Martin Pippin in the Apple Orchard

by

Eleanor Farjeon

FOREWORD

I have been asked to introduce Miss Farjeon to the American public, andalthough I believe that introductions of this kind often do more harmthan good, I have consented in this case because the instance is rareenough to justify an exception. If Miss Farjeon had been a promisingyoung novelist either of the realistic or the romantic school, I shouldnot have dared to express an opinion on her work, even if I hadbelieved that she had greater gifts than the ninety-nine otherpromising young novelists who appear in the course of each decade. Butshe has a far rarer gift than any of those that go to the making of asuccessful novelist. She is one of the few who can conceive and tell afairy-tale; the only one to my knowledge--with the just possibleexceptions of James Stephens and Walter de la Mare--in my owngeneration. She has, in fact, the true gift of fancy. It has alreadybeen displayed in her verse--a form in which it is far commoner than inprose--but Martin Pippin is her first book in this kind. 

I am afraid to say too much about it for fear of prejudicing both thereviewers and the general public. My taste may not be theirs and inthis matter there is no opportunity for argument. Let me, therefore, dono more than tell the story of how the manuscript affected me. I was alittle overworked. I had been reading a great number of manuscripts inthe preceding weeks, and the mere sight of typescript was a burden tome. But before I had read five pages of Martin Pippin, I had forgottenthat it was a manuscript submitted for my judgment. I had forgotten whoI was and where I lived. I was transported into a world of sunlight, ofgay inconsequence, of emotional surprise, a world of poetry, delight, and humor. And I lived and took my joy in that rare world, until alltoo soon my reading was done. 

My most earnest wish is that there may be many minds and imaginationsamong the American people who will be able to share that pleasure withme. For every one who finds delight in this book I can claim as akindred spirit. 

J. D. Beresford. 

CONTENTS

 Foreword Introduction Prologue--Part I Part II Part III Prelude to the First Tale The First Tale: The King's Barn First Interlude The Second Tale: Young Gerard Second Interlude The Third Tale: The Mill of Dreams Third Interlude The Fourth Tale: Open Winkins Fourth Interlude The Fifth Tale: Proud Rosalind and the Hart-Royal Fifth Interlude The Sixth Tale: The Imprisoned Princess Postlude--Part I Part II Part III Part IV Epilogue Conclusion

INTRODUCTION

In Adversane in Sussex they still sing the song of The Spring-GreenLady; any fine evening, in the streets or in the meadows, you may comeupon a band of children playing the old game that is their heritage, though few of them know its origin, or even that it had one. It is tothem as the daisies in the grass and the stars in the sky. Of thesethings, and such as these, they ask no questions. But there you willstill find one child who takes the part of the Emperor's Daughter, andanother who is the Wandering Singer, and the remaining group (thereshould be no more than six in it) becomes the Spring-Green Lady, theRose-White Lady, the Apple-Gold Lady, of the three parts of the game. Often there are more than six in the group, for the true number of thedamsels who guarded their fellow in her prison is as forgotten as theirnames: Joscelyn, Jane and Jennifer, Jessica, Joyce and Joan. Forgotten, too, the name of Gillian, the lovely captive. And the Wandering Singeris to them but the Wandering Singer, not Martin Pippin the Minstrel. Worse and worse, he is even presumed to be the captive's sweetheart, who wheedles the flower, the ring, and the prison-key out of the strictvirgins for his own purposes, and flies with her at last in his shallopacross the sea, to live with her happily ever after. But this is afallacy. Martin Pippin never wheedled anything out of anybody for hisown purposes--in fact, he had none of his own. On this adventure he wasabout the business of young Robin Rue. There are further discrepancies;for the Emperor's Daughter was not an emperor's daughter, but afarmer's; nor was the Sea the sea, but a duckpond; nor--

But let us begin with the children's version, as they sing and dance iton summer days and evenings in Adversane. 

THE SINGING-GAME OF "THE SPRING-GREEN LADY"

(The Emperor's Daughter sits weeping in her Tower. Around her, withtheir backs to her, stand six maids in a ring, with joined hands. Theyare in green dresses. The Wandering Singer approaches them with hislute. )

THE WANDERING SINGER

 Lady, lady, my spring-green lady, May I come into your orchard, lady? For the leaf is now on the apple-bough And the sun is high and the lawn is shady, Lady, lady, My fair lady! O my spring-green lady!

THE LADIES

 You may not come into our orchard, singer, Because we must guard the Emperor's Daughter Who hides in her hair at the windows there With her thoughts a thousand leagues over the water, Singer, singer, Wandering singer, O my honey-sweet singer!

THE WANDERING SINGER

 Lady, lady, my spring-green lady, But will you not hear an Alba, lady? I'll play for you now neath the apple-bough And you shall dance on the lawn so shady, Lady, lady, My fair lady, O my spring-green lady!

THE LADIES

 O if you play us an Alba, singer, How can that harm the Emperor's Daughter? No word would she say though we danced all day, With her thoughts a thousand leagues over the water, Singer, singer, Wandering singer, O my honey-sweet singer!

THE WANDERING SINGER

 But if I play you an Alba, lady, Get me a boon from the Emperor's Daughter-- The flower from her hair for my heart to wear Though hers be a thousand leagues over the water, Lady, lady, My fair lady, O my spring-green lady!

THE LADIES

(They give him the flower from the hair of the Emperor's Daughter, andsing--)

 Now you may play us an Alba, singer, A dance of dawn for a spring-green lady, For the leaf is now on the apple-bough, And the sun is high and the lawn is shady, Singer, singer, Wandering singer, O my honey-sweet singer!

The Wandering Singer plays on his lute, and The Ladies break theirranks and dance. The Singer steals up behind The Emperor's Daughter, who uncovers her face and sings--)

THE EMPEROR'S DAUGHTER

 Mother, mother, my fair dead mother, They have stolen the flower from your weeping daughter!

THE WANDERING SINGER

 O dry your eyes, you shall have this other When yours is a thousand leagues over the water, Daughter, daughter, My sweet daughter! Love is not far, my daughter!

The Singer then drops a second flower into the lap of the child in themiddle, and goes away, and this ends the first part of the game. TheEmperor's Daughter is not yet released, for the key of her tower isunderstood to be still in the keeping of the dancing children. Verylikely it is bed-time by this, and mothers are calling from windows andgates, and the children must run home to their warm bread-and-milk andtheir cool sheets. But if time is still to spare, the second part ofthe game is played like this. The dancers once more encircle theirweeping comrade, and now they are gowned in white and pink. They willindicate these changes perhaps by colored ribbons, or by any flower inits season, or by imagining themselves first in green and then in rose, which is really the best way of all. Well then--

(The Ladies, in gowns of white and rose-color, stand around TheEmperor's Daughter, weeping in her Tower. To them once more comes TheWandering Singer with his lute. )

THE WANDERING SINGER

 Lady, lady, my rose-white lady, May I come into your orchard, lady? For the blossom's now on the apple-bough And the stars are near and the lawn is shady, Lady, lady, My fair lady, O my rose-white lady!

THE LADIES

 You may not come into our orchard, singer, Lest you bear a word to the Emperor's Daughter From one who was sent to banishment Away a thousand leagues over the water, Singer, singer, Wandering singer, O my honey-sweet singer!

THE WANDERING SINGER

 Lady, lady, my rose-white lady, But will you not hear a Roundel, lady? I'll play for you now neath the apple-bough And you shall trip on the lawn so shady, Lady, lady, My fair lady, O my rose-white lady!

THE LADIES

 O if you play us a Roundel, singer, How can that harm the Emperor's Daughter? She would not speak though we danced a week, With her thoughts a thousand leagues over the water, Singer, singer, Wandering singer, O my honey-sweet singer!

THE WANDERING SINGER

 But if I play you a Roundel, lady, Get me a gift from the Emperor's Daughter-- Her finger-ring for my finger bring Though she's pledged a thousand leagues over the water, Lady, lady My fair lady, O my rose-white lady!

THE LADIES

(They give him the ring from the finger of The Emperor's Daughter, andsing--)

 Now you may play us a Roundel, singer, A sunset-dance for a rose-white lady, For the blossom's now on the apple-bough, And the stars are near and the lawn is shady, Singer, singer, Wandering singer, O my honey-sweet singer!

As before, The Singer plays and The Ladies dance; and through thebroken circle The Singer comes behind The Emperor's Daughter, whouncovers her face to sing--)

THE EMPEROR'S DAUGHTER

 Mother, mother, my fair dead mother, They've stolen the ring from your heart-sick daughter. 

THE WANDERING SINGER

 O mend your heart, you shall wear this other When yours is a thousand leagues over the water, Daughter, daughter, My sweet daughter! Love is at hand, my daughter!

The third part of the game is seldom played. If it is not bed-time, ortea-time, or dinner-time, or school-time, by this time at all eventsthe players have grown weary of the game, which is tiresomely long; andmost likely they will decide to play something else, such as BerthaGentle Lady, or The Busy Lass, or Gypsy, Gypsy, Raggetty Loon!, or TheCrock of Gold, or Wayland, Shoe me my Mare!--which are all good gamesin their way, though not, like The Spring-Green Lady, native toAdversane. But I did once have the luck to hear and see The Lady playedin entirety--the children had been granted leave to play "just one moregame" before bed-time, and of course they chose the longest and playedit without missing a syllable. 

(The Ladies, in yellow dresses, stand again in a ring about TheEmperor's Daughter, and are for the last time accosted by The Singerwith his lute. )

THE WANDERING SINGER

 Lady, lady, my apple-gold lady, May I come into your orchard, lady? For the fruit is now on the apple-bough, And the moon is up and the lawn is shady, Lady, lady, My fair lady, O my apple-gold lady!

THE LADIES

 You may not come into our orchard, singer, In case you set free the Emperor's Daughter Who pines apart to follow her heart That's flown a thousand leagues over the water, Singer, singer, Wandering singer, O my honey-sweet singer!

