door of the hut. Flossie, lying in the porch, got up and looked at him.

“Ay, it’s me!” he said.

The rain had ceased. There was a wet, heavy, perfumed stillness. Evening was approaching.