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"The Bachelor! The Bachelor!
Te ti de dum te de!
Whose cares are few, whose friends are true,
Whose peace holds—tra-la-le!"
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A flood of warm color rushed into
the Princess's face and a smile chased
away the expression of doubt. She
stood for a moment watching the mahl-*stick
wave and the blue smoke go
writhing up in the sunlight. And as
she looked, as though to dispel any
lingering doubt as to the identity of
the person at the easel, Bistre trotted
into sight with lolling tongue and cast
himself down at the man's feet. Prudence
took up her paint-box and
went on.
"God bless the jolly Bachelor,
Who's ever blithe and gay;
Who, when he won't, my lad, he don't,
And when he would, he"