THE WANDERING SINGER

 Lady, lady, my apple-gold lady, But will you not hear a Serena, lady? I'll play for you now neath the apple-bough And you shall dream on the lawn so shady, Lady, lady, My fair lady, O my apple-gold lady!

THE LADIES

 O if you play a Serena, singer, How can that harm the Emperor's Daughter? She would not hear though we danced a year With her heart a thousand leagues over the water, Singer, singer, Wandering singer, O my honey-sweet singer!

THE WANDERING SINGER

 But if I play a Serena, lady, Let me guard the key of the Emperor's Daughter, Lest her body should follow her heart like a swallow And fly a thousand leagues over the water, Lady, lady, My fair lady, O my apple-gold lady!

THE LADIES

(They give the key of the Tower into his hands. )

 Now you may play a Serena, singer, A dream of night for an apple-gold lady, For the fruit is now on the apple-bough And the moon is up and the lawn is shady, Singer, singer, Wandering singer, O my honey-sweet singer!

(Once more The Singer plays and The Ladies dance; but one by one theyfall asleep to the drowsy music, and then The Singer steps into thering and unlocks the Tower and kisses The Emperor's Daughter. They havethe end of the game to themselves. )

 Lover, lover, thy/my own true lover Has opened a way for the Emperor's Daughter! The dawn is the goal and the dark the cover As we sail a thousand leagues over the water-- Lover, lover, My dear lover, O my own true lover!

(The Wandering Singer and The Emperor's Daughter float a thousandleagues in his shallop and live happily ever after. I don't know whatbecomes of The Ladies. )

"Bed-time, children!"

In they go. 

You see the treatment is a trifle fanciful. But romance gathers roundan old story like lichen on an old branch. And the story of MartinPippin in the Apple-Orchard is so old now--some say a year old, somesay even two. How can the children be expected to remember?

But here's the truth of it. 

MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD

PROLOGUE

PART I

One morning in April Martin Pippin walked in the meadows nearAdversane, and there he saw a young fellow sowing a field with oatsbroadcast. So pleasant a sight was enough to arrest Martin for an hour, though less important things, such as making his living, could notoccupy him for a minute. So he leaned upon the gate, and presentlynoticed that for every handful he scattered the young man shed as manytears as seeds, and now and then he stopped his sowing altogether, andputting his face between his hands sobbed bitterly. When this hadhappened three or four times, Martin hailed the youth, who was thenfairly close to the gate. 

"Young master!" said he. "The baker of this crop will want no salt tohis baking, and that's flat. "

The young man dropped his hands and turned his brown and tear-stainedcountenance upon the Minstrel. He was so young a man that he wanted hisbeard. 

"They who taste of my sorrow, " he replied, "will have no stomach forbread. "

And with that he fell anew to his sowing and sighing, and passed up thefield. 

When he came down again Martin observed, "It must be a very bittersorrow that will put a man off his dinner. "

"It is the bitterest, " said the youth, and went his way. 

At his next coming Martin inquired, "What is the name of your sorrow?"

"Love, " said the youth. By now he was somewhat distant from the gatewhen he came abreast of it, and Martin Pippin did not catch the word. So he called louder:

"What?"

"Love!" shouted the youth. His voice cracked on it. He appearedslightly annoyed. Martin chewed a grass and watched him up and down themeadow. 

At the right moment he bellowed:

"I was never yet put off my feed by love. "

"Then, " roared the youth, "you have never loved. "

At this Martin jumped over the gate and ran along the furrow behind theboy. 

"I have loved, " he vowed, "as many times as I have tuned lute-strings. "

"Then, " said the youth, not turning his head, "you have never loved invain. "

"Always, thank God!" said Martin fervently. 

The youth, whose name was Robin Rue, suddenly dropped all his seed inone heap, flung up his arms, and, "Alas!" he cried. "Oh, Gillian! Gillian!" And began to sob more heavilythan ever. 

"Tell me your trouble, " said the Minstrel kindly. 

"Sir, " said the youth, "I do not know your name, and your clothes arevery tattered. But you are the first who has cared whether or no myheart should break since my lovely Gillian was locked with six keysinto her father's Well-House, and six young milkmaids, sworn virginsand man-haters all, to keep the keys. "

"The thirsty, " said Martin, "make little of padlocks when within arope's length of water. "

"But, sir, " continued the youth earnestly, "this Well-House is set inthe midst of an Apple-Orchard enclosed in a hawthorn hedge full sixfeet high, and no entrance thereto but one small green wicket, boltedon the inner side. "

"Indeed?" said Martin. 

"And worse to come. The length of the hedge there is a great duckpond, nine yards broad, and three wild ducks swimming on it. Alas!" he cried, "I shall never see my lovely girl again!"

"Love is a mighty power, " said Martin Pippin, "but there are doubtlessthings it cannot do. "

"I ask so little, " sighed Robin Rue. "Only to send her a primrose forher hair-band, and have again whatever flower she wears there now. "

"Would this really content you?" said Martin Pippin. 

"I would then consent to live, " swore Robin Rue, "long enough at allevents to make an end of my sowing. "

"Well, that would be something, " said Martin cheerfully, "for fieldsmust not go fallow that are appointed to bear. Direct me to yourGillian's Apple-Orchard. "

"It is useless, " Robin said. "For even if you could cross the duckpond, and evade the ducks, and compass the green gate, my sweetheart'sfather's milkmaids are not to be come over by any man; and they watchthe Well-House day and night. "

"Yet direct me to the orchard, " repeated Martin Pippin, and thrummedhis lute a little. 

"Oh, sir, " said Robin anxiously, "I must warn you that it is a long andweary way, it may be as much as two mile by the road. " And he lookeddisconsolately at the Minstrel, as though in fear that he would bediscouraged from the adventure. 

"It can but be attempted, " answered Martin, "and now tell me onlywhether I go north or south as the road runs. "

"Gillman the farmer, her father, " said Robin Rue, "has moreover a verybig stick--"

"Heaven help us!" cried Martin, and took to his heels. 

"That ends it!" sighed the sorry lover. 

"At least let us make a beginning!" quoth Martin Pippin. 

He leaped the gate, mocked at a cuckoo, plucked a primrose, and wentsinging up the road. 

Robin Rue resumed his sowing and his tears. 

"Maids, " said Joscelyn, "what is this coming across the duckpond?"

"It is a man, " said little Joan. 

The six girls came running and crowding to the wicket, standinga-tiptoe and peeping between each other's sunbonnets. Their sunbonnetsand their gowns were as green as lettuce-leaves. 

"Is he coming on a raft?" asked Jessica, who stood behind. 

"No, " said Jane, "he is coming on his two feet. He has taken off hisshoes, but I fear his breeches will suffer. "

"He is giving bread to the ducks, " said Jennifer. 

"He has a lute on his back, " said Joyce. 

"Man!" cried Joscelyn, who was the tallest and the sternest of themilkmaids, "go away at once!"

Martin Pippin was by now within arm's-length of the green gate. Helooked with pleasure at the six virgins fluttering in their greengowns, and peeping bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked under their greenbonnets. Beyond them he saw the forbidden orchard, with cuckoo-flowerand primrose, daffodil and celandine, silver windflower and sweetviolets blue and white, spangling the gay grass. The twistedapple-trees were in young leaf. 

"Go away!" cried all the milkmaids in a breath. "Go away!"

"My green maidens, " said Martin, "may I not come into your orchard? Thesun is up, and the shadow lies fresh on the grass. Let me in to rest alittle, dear maidens--if maidens indeed you be, and not six leafletsblown from the apple-branches. "

"You cannot come in, " said Joscelyn, "because we are guarding ourmaster's daughter, who sits yonder weeping in the Well-House. "

"That is a noble and a tender duty, " said Martin. "From what do youguard her?"

The milkmaids looked primly at one another, and little Joan said, "Itis a secret. "

Martin: I will ask no more. And what do you do all day long?

Joyce: Nothing, and it is very dull. 

Martin: It must be still duller for your master's daughter. 

Joan: Oh, no, she has her thoughts to play with. 

Martin: And what of your thoughts?

Joscelyn: We have no thoughts. I should think not indeed!

Martin: I beg your pardon. But since you find the hours so tedious, will you not let me sing and play to you upon my lute? I will sing youa song for a spring morning, and you shall dance in the grass like anyleaf in the wind. 

Jane: I think there can be no harm in that. 

Jessica: It can't matter a straw to Gillian. 

Joyce: She would not look up from her thoughts though we footed it allday. 

Joscelyn: So long as he is on one side of the gate--

Jennifer: --and we on the other. 

"I love to dance, " said little Joan. 

"Man!" cried the milkmaids in a breath, "play and sing to us!"

"Oh, maidens, " answered Martin merrily, "every tune deserves its fee. But don't look so troubled--my hire shall be of the lightest. Let mesee! You shall fetch me the flower from the hair of your littlemistress who sits weeping on the coping with her face hidden in hershining locks. "

At this the milkmaids clapped their hands, and little Joan, running tothe Well-House, with a touch like thistledown drew from the weeper'syellow hair a yellow primrose. She brought it to the gate and laid itin Martin's hand. 

"Now you will play for us, won't you?" said she. "A dance for aspring-morning when the leaves dance on the apple-trees. "

Then Martin tuned his lute and played and sang as follows, while thegirls took hands and danced in a green chain among the twisty trees. 

 The green leaf dances now, The green leaf dances now, The green leaf with its tilted wings Dances on the bough, And every rustling air Says, I've caught you, caught you, Leaf with tilted wings, Caught you in a snare! Whose snare? Spring's, That bound you to the bough Where you dance now, Dance, but cannot fly, For all your tilted wings Pointing to the sky; Where like martins you would dart But for Spring's delicious art That caught you to the bough, Caught, yet left you free To dance if not to fly--oh see! As you are dancing now, Dancing on the bough, Dancing on the bough, Dancing with your tilted wings On the apple-bough. 

