“Come!” said the soldier; again hand in hand we went blindly on.

O’Keefe was muttering to himself.

“Flower of cold fire! Don’t look into his eyes! Some joint! Damned superstition.” Then he chuckled and carolled, softly:

“Oh, mama, pin a cold rose on me;

Two young frog-men are in love with me;

Shut my eyes so I can’t see.”

“Oh, mama, pin a cold rose on me; Two young frog-men are in love with me; Shut my eyes so I can’t see.”