Now as Martin sang and the milkmaids danced, it seemed that Gillian inher prison heard and saw nothing except the music and the movement ofher sorrows. But presently she raised her hand and touched herhair-band, and then she lifted up the fairest face Martin had everseen, so that he needs must see it nearer; and he took the green gatein one stride, and the green dancers never observed him. Then Gillian'stender mouth parted like an opening quince-blossom, and--

"Oh, Mother, Mother!" she said, "if you had only lived they would nothave stolen the flower from my hair while I sat weeping. "

Above her head a whispering voice made answer, "Oh, Daughter, Daughter, dry your sweet eyes. You shall wear this other flower when yours isgone over the duckpond to Adversane. "

And lo! A second primrose dropped out of the skies into her lap. Andthat day the lovely Gillian wept no more. 

PART II

It happened that on an afternoon in May Martin Pippin passed againthrough Adversane, and as he passed he thought, "Now certainly I havebeen here before, " but he could not remember when or how, for a fullmonth had run under the bridges of time since then, and man's memory isnot infinite. 

But in walking by a certain garden he heard a sound of sobbing; andcuriosity, of which he was largely made, caused him to climb the oldbrick wall that he might discover the cause. What he saw from his perchwas a garden laid out in neat plots between grassy walks edged withdouble daisies, red, white and pink, or bordered with sweet herbs, orwith lavender and wallflower; and here and there were cordons offruit-trees, apple, plum and cherry, and in a sunny corner a clump offlowering currant heavy with humming bees; and against the inner wallsflat pear-trees stretched their long straight lines, like music-staveswhereon a lovely melody was written in notes of snow. And in the midstof all this stood a very young man with a face as brown as a berry. Hewas spraying the cordons with quassia-water. But whenever he filled hissyringe he wept so many tears above the bucket that it was always fullto the brim. 

When he had watched this happen several times, Martin hailed the youngman. 

"Young master!" said Martin, "the eater of your plums will need sugarthereto, and that's flat. "

The young man turned his eyes upward. 

"There is not sugar enough in all the world, " he answered, "to sweetenthe fruits that are watered by my sorrows. "

"Then here is a waste of good quassia, " said Martin, "and I think yourname is Robin Rue. "

"It is, " said Robin, "and you are Martin Pippin, to whom I owe morethan to any man living. But the primrose you brought me is dead thisfive-and-twenty days. "

"And what of your Gillian?"

"Alas! How can I tell what of her? She is where she was and I am herewhere I am. What will become of me?"

"There are riddles without answers, " observed Martin. 

"I can answer this one. I shall fall into a decline and die. And yet Iask no more than to send her a ring to wear on her finger, and have herring to wear on mine. "

"Would this satisfy you?" asked Martin. 

"I could then cling to life, " said Robin Rue, "long enough at least tofinish my spraying. "

"We may praise God as much for small mercies, " said Martin pleasantly, "as for great ones; and trees must not be blighted that were appointedto fruit. "

So saying, he unstraddled his legs and dropped into the road, tickledan armadillo with his toe, twirled the silver ring on his finger, andwent away singing. 

"Maidens, " said Joscelyn, "here is that man come again. "

Maids' memories are longer than men's. At all events, the milkmaidsknew instantly to whom she referred, although nearly a month had passedsince his coming. 

"Has he his lute with him?" asked little Joan. 

"He has. And he is giving cake to the ducks; they take it from hishand. Man, go away immediately!"

Martin Pippin propped his elbows on the little gate, and looked smilinginto the orchard, all pink and white blossom. The trees that had beenlongest in bloom were white cascades of flower, others there wereflushed like the cheek of a sleeping child, and some were still studdedwith rose-red buds. The grass was high and full of spotted orchis, andtall wild parsley spread its nets of lace almost abreast of the lowestboughs of blossom. So that the milkmaids stood embraced in meetingflowers, waist-deep in the orchard growth: all gowned in pink lawn withloose white sleeves, and their faces flushed it may have been with thepink linings to their white bonnets, or with the evening rose in thewest, or with I know not what. 

"Go away!" they cried at the intruder. "Go away!"

"My rose-white maidens, " said Martin, "will you not let me into yourorchard? For the stars are rising with the dew, and the hour is atpeace. Let me in to rest, dear maidens--if maidens indeed you be, andnot six blossoms fallen from the apple-boughs. "

"You cannot come in, " said Joscelyn, "lest you are the bearer of a wordto our master's daughter who sits weeping in the Well-House. "

"From whom should I bear her a word?" asked Martin Pippin in greatamazement. 

The milkmaids cast down their eyes, and little Joan said, "It is asecret. "

Martin: I will inquire no further. But shall I not play a little on mylute? It is as good an hour for song and dance as any other, and I willmake a tune for a sunny May evening, and you shall sway among thegrasses like any flower on the bough. 

Jane: In my opinion that can hurt nobody. 

Jessica: Gillian wouldn't care two pins. 

Joyce: She would utter no word though we tripped it for a week. 

Joscelyn: So long as he keeps to his side of the hedge--

Jennifer: --and we to ours. 

"Oh, I do love to dance!" cried little Joan. 

"Man!" they commanded him as one voice, "play and sing to us instantly!"

"My pretty ones, " laughed Martin Pippin, "songs are as light as air, but worth more than pearls and diamonds. What will you give me for mysong? Wait, now!--I have it. You shall fetch me the ring from thefinger of your little mistress, who sits hidden beneath the fountain ofher own bright tresses. "

The milkmaids at these words nodded gayly, and little Joan tip-toed tothe Well-House, and slipped the ring from Gillian's finger as lightlyas a daisy may be slipped from its fellow on the chain. Then she ranwith it to the gate, and Martin held up his little finger, and she putit on, saying:

"Now you will keep your promise, honey-sweet singer, and play a dancefor a May evening when the blossom blows for happiness on theapple-trees. "

So Martin Pippin tuned his lute and sang what follows, while the girlsfloated in ones and twos among the orchard grass:

 A-floating, a-floating, what saw I a-floating? Fairy ships rocking with pink sails and white Smoothly as swans on a river of light Saw I a-floating? No, it was apple-bloom, rosy and fair, Softly obeying the nod of the air I saw a-floating. A-floating, a-floating, what saw I a-floating? White clouds at eventide blown to and fro Lightly as bubbles the cherubim blow, Saw I a-floating? No, it was pretty girls gowned like a flower Blown in a ring round their own apple-bower I saw a-floating. Or was it my dream, my dream only--who knows?-- As frail as a snowflake, as flushed as a rose, I saw a-floating? A-floating, a-floating, what saw I a-floating?

Martin sang, and the milkmaids danced, and Gillian in her prison onlyheard the dropping of her tears, and only saw the rainbow prisms on herlashes. But presently she laid her cheek against her hand, and missed atouch she knew; and on that revealed her lovely face so full of woe, that Martin needs must comfort her or weep himself. And the dancerstook no heed when he made one step across the gate and went under thetrees to the Well-House. 

"Oh, Mother, Mother!" sighed Gillian, "if you had only lived they wouldnever have stolen the ring from my finger while I sat heartsick. "

Above her head a whispering voice replied, "Oh, Daughter, Daughter, mend your dear heart! You shall wear this other ring when yours is goneover the duckpond to Adversane. "

Oh wonder! Out of the very heavens fell a silver ring into her bosom. And if that night Gillian slept not, neither wept she. 

PART III

In the beginning of the first week in September Martin Pippin came oncemore to Adversane, and he said to himself when he saw it:

"Now this is the prettiest hamlet I ever had the luck to light on in mywanderings. And if chance or fortune will, I shall some day come thisway again. "

While he was thinking these thoughts, his ears were assailed by groansand sighs, so that he wet his finger and held it up to find which waythe wind blew on this burning day of blue and gold. But no wind coming, he sought some other agency for these gusts, and discovered it in awheat-field where was a young fellow stooking sheaves. A very youngfellow he was, turned copper by the sun; and as he stooked he heavedsuch sighs that for every shock he stooked two tumbled at his feet. When Martin had seen this happen more than once he called aloud to theharvester. 

"Young master!" said Martin, "the mill that grinds your grain will needno wind to its sails, and that's flat. "

The young man looked up from his labors to reply. 

"There are no mill-stones in all the world, " said he, "strong enough togrind the grain of my grief. "

"Then I would save these gales till they may be put to more use, "remarked Martin, "and if I remember rightly you wear a lady's ring onyour little finger, though I cannot remember her name or yours. "

"Her heavenly name is Gillian, " said the youth, "and mine is Robin Rue. "

"And are you wedded yet?" asked Martin. 

"Wedded?" he cried. "Have you forgotten that she is locked with sixkeys inside her father's Well-House?"

"But this was long ago, " said Martin. "Is she there yet?"

"She is, " said Robin Rue, "and here am I. "

"Well, all states must end some time, " said Martin Pippin. 

"Even life, " sighed Robin, "and therefore before the month is out Ishall wilt and be laid in the earth. "

"That would be a pity, " said Martin. "Can nothing save you?"

"Nothing but the keys to her prison, and they are in the keeping ofthem that will not give them up. "

"I remember, " said Martin. "Six milkmaids. "

"With hearts of flint!" cried Robin. 

"Sparks may be struck from flint, " said Martin, in his inconsequentialway. "But tell me, if Gillian's prison were indeed unlocked, would allbe well with you for ever?"

"Oh, " said Robin Rue, "if her prison were unlocked and the prisoner inthese arms, this wheat should be flour for a wedding-cake. "

"It is the best of all cakes, " said Martin Pippin, "and the grain thatis destined thereto must not rot in the husk. "

With these words he strolled out of the cornfield, gathered a harebell, rang it so loudly in the ear of a passing rabbit that it is said neverto have stopped running till it found itself in France, and went up theroad humming and thrumming his lute. 

On the road he met a Gypsy. 

"Maids, " said Joscelyn, "somebody is at the gate. "

The milkmaids, who were eating apples, came clustering about herinstantly. 

"Is it a man?" asked little Joan, pausing between her bites. 

"No, thank all our stars, " said Joscelyn, "it is a gypsy. "

The milkmaids withdrew, their fears allayed. Joan bit her apple andsaid, "It puckers my mouth. "

Joyce: Mine's sour. 

Jessica: Mine's hard. 

Jane: Mine's bruised. 

Jennifer: There's a maggot in mine. 

They threw their apples away. 

"Who'll buy trinkets?" said the Gypsy at the gate. 

"What have you to sell?" asked Joscelyn. 

"Knick-knacks and gew-gaws of all sorts. Rings and ribbons, mirrors andbeads, silken shoe-strings and colored lacings, sweetmeats and scentsand gilded pins; silver buckles, belts and bracelets, gay kerchiefs, spotted ones, striped ones; ivory bobbins, sprigs of coral, andsea-shells from far places, they'll murmur you secrets o' nights if youput em under your pillow; here are patterns for patchwork, and here'sa sheet of ballads, and here's a pack of cards for telling fortunes. What will ye buy? A dream-book, a crystal, a charmed powder that shallmake you see your sweetheart in the dark?"

"Oh!" six voices cried in one. 

"Or this other powder shall charm him to love you, if he love you not?"

"Fie!" exclaimed Joscelyn severely. "We want no love-charms. "

"I warrant you!" laughed the Gypsy. "What will ye buy?"

Jennifer: I'll have this flasket of scent. 

Joyce: I'll have this looking-glass. 

Jessica: And I this necklet of beads. 

Jane: A pair of shoe-buckles, if you please. 

Joan: This bunch of ribbons for me. 

Joscelyn: Have you a corset-lace of yellow silk?

The Gypsy: Here's for you and you. No love-charms, no. Here's for youand you and you. I warrant, no love-charms! Ay, I've a yellow lace, twill keep you in as tight as jealousy, my pretty. Out upon alllove-charms!--And what will she have that sits crouched in theWell-House?

"Oh, Gypsy!" cried Joscelyn, "have you among your charms one that willmake a maid fall OUT of love?"

"Nay, nay, " said the Gypsy, growing suddenly grave. "That is a charmtakes more black art than I am mistress of. I know indeed of but oneremedy. Is the case so bad?"

"She has been shut into the Well-House to cure her of loving, " saidJoscelyn, "and in six months she has scarcely ceased to weep, and hasnever uttered a word. If you know the physic that shall heal her of herfoolishness, I pray you tell us of it. For it is extremely dull in thisorchard, with nothing to do except watch the changes of theapple-trees, and meanwhile the farmstead lacks water and milk, therebeing no entry to the well nor maids to milk the cows. Daily comes OldGillman to tell us how, from morning till night, he is forced to drinkcider and ale, and so the farm goes to rack and ruin, and all becausehe has a lovesick daughter. What is your remedy? He would give you goldand silver for it. "

"I do not know if it can be bought, " said the Gypsy, "I do not evenknow if it exists. But when a maid broods too much on her ownlove-tale, the like weapons only will vanquish her thoughts. Nothingbut a new love-tale will overcome her broodings, and where the case isobstinate one only will not suffice. You say she has pined upon herlove six months. Let her be told six brand-new love-tales, tales whichno woman ever heard before, and I think she will be cured. Thesecounter-poisons will so work in her that little by little her own casewill be obliterated from her blood. But for my part I doubt whetherthere be six untold love-tales left on earth, and if there be I knownot who keeps them buttoned under his jacket. "

"Alas!" cried Joscelyn, "then we must stay here for ever until we die. "

"It looks very like it, " said the Gypsy, "and my wares are a pennyapiece. "

So saying she collected her moneys and withdrew, and for all I know wasnever seen again by man, woman, or child. 

"My apple-gold maidens, " said Martin Pippin, leaning on the gate in thebright night, "may I come into your orchard?"

As he addressed them he gazed with delight at the enclosure. By thelight of the Queen Moon, now at her full in heaven, he saw that theorchard grass was clipped, and patterned with small clover, but againstthe hedges rose wild banks of meadow-sweet and yarrow and the jollyragwort, and briony with its heart-shaped leaf and berry as red asheart's-blood made a bower above them all. And all the apple-trees weredecked with little golden moons hanging in clusters on the droopingboughs, and glimmering in the recesses of the leaves. Under each tree aring of windfalls lay in the grass. But prettiest sight of all was thering of girls in yellow gowns and caps, that lay around the midmostapple-tree like fallen fruit. 

"Dear maidens, " pleaded the Minstrel, "let me come in. "

At the sound of his voice the six milkmaids rose up in the grass likegolden fountains. And fountains indeed they were, for their eyes wererunning over with tears. 

"We did not hear you coming, " said little Joan. 

"Go away at once!" commanded Joscelyn. 

Then all the girls cried "Go away!" together. 

"My apple-gold maidens, " said Martin Pippin, "I entreat you to let mein. For the moon is up, and it is time to be sleeping or waking, insweet company. So I beseech you to admit me, dear maidens--if maidensin truth you be, and not six apples bobbed off their stems. "

"You may not come in, " said Joscelyn, "in case you should release ourmaster's daughter, who sits in the Well-House pining to follow herheart. "

"Why, whither would she follow it?" asked Martin much surprised. 

The milkmaids turned their faces away, and little Joan murmured, "It isa secret. "

Martin: I will put chains on my thoughts. But shall I not sing you atune you may dance to? I will make you a song for an August night, whenthe moon rocks her way up and down the cradle of the sky, and you shallrock on earth like any apple on the twig. 

Jane: For my part, I see nothing against it. 

Jessica: Gillian won't care little apples. 

Joyce: She would not hear though we danced the round of the year. 

Joscelyn: So long as he does not come in--

Jennifer: --or we go out. 

"Oh, let us dance, do let us dance!" cried little Joan. 

"Man, " they importuned him in a single breath, "play for us and singfor us, as quickly as you can!"

"Sweet ones, " said Martin Pippin, shaking his head, "songs must be paidfor. And yet I do not know what to ask you, some trifle in kind itshould be. Why, now, I have it! If I give you the keys to the dance, give me the keys to your little mistress, that I may keep her securefrom following her heart like a bird of passage, whither it's nobusiness of mine to ask. "

At this request, made so gayly and so carelessly, the girls all lookedat one another in consternation. Then Joscelyn drew herself up to fullheight, and pointing with her arm straight across the duckpond shecried:

"Minstrel, begone!"

And the six girls, turning their backs upon him, moved away into theshadows of the moon. 

"Well-a-day!" sighed Martin Pippin, "how a fool may trip and never knowit till his nose hits the earth. I will sing to you for nothing. "

But the girls did not answer. 

Then Martin touched his lute and sang as follows, so softly and sweetlythat they, not regarding, hardly knew the sound of his song from theheavy-sweet scent of the ungathered apples over their heads. 

 Toss me your golden ball, laughing maid, lovely maid, Lovely maid, laughing maid, toss me your ball! I'll catch it and throw it, and hide it and show it, And spin it to heaven and not let it fall. Boy, run away with you! I will not play with you-- This is no ball! We are too old to be playing at ball. 

 Toss me the golden sun, laughing maid, lovely maid, Lovely maid, laughing maid, toss me the sun! I'll wheel it, I'll whirl it, I'll twist it and twirl it Till cocks crow at midnight and day breaks at one. Boy, I'll not sport with you! Boy, to be short with you, This is no sun! We are too young to play tricks with the sun. 

 Toss me your golden toy, laughing maid, lovely maid, Lovely maid, laughing maid, toss me your toy! It's all one to me, girl, whatever it be, girl So long as it's round that's enough for a boy. Boy, come and catch it then!--there now! Don't snatch it then! Here comes your toy! Apples were made for a girl and a boy. 

There was no sound or movement from the girls in the shadows. 

"Farewell, then, " said Martin. "I must carry my tunes and taleselsewhere. "

Like pebbles from a catapult the milkmaids shot to the gate. 

"Tales?" cried Jessica. 

"Do you know tales?" exclaimed Jennifer. 

"What kind of tales?" demanded Jane. 

"Love-tales?" panted Joyce. 

"Six of them?" urged little Joan. 

"A thousand!" said Martin Pippin. 

Joscelyn's hand lay on the bolt. 

"Man, " she said, "come in. "

She opened the wicket, and Martin Pippin walked into the Apple Orchard. 

PRELUDE TO THE FIRST TALE

"And now, " said Martin Pippin, "what exactly do you require of me?"

"If you please, " said little Joan, "you are to tell us a love-storythat has never been told before. "

"But we have reason to fear, " added Jane, "that there is no such storyleft in all the world. "

"There you are wrong, " said Martin, "for on the contrary no love-storyhas ever been told twice. I never heard any tale of lovers that did notseem to me as new as the world on its first morning. I am glad you havea taste for love-stories. "

"We have not, " said Joscelyn, very quickly. 

"No, indeed!" cried her five fellows. 

"Then shall it be some other kind of tale?"

"No other kind will do, " said Joscelyn, still more quickly. 

"We must all bear our burdens, " said Martin; "so let us make ourselvesas happy as we can in an apple-tree, and when the tale becomes toolittle to your taste you shall munch apples and forget it. "

"Will you sit in the swing?" asked Jennifer, pointing to the midmostapple-tree, which was the largest in the orchard, and had a littleswing hanging from a long upper limb. 

Close to the apple-tree, a branch of which indeed brushed its mossedpent-roof, stood the Well-House. It had a round wall of old red bricksgrowing green with time, and a pillar of oak rose up at each point ofthe compass to support the pent. Between the south and west pillars wasa green door, held by a rusty chain and a padlock with six keyholes. The little circular court within was flagged, and three rings of wornsteps led to the well-head and the green wooden bucket inverted on thecoping. Between the cracks of the flags sprang grass, and pink-starredcentaury, and even a trail of mallow sprawled over the steps whereGillian lay in tears, as though to wreathe her head with its stripedblooms. 

"What luck you have, " said Martin, "not only to live in an orchard, butto have a swing to swing in. "

"It is our one diversion, " said Joyce, "except when you come to play tous. "

"It is delightful to swing, " said little Joan invitingly. 

"So it is, " agreed Martin, "and I beg you to sit in the swing while Isit on this bough, and when I see your eyelids growing heavy with mytale I will start the rope and rouse you--thus!"

So saying, he lifted the littlest milkmaid lightly into her perch andgave her so vigorous a push that she cried out with delight, as at onemoment the point of her shoe cleared the door of the Well-House, and atthe next her heels were up among the apples. Then Martin ensconcedhimself upon a lower limb of the tree, which had a mossy cushionagainst the trunk as though nature or time had designed it for a tellerof tales. The milkmaids sprang quickly into other branches around him, shaking a hail of sweet apples about his head. What he could he caught, and dropped into the swinger's lap, whence from time to time he helpedhimself; and she did likewise. 

"Begin, " said Joscelyn. 

"A thought has occurred to me, " said Martin Pippin, "and it is that mytale may disturb your master's daughter. "

"We desire it to, " said Joscelyn looking down on the Well-House and theyellow head of Gillian. "The fear is rather that you may not arouse herattention, so I hope that when you speak you will speak clearly. For totell you the truth we have heard that nothing but six love-tales willwash from her mind the image of--"

"Of whom?" inquired Martin as she paused. 

"It does not matter whom, " said Joscelyn, "but I think the time is ripeto confess to you that the silly damsel is in love. "

"The world is so full of wonders, " said Martin Pippin, "that one ceasesto be surprised at almost anything. "

"Is love then, " said little Joan, "so rare a thing in the world?"

"The rarest of all things, " answered Martin, looking gravely into hereyes. "It is as rare as flowers in Spring. "

"I am glad of that, " said Joan; while Joscelyn objected, "But nothingis commoner. "

"Do you think so?" said Martin. "Perhaps you are right. Yet Springafter Spring the flowers quicken my heart as though I were perceivingthem for the first time in my life--yes, even the very commonest ofthem. "

"What do you call the commonest?" asked Jessica. 

"Could any be commoner, " said Martin, "than Robin-run-by-the-Wall? YetI think he has touched many a heart in his day. "

And fixing his eyes on the weeper in the Well-House, Martin Pippintried his lute and sang this song. 

 Run by the wall, Robin, Run by the wall! You might hear a secret A lady once let fall. If you hear her secret Tell it in my ear, And I'll whisper you another For her to overhear. 

The weeper stirred very slightly. 

"The song makes little sense, " said Joscelyn, "and would make none atall if you called this flower by its right name of Jack-in-the-Hedge. "

"Let us do so, " said Martin readily, "and then the nonsense will runthis way as easily as that. "

 Hide in the hedge, Jack, Hide in the hedge! You might catch a letter Dropped over the edge. If you catch her letter Slip it in my hand, And I'll write another That she'll understand. 

As he concluded, Gillian lifted up her head, and putting her hair fromher face gazed over the duckpond beyond the green wicket. 

"The lady, " said Joscelyn with some impatience, "who understand theletter must outdo me in wits, for I find no understanding whatever inyour silly song. However, it seems to have brought our master'sdaughter out of her lethargy, and the moment is favorable to your tale. Therefore without further ado I beg you to begin. "

"I will, " said Martin, "and on my part entreat your forbearance while Irelate to you the story of The King's Barn. "

THE KING'S BARN

There was once, dear maidens, a King in Sussex of whose kingdom andpossessions nothing remained but a single Barn and a change of linen. It was no fault of his. He was a very young king when he came into hisheritage, and it was already dwindled to these proportions. Once hisfathers had owned a beautiful city on the banks of the Adur, and allthe lands to the north and the west were theirs, for a matter ofseveral miles indeed, including many strange things that were on them:such as the Wapping Thorp, the Huddle Stone, the Bush Hovel where aWise Woman lived, and the Guess Gate; likewise those two communitiesknown as the Doves and the Hawking Sopers, whose ways of life were asopposite as the Poles. The Doves were simple men, and religious; butthe Hawking Sopers were indeed a wild and rowdy crew, and it is saidthat the King's father had hunted and drunk with them until his estateswere gambled away and his affairs decayed of neglect, and nothing wasleft at last but the solitary Barn which marked the northern boundaryof his possessions. And here, when his father was dead, our young Kingsat on a tussock of hay with his golden crown on his head and hisgolden scepter in his hand, and ate bread and cheese thrice a day, throwing the rind to the rats and the crumbs to the swallows. His namewas William, and beyond the rats and the swallows he had no othercompany than a nag called Pepper, whom he fed daily from the tussock hesat on. 

But at the end of a week he said:

"It is a dull life. What should a King do in a Barn?"

So saying, he pulled the last handful of hay from under him, rising upquickly before he had time to fall down, and gave it to his nag; andnext he tied up his scepter and crown with his change of linen in ablue handkerchief; and last he fetched a rope and a sack and put themon Pepper for bridle and saddle, and rode out of the Barn leaving thedoor to swing. 

"Let us go south, Pepper, " said he, "for it is warmer to ride into thesun than away from it, and so we shall visit my Father's lands thatmight have been mine. "

South they went, with the great Downs ahead of them, and who knew whatbeyond? And first they came to the Hawking Sopers, who when they sawWilliam approaching tumbled out of their dwelling with a great racket, crying to him to come and drink and play with them. 

"Not I, " said he. "For so I should lose my Barn to you, and such as itis it is a shelter, and my only one. But tell me, if you can, whatshould a King do in a Barn?"

"He should dance in it, " said they, and went laughing and singing backto their cups. 

"What sort of advice is this, Pepper?" said the King. "Shall we tryelsewhere?"

The nag whinnied with unusual vehemence, and the King, taking this foryea, and not observing that she limped as she went, rode on to theDoves: the gentle gray-gowned Brothers who spent their days in piousworks and their nights in meditation. Between the twelve hours oftwilight and dawn they were pledged not to utter speech, but the Kingarriving there at noon they welcomed him with kind words, and offeredhim a bowl of rice and milk. 

He thanked them, and when he had eaten and drink put to them his riddle. 

"What should a King do in a Barn?"

They answered, "He should pray in it. "

"This may be good advice, " said the King. "Pepper, should we gofurther?"

The little nag whinnied till her sides shook, which the King took, asbefore, to be an affirmative. However, because it was Sunday heremained with the Doves a day and a night, and during such time astheir lips were not sealed they urged him to become one of them, andfound a new settlement of Brothers in his Barn. He spent his night inreflection, but by morning had come to no decision. 

"To what better use could you dedicate it?" asked the Chief Brother, who was known as the Ringdove because he was the leader. 

"None that I can think of, " said the King, "but I fear I am not goodenough. "

"When you have passed our initiation, " said the Ringdove, "you will be. "

"Is it difficult?" asked William. 

"No, it is very easy, and can be accomplished within a month. You haveonly to ride south till you come to the hills, on the highest of whichyou will see a Ring of beech-trees. Under the hills lies the littlevillage of Washington, and there you may dwell in comfort through theweek. But on each of the four Saturdays of the lunar month you mustmount the hill at sunset and keep a vigil among the beeches tillsunrise. And you must see that these Saturdays occur on the fourthquarters of the moon--once when she is in her crescent, once at thehalf, again at the full, and lastly when she is waning. "

"And is this all?" said William. "It sounds very simple. "

"Not quite all, but the rest is nearly as simple. You have but toobserve four rules. First, to tell no living soul of your resolveduring the month of initiation. Second, to keep your vigil alwaysbetween the two great beeches in the middle of the Ring. Third, toissue forth at midnight and immerse your head in the Dewpond which lieson the hilltop to the west, and having done so to return to your watchbetween the trees. And fourth, to make no utterance on any accountwhatever from sunset to sunrise. "

"Suppose I should sneeze?" inquired the King anxiously. 

"There's no supposing about it, " said the Ringdove. "Sneezing, seeingthat your head will be extremely wet, is practically inevitable. Butthe rule applies only to such utterance as lies within human control. When the fourth vigil has been successfully accomplished, return to usfor a blessing and the gray robe of our Order. "

"But how, " asked the King, "during my vigils shall I know when midnightis due?"

"In the third quarter after eleven a bird sings. At the beginning ofits song go forth from the Ring, and at the ending plunge your headinto the Pond. For on these nights the bird sings ceaselessly forfifteen minutes, but stops at the very moment of midnight. "

"And is this really all?"

"This is all. "

"How easy it is to become good, " said William cheerfully. "I will beginat once. "

So impatient was he to become a Brother Dove--

(But here Martin Pippin broke off abruptly, and catching the rope ofthe swing in his left hand he gave it a great lurch. 

Joan: Oh! Oh! Oh!

Martin: I perceive, Mistress Joan, that you lose interest in my story. Your mouth droops. 

Joan: Oh, no! Oh, no! It is only--it is a very nice story--but--

Martin: What cannot be said aloud can frequently be whispered. 

He leaned his ear close to her mouth, and very shyly she whispered intoit. 

Joan (whispering very shyly): Why must the young King join aBrotherhood? I thought. . . This was to be a. . . Love story. 

Martin smiled and chose an apple from her lap. 

"Keep this for me, " said he, "until I ask for it; and if you are notthen satisfied, neither will I be")

So impatient (resumed Martin) was the King to enter the Brotherhood, that he abandoned his idea of visiting the Huddle Stone and the WappingThorp (which would have taken him out of his course), and, without evenwaiting to break his fast, leaped on to Pepper's back and turned herhead southwest towards the hills. And in his eagerness he failed toremark how Pepper stumbled at every second step. Before he had gone amile he came to the Guess Gate. 

Of the Guess Gate, as you may know, all men ask a question in passingthrough, and in the back-swing of the Gate it creaks an answer. Sonothing more natural than that the King, having flung the Gate open, should cry aloud once more:

"Gate, Gate! What should a King do in a Barn?"

"Now at last, " thought he, "I shall be told whether to dance or to prayin it. " And he stood listening eagerly as the Gate hung an instant onits outward journey and then began to creak home. 

"He--should--rule--in--it--he--should--rule--in--it--he--should--"squeaked the Guess Gate, and then latch clicked and it was silent. 

This disconcerted William. 

"Now I am worse off than ever, " he sighed. "Pray, Pepper, can thisadvice be bettered?"

As usual when he questioned her, the nag pricked up her ears andwhinnied so violently that he nearly fell off her back. Nevertheless, he kept Pepper's head in a beeline for Chanctonbury, never noticing howvery ill she was going, and presently crossed the great High Roadbeyond which lay the Bush Hovel. The Wise Woman was at home; from afarthe King saw her sitting outside the Hovel mending her broom with awithe from the Bush. 

"Here if anywhere, " rejoiced William, "I shall learn the truth. "

He dismounted and approached the old woman, cap in hand. 

"Wise Woman, " he said respectfully, "you know most things, but do youknow this--whether a King should dance or pray or rule in his Barn?"

"He should do all three, young man, " said the Wise Woman. 

"But--!" exclaimed William. 

"I'm busy, " snapped the Wise Woman. "You men will always be chattering, as though pots need never be stewed nor cobwebs swept. " So saying, shewent into the Hovel and slammed the door. 

"Pepper, " said the poor King, "I am at my wits' ends. Go where yourslead you. "

At this Pepper whinnied in a perfect frenzy of delight, and the Kinghad to clasp both arms round her neck to avoid tumbling off. 

Now the little nag preferred roads to beelines over copses and ditches, and she turned back and ambled along the highway so very lamely that itbecame impossible even for her preoccupied rider not to perceive thatshe had cast all her four shoes. 

"Poor beast!" he cried dismayed, "how has this happened, and where? Oh, Pepper, how could you be so careless? I have not a penny in my purse tobuy you new shoes, my poor Pepper. Do you not remember where you lostthem?"

The little nag licked her master's hand (for he had dismounted toexamine her trouble), and looked at him with great eyes full ofaffection, and then she flung up her head and whinnied louder thanever. The sound of it was like nothing so much as laughter. Then shewent on, hobbling as best she could, and the King walked by her sidewith his hand on her neck. In this way they came to a small village, and here the nag turned up a by-road and halted outside theblacksmith's forge. The smith's Lad stood within, clinking at theanvil, the smuttiest Lad smith ever had. 

"Lad!" cried the King. 

The Lad looked up from his work and came at once to the door, wipinghis hands upon his leather apron. 

"Where am I?" asked the King. 

"In the village of Washington, " said the Lad. 

"What! Under the Ring?" cried the King. 

"Yes, sir, " said the Lad. 

"A blessing on you!" said the King joyfully, and clapped his hand onthe Lad's shoulder. "Pepper, you have solved the problem and led me tomy destiny. "

"Is Pepper your nag's name?" asked the blacksmith's Lad. 

"It is, " said the King; "her only one. "

"Then she has one more name than she has shoes, " said the Lad. "Howcame she to lose them?"

"I didn't notice, " confessed the King. 

"You must have been thinking very deeply, " remarked the Lad. "Are youin love?"

"I am not quite twenty-one, " said the King. 

"I see. Do you want your nag shod?"

"I do. But I have spent my last penny. "

"Earn another then, " said the Lad. 

"I did not even earn the last one, " said the King shamefacedly. "I havenever worked in my life. "

"Why, where have you lived?" exclaimed the Lad. 

"In a Barn. "

"But one works in a Barn--"

"Stop!" cried the king, putting his fingers in his ears. "One prays ina Barn. "

"Very likely, " said the Lad, looking at him curiously. "Are you goingto pray in one?"

"Yes, " said the King. "When is the New Moon?"

"Next Saturday. "

"Hurrah!" cried the King. "That settles it. But what's to-day?"

"Monday, sir. "

"Alas!" sighed William, wondering how he should make shift to live forfive days. 

"I don't know what you mean, sir, " said the Lad. 

"I would tell you my meaning, " said the King, "but am pledged not to. "

Then the Lad said, "Let it pass. I have a proposal to make. My fatheris dead, and for two years I have worked the forge single-handed. Now Iam willing to teach you to shoe your nag with four good shoes andstrong, if you will meanwhile blow the bellows for whatever other jobscome to the forge; and if the shoes are not done by dinner-time youshall have a meal thrown in. "

The King looked at the Lad kindly. 

"I shall blow your bellows very badly, " he said, "and shoe my nag stillworse. "

Said the Lad, "You'll learn in time. "

"Not before dinner-time, I hope, " said the King, "for I am very hungry. "

"You look hungry, " said the Lad. "It's a bargain then. "

The King held out his hand, but the Lad suddenly whipped his behind hisback. "It's so dirty, sir, " he said. 

"Give it me all the same, " said the King; and they clasped hands. 

The rest of that morning the King spent in blowing the bellows, and bydinner-time not so much as the first of Pepper's hoofs was shod. For agreat deal of business came into the forge, and there was no time for alesson. So the King and the Lad took their meal together, and the Kingwas by this time nearly as black as his master. He would have washedhimself, but the Lad said it was no matter, he himself having no timeto wash from week's end to week's end. In the afternoon they changedplaces, and the King stood at the anvil and the Lad at the bellows. Hewas a good teacher, but the King made a poor job of it. By nightfall hehad produced shoes resembling all the letters of the alphabet exceptingU, and when at last he submitted to the Lad a shoe like nothing so muchas a drunken S, his master shrugged and said:

"Zeal is praiseworthy within its limits, but the best of smiths doesnot attempt to make two shoes at once. Let us sup. "

They supped; and afterwards the Lad showed the King a small bedroom asneat as a new pin. 

"I shall sully the sheets, " said William, "and you will excuse me if Ifetch the kettle, which is on the boil. "

"As you please, " said the Lad, and took himself off. 

In the morning the King came clean to breakfast, but the Lad was asblack as he had been. 

Tuesday passed as Monday had passed; now William took the bellows, marveling at his youthful master's deftness, and now the Lad blew, groaning at his pupil's clumsiness. By nightfall, however, he hadachieved a shoe faintly recognizable as such. For a second time theKing washed himself and slept again in the little trim chamber, but theLad in the morning resembled midnight. In this way the week went by, the King's heart beating a little faster each morning as Saturdayapproached, and he wondered by what ruse he could explain his absencewithout creating suspicion or breaking his pledge. 

On Saturday morning the Lad said to the King: "This is a half-day. Youmust make your shoe this morning or not at all. It is my custom at oneo'clock to close the forge and go to visit my Great-Aunt. I will bework again on Monday, till when you must shift for yourself. "

The King could hardly believe his luck in having matters so wellsettled, and he spent the morning so diligently that by noon he hadproduced a shoe which, if not that of a master-craftsman, was at leastadaptable to the purpose for which it had been fashioned. 

The Lad examined it and said reluctantly, "It will do, " and proceededto show the King how to fasten it to Pepper's hoof. 

"Why, " said the King, having the nag's off forefoot in his hand, "here's a stone in it. Small wonder she limped. "

"It isn't a stone, " said the Lad, extracting it, "it is a ruby. "

And he exhibited to the King a ruby of such a glowing red that it wasas though the souls of all the grapes of Burgundy had been pressed tocreate it. 

"You are a rich man now, " said the Lad quietly, "and can live as youwill. "

But William closed the Lad's fingers over the stone. "Keep it, " hesaid, "for you have filled me for a week, and I have paid you withnothing but my breath. "

"As you please, " said the Lad carelessly, and, tossing the stone upon ashelf, locked up the forge. "Now I am going to my Great-Aunt. There's acake in the larder. "

So saying, he strolled away, and the King was left to his own devices. These consisted in bathing himself from head to foot till his body wasas pure without as he desired his heart to be within; and in donninghis fresh suit of linen. He would not break his fast, but waited, trembling and eager, till an hour before sundown, and then at last heset forth to mount the great hill with the sacred crown of trees uponits crest. 

When at last he stood upon the boundary of the Ring, his heart sprangfor joy in his breast, and his breath nearly failed him with amazementat the beauty of the world which lay outspread for leagues below him. 

"Oh, lovely earth!" he cried aloud, "never till now have I known whatbeauty I lived in. How is it that we cannot see the wonder of oursurroundings until we gaze upon them from afar? But if you look so fairfrom the hilltops, what must you appear from the very sky?" And lost indelight he turned his eyes upward, and was recalled to his senses bythe sight of the sinking sun. "Lovely one, how nearly you have betrayedme!" he said, and smiling waved his hand to the dear earth, sealed uphis lips, and entered the Ring. 

And here between two midmost beeches he knelt down and buried his facein his hands, and prayed the spirits of that place to make him worthy. 

The hours passed, quarter by quarter, and the King stayed motionlesslike one in a dream. Presently, however, the dream was faintly shakenby a little lirrup of sound, as light as rain dropping from leavesabove a pool. Again and again the sweet round notes fell on themeditations of the King, and he remembered with entrancement that thiswas the tender signal by which he was summoned to the Pond. So, risingsilently, he wandered through the trees, and keeping his eyes fixed onthe soft dim turf, lest some new beauty should tempt him to speech, hewent across the open hill the Pond. Here he knelt down again, listeningto the childlike bird, until at last the young piping ceased with ajoyous chuckle. And at that instant, reflected in the Pond, he saw thesilver star that watches the invisible young moon, and dipped his head. 

Oh, my dear maids! When he lifted it again, all wet and bewildered, hesaw upon the opposite border of the Pond, a figure, the white figureof--a woman! a girl! a child! He could not tell, for she lay threeparts in the shadowy water with her back towards him, and his gaze andsenses swam; but in that faint starlight one bare and lovely arm, aswhite as the crescent moon, was clear to him, upcurved to her shadowyhair. So she reclined, and so he knelt, both motionless, and his hearttrembled (even as it had trembled at the bird's song) with a wish to gonear to her, or at least to whisper to her across the water. Indeed, hewas on the point of doing so, when a sudden contraction seized him, hiseyes closed in a delicious agony, and he sneezed once vigorously; andin that moment of shattering blackness he recalled his vow, and risingturned his back upon the vision and groped his way again to the shelterof the trees. 

Here he remained till dawn in meditation, but as to the nature of hismeditations I am, dear maidens, ignorant. Nor do I know in whatrestless wise he passed his Sunday. 

It is enough to know that on Monday when he went into the forge hefound the Lad already at work, and if he had been pitch-black at theirparting he was no less so at their meeting. He appeared to be out ofhumor, and for some time regarded his apprentice with dissatisfaction, but only remarked at last:

"You look fatigued. "

"My sleep was broken with dreams, " said the King. "I am sorry if I amlate. Let me to my shoeing. Since Saturday ended in success, I supposeI shall now finish the business without more ado. "

He was, however, too hopeful as it appeared, for though he managed tofashion a shoe which was in his eyes the equal of the other, the Ladwas captious and would not commend it. 

"I should be an ill craftmaster, " said he, "if I let you rest contenton what you have already done. I made such a shoe as this on mythirteenth birthday, and my father's only praise was, You must dobetter yet. '"

So particular was the young smith that William spent the whole ofanother week in endeavoring to please him. This might have chafed theKing, but that it agreed entirely with his desires to remain in thatplace, sleeping and eating at no cost to himself, and working sostrenuously that his hands grew almost as hard as the metal he workedin; for the Lad now began to entrust him with small jobs of varioussorts, although in the matter of the second shoe he refused to besatisfied. 

When Saturday came, however, the King contrived a shoe so much superiorto any he had yet made that the Lad, examining it, was compelled tosay, "It is better than the other. " Then Pepper, who always stood in anoose beside the door awaiting her moment, lifted up her near forefootof her own accord, and the King took it in his hand. 

"How odd!" he exclaimed a moment later. "The nag has a stone in thisfoot also. It is not strange that she went so ill. "

"It is not a stone, " said the Lad. "It is a pearl. "

And he held out to the King a pearl of such a shining purity that itwas as though it had been rounded within the spirit of a saint. 

"This makes you a rich man, " said the Lad moodily, "and you can journeywhither you please. "

But the King shook his head. "Keep it, " he said, "for you have lodgedme for a week, and I have given you only the clumsy service of myhands. "

"Very well, " said the Lad simply, and put the pearl in his pocket. "MyGreat-Aunt is expecting me. There's a cake in the larder. "

So saying he walked off, and the King was left alone. As before, hebathed himself and changed his linen, and left the contents of thelarder untouched; and an hour before sunset he climbed the hill for thesecond time, and presently stood panting on the edge of the Ring. Andagain a pang of wonder that was akin to pain shot through his heart atthe loveliness of the world below him. 

"Beautiful earth!" he cried once more, "how fair and dear you arebecome to me in your remoteness. But oh, if you appear so beautifulfrom this summit, what must you appear from the summit of the clouds?"And he glanced from the earth to the sky, and saw the sun running downhis airy hill. "Dear Temptress!" he said, "how cunningly you wouldsnare me from my purpose. " And he kissed his hand to her thrice, sealedup his lips, and entered the Ring. 

Between the two tall beeches he knelt down, and drowned the followinghours in thought and prayer; till that deep lake of meditation wasdivided by the sound of singing, as though a shoal of silver fishesswam and leaped upon its surface, putting all quietness to flight, andtroubling its waters with a million lovelinesses. For now it was asthough the bird's enchanting song came partly from within and partlyfrom without, and if the fall of its music shattered his dream likefalling fish, certain it seemed to him that the fish had first leapedfrom his own heart, out of whose unsuspected caves darted a shoal ofnameless longings. He too leaped up and darted through the trees, andwith head bent down, for fear of he knew not what, made his way to thePond. Here he knelt again, drinking in the tremulous song of the bird, as tremulous as youth and maidenhood, until at last it ceased with asweet uncompleted cry of longing. And at that instant, in the mirror ofthe Pond, he saw the uncompleted disc of the half-moon, and dipped hishead. 

Ah wonder! when he lifted it again, dazzled and dripping, he saw acrossthe Pond a figure rising from the water, the figure, as he could nowperceive in the fuller light, of a girl, clear to the waist. Her facewas half turned from him, and her hair flowed half to him and halfaway, but within that cloudy setting gleamed the lines of her lovelyneck and one white shoulder and one moonlit breast, whose undercurveappeared to float upon the Pond like the petal of a waterlily. So heknelt on his side and she on hers, both motionless, and he heart leaped(even as it had leaped at the bird's song) with a longing to kneelbeside and even touch that loveliness; or, if he could not, at least tocall to her across the Pond so that he would turn and reveal to himwhat still was hidden. He was in fact about to do so, when suddenly hissenses were overwhelmed with a sweet anguish, darkness fell on him, andfrom its very core he sneezed twice, violently. This interruption ofthe previous spell was sufficient to bring him to a realization of hisperil, and rising hastily he ran back to the Ring, where he remainedtill morning. But to what pious thoughts he then committed himself Icannot tell you; neither in what feverish fashion he got through Sunday. 

On Monday morning when he arrived at the forge he found the Lad at workbefore him, and ebony was not blacker than his face. He glanced at theKing with some show of temper, but only said:

"You look worn out. "

"I have had bad dreams, " said the King. "Excuse me for being behind mytime. I will try to make up for it by wasting no more, and fashioninginstantly two shoes as good as that I made on Saturday. "

But though he handled his tools with more dexterity than he had yetexhibited, the Lad petulantly pushed aside the first shoe he made, which to the King appeared to be, if anything, superior to the one hehad made on Saturday. The Lad, however, quickly explained himself, saying:

"A master-smith who intends to make his apprentice his equal will notlet him rest at the halfway house. I made a shoe like this when I wasfourteen, and all my father said was, I have hopes of you. '"

So for yet another week the King's nose was kept to the grindstone, andit would have irritated most men to find their good work repeatedlycondemned; but William was, as you may have observed, singularlysweet-tempered, besides which he desired nothing so much as to remainwhere he was. And for another five days he slept and ate and worked, until the muscles of his arms began to swell, and he swung the hammerwith as much ease as his master, who now left a great part of the workentirely in his hands. Although in this matter of the third shoe herefused to be satisfied. 

Nevertheless on Saturday morning the King, making a last effort beforethe forge was shut, submitted a shoe so far beyond anything he had yetachieved, that the Lad could not but say, "This is a good shoe. " AndPepper, seeing them coming, lifted her off hind-foot to be shod. 

"Now as I live!" cried the King. "Another stone! And how she contrivedto hobble so far is a miracle. "

"It isn't a stone, " said the Lad, "it is a diamond. "

And he presented to the King a diamond of such triumphant brilliancethat it might have been conceived of the ambitions of the mightiestmonarch of the earth. 

"You now own surpassing wealth, " said the Lad dejectedly, "and you haveno more need to work. "

But William would not even touch the stone. "Keep it, " he said, "foryou have befriended me for a week, and I have given you only thestrength of my arms. "

"Let it be so, " said the Lad gently, and put the diamond in his belt. "I must not keep my Great-Aunt waiting. There's a cake in the larder. "

So saying he went his way, and the King went his; which, as you maysurmise, was to the bath and his clean clothes. He did not go into thelarder, and an hour before sunset made the ascent of the hill, and forthe third time stood like a conqueror upon the crest. And as he gazedover the lands below his heart throbbed with a passion for the earththat was half agony and half love, unless indeed it was the whole agonyof love. 

"Most beautiful earth!" he cried aloud, "only as you recede from me doI realize how necessary it is for me to possess you. How is it thatwhen I possess you I know you not as I know you now? But oh! if you areso wonderful from these great hills, what must you be from the greaterhills of air?" And he looked up, and saw the sun descending in thewest. "Sweet earth, " he sighed, "you would hold me when I should begone, and never remind me that the moment to depart is due. " And hestretched out his arms to her, sealed up his lips, and went into theRing. 

Once more he knelt between the giant beeches, and sank all thoughts inpious contemplation; till suddenly those still waters were convulsed asthough with stormy currents, and a wild song beat through his breast, so that he could not believe it was the bird singing from a shortdistance: it was as though the storm of music broke from his singingheart--yes, from his own heart singing for some unexpressedfulfillment. He was barely conscious of going through the trees, witheyes shut tight against the outer world, but soon he was kneeling atthe brink of the Pond, while the surge of joy and pain in the songbroke on his spirit like waves upon a shore, or love upon a man and awoman--washed back, towered up, and broke on him again. At last on onefull glorious phrase it ceased. And at that instant, deep in the Pond, he saw the full orb of the moon, and dipped his head. 

Oh, when he lifted it, startled and illuminated, he saw on the furtherside of the Pond a woman standing. The moonlight bathed her form fromhead to foot, her hair was thrown behind her, and she stood facing him, so that in the cold clear light he could see her fully revealed: herstrong tender face, her strong soft body, her strong slim legs, herstrong and lovely arms. As white as mayblossom she was, and beauty wentforth from her like fragrance from the shaken bough. So he knelt on hisside and she stood on hers, both motionless, but gazing into eachother's eyes, and his heart broke (even as it had broken at the bird'ssong) with a passion to take her in his arms, for it seemed to him thatthis alone would mend its breaking. Or if he might not do this, atleast to send his need of her in a great cry across the Pond. And ashis passion grew she slowly lifted her arms and opened them to him asthough to bid him enter; and her lips parted, and she cried out, asthough she were uttering the cry of his own soul:

"Beloved!"

All the joy and the pain, fulfilled, of the bird's song were gatheredin that word. 

Glorified he leaped up, his whole being answering the cry of hers, butbefore his lips could translate it he was gripped by a mighty agony, and sneeze after sneeze shook all his senses, so that he was utterlyhelpless. When he was able to look up again he saw the woman movingtowards him round the Pond, and suddenly he clapped his hands over hiseyes and fled towards the Ring, as though pursued by demons. Here hepassed the remainder of the night, but in what sort of prayers I leaveyou to imagine; as also amid what ravings he passed his Sunday. 

On Monday the Lad was again before him at the forge, and a crow's winghad looked milky beside his face. He did not raise his eyes as the Kingcame in, but said:

"You look very ill. " He said it furiously. 

"I have had nightmares, " said the King. "Pardon me if you can. I willget to work and make my final shoe. "

But though he now had little more to learn in his craft, the Lad, whenthe shoe was made, picked it up in his pincers and flung it to theother end of the forge; yet the King now knew enough to know that fewsmiths could have made its equal. So he looked surprised; at which theLad, controlling himself, said:

"When I pass your fourth shoe you will need no more masters--I forged ashoe like that one yonder when I was fifteen, and my father said of it, You will make a smith one day. '"

And on neither Tuesday nor Wednesday nor Thursday nor Friday could theKing succeed in pleasing the Lad; the better his shoes the angrier grewhis young master that they were not good enough. Yet between thesegusts of temper he was gentle and remorseful, and once the King sawtears in his eyes, and another time the Lad came humbly to ask forpardon. Then William laughed and put out his hand, but, as once before, the Lad slipped his behind his back and said:

"It is so dirty, friend. "

And this time he would not let William take it. So the King was forcedinstead to lay his arm about the Lad's shoulder, and press it tenderly;but the Lad made no response, and only stood hanging his head until theKing removed his arm. All the same, when next the King made a shoe hewas full of rage, and stamped on it, and ran out of the forge. Whichsurprised the King all the more because it was so excellent a shoe. Yethe was secretly glad of its rejection, for he felt it would break hisheart to go away from that place; and he could think of no good causefor remaining, once Pepper was shod. So there he stayed, eating, sleeping, and working, while the thews of his back became as strongunder the smooth skin as the thews of a beech-tree under the smoothbark; and his craft was such that the Lad at last left the whole of thework of the forge in his charge. For there was nothing he could not dosurpassingly well. And this the Lad admitted, save only in the case ofthe fourth shoe. 

But on Saturday, just before closing-time, the King set to and made ashoe so fine that when the Lad saw it he said quietly, "I could notmake a better. " Had he not said so he must have lied, or proved that hedid know a masterpiece when he saw it. And he too good a craftsman forthat, besides being honest. 

Pepper instantly lifted up her near hind-foot. 

"Upon my word!" exclaimed the King, "the world is full of stones, andPepper has found them all. The wonder is that she did not fall down onthe road. "

"This is not a stone, " said the Lad, "it is an opal. "

And he displayed an opal of such marvelous changeability, such milk andfire shot with such shifting rainbows, that it was as though it had hadbirth of all the moods of all the women of all time. 

"This enriches you for life, " said the Lad gloomily, "and now you arefree of masters for ever. "

But William thrust his hands into his pockets. "Keep it, " he said, "forthis week you have given me love, and I have given you nothing but thesinews of my body. "

The Lad looked at him and said, "I have given you hard words, and fitsof temper, and much injustice. "

"Have you?" said William. "I remember only your tenderness and yourtears. So keep the opal in love's name. "

The Lad tried to answer, but could not; and he slipped the opal underhis shirt. Then he faltered, "My Great-Aunt--" and still he could notspeak. But he made a third effort, and said, "There is a cake in thelarder, " and turned on his heel and went away quickly. And the Kinglooked after him till he was out of sight, and then very slowly went tohis bath and his fresh linen. But he left the cake where it was. 

And he sat by the door of the forge with his face in his hands untilthe length of his shadow warned him that he must go. And he rose andwent for the last time up the hill, but with a sinking heart; and whenhe stood on the top and gazed upon the beauty of the earth he had leftbelow, in his breast was the ache of loss and longing for one he hadloved, and with his eyes he tried to draw that beauty into himself, butthe void in him remained unfulfilled. Yet never had her beauty been sogreat. 

"Beloved and lovely earth!" he whispered, "why do you appear most fairand most desirable now that I am about to lose you? Why when I had youdid you not hold me by force, and tell me what you were? Only now Idiscover you from mid-heaven--but oh! in what way should I discover youfrom heaven itself?" And he looked upward, and lo! a blurred sun shoneupon him, swimming to its rest. "Farewell, dear earth!" said the King. "Since you cannot mount to me, and I may not descend to you. " And heknelt upon the turf and laid his cheek and forehead to it, and then herose, sealed up his lips, and passed into the Ring. 

Between the two tall beeches he sank down, and all sense and thoughtand consciousness sank with him, as though his being had become a deadforgotten lake, hidden in a lifeless wood; where birds sang not, norrain fell, nor fishes played, nor currents moved below the stagnantwaters. But presently a wind seemed to wail among the trees, and thesound of it traveled over the King's senses, stirred them, and passed. But only to return again, moan over him, and trail away; and so it keptcoming and going till first he heard, then listened to, and at lastrealized the haunting signal of the bird. And he went forth into theopen night, his eyes wide apart but seeing nothing until he stumbled atthe Pond and crouched beside it. The bird grew fainter and fainter, andpresently the sound, like a ghost at dawn, ceased to exist; and at thatinstant, under the Pond, he beheld the lessening circle of the moon, and dipped his head. 

Alas! when he lifted it, shivering and stunned, he saw the form helonged to see on the other side of the Pond; but not, as he had longedto see it, gazing at him with the love and glory of seven nights ago. Now she stood on the turf, half turned from him, and the wave of herhair blew to and fro like a cloud, now revealing her white side, nowconcealing it. And he looked, but she would not look. So he knelt onhis side and she remained on hers, both motionless. And suddenly theimpulse to sneeze arose within him, and at that instant she began tomove--not towards him, as before, but away from him, downhill. 

At that he could bear no more, and quelling the impulse with a mightyeffort, he got upon his feet crying, "Beloved, stay! Beloved, stay, beloved!"

And he staggered round the Pound as quickly as his shaking knees wouldlet him; but quicker still she slid away, and when he came where shehad been the place was as empty as the sky in its moonless season. Hecalled and ran about and called again; but he got no answer, nor foundwhat he sought. All that night he spent in calling and running to andfro. What he did on Sunday you may know, and I may know, but he didnot. On Sunday night he stayed beside the Pond, but whatever his hopeswere they received no fulfillment. On Monday night he was there again, and on Tuesday, and on Wednesday; and between the mornings and thenights he went from hill to hill, seeking her hiding-place who came tobathe in the lake. There was not a hill within a day's march that didnot know him, from Duncton to Mount Harry. But on none of them he foundthe Woman. How he lived is a puzzle. Perhaps upon wild raspberries. 

After the sun had set on Chanctonbury on Saturday night, he cameexhausted to the Ring again, and stood on that high hill gazingearthward. But there was no light above or below, and he said:

"I have lost all. For the earth is swallowed in blackness, and theWoman has disappeared into space, and I myself have cast away myspiritual initiation. I will sit by the Pond till midnight, and if thebird sings then I will still hope, but if it does not I will dip myhead in the water and not lift it again. "

So he went and lay down by the Pond in the darkness, and the hours woreaway. But as the time of the bird's song drew near he clasped his handsand prayed. But the bird did not sing; and when he judged that midnightwas come, he got upon his knees and prepared to put his head under thewater. And as he did so he saw, on the opposite side of the Pond, thefeeble light of a lantern. He could not see who held it, because evenas he looked the bearer blew out the light; but in that moment itappeared to him that she was as black as the night itself. 

So for awhile he knelt upon his side, and she remained on hers, bothtrembling; but at last the King, dreading to startle her away, rosesoftly and went round the Pond to where he had seen her. 

He said into the night in a shaking voice, "I cannot see you. If youare there, give me your hand. "

And out of the night a shaking voice replied:

"It is so dirty, beloved. "

Then he took her in his arms, and felt how she trembled, and he heldher closely to him to still her, whispering:

"You are my Lad. "

"Yes, " she said in a low voice. "But wait. "

And she slipped out of his embrace, and he heard her enter the Pond, and she stayed there as it seemed to him a lifetime; but presently sherose up, and even in that black night the whiteness of her body wasvisible to him, and she came to him as she was and laid her head on hisbreast and said:

"I am your Woman. "

("I want my apple, " said Martin Pippin. 

"But is this the end?" cried little Joan. 

"Why not?" said Martin. "The lovers are united. "

Joscelyn: Nonsense! Of course it is not the end! You must tell us athousand other things. Why was the Woman a woman on Saturday night anda lad all the rest of the week?

Joyce: What of the four jewels?

Jennifer: Which of the answers to the King's riddle was the right one?

Jessica: What happened to the cake?

Jane: What was her name?

"Please, " said little Joan, "do not let this be the end, but tell uswhat they did next. "

"Women will be women, " observed Martin, "and to the end of time preferunessentials to the essential. But I will endeavor to satisfy you onthe points you name. ")

In the morning William said to his beloved:

"Now tell me something of yourself. How come you to be so masterful asmith? Why do you live as a black Lad all the week and turn only into awhite Woman on Saturdays? Have you really got a Great-Aunt, and wheredoes she live? How old are you? Why were you so hard to please aboutthe shoeing of Pepper? And why, the better my shoes the worse yourtemper? Why did you run away from me a week ago? Why did you never tellme who you were? Why have you tormented me for a whole month? What isyour name?"

"Trust a man to ask questions!" said his beloved, laughing andblushing. "Is it not enough that I am your beloved?"

"More than enough, yet not nearly enough, " said the King, "for there isnothing of yourself which you must not tell me in time, from the momentwhen you first stole barley sugar behind your father's back, down tothat in which you first loved me. "

"Then I had best begin at once, " she smiled, "or a lifetime will not belong enough. I am eighteen years old and my name is Viola. I was bornin Falmer, and my father was the best smith in all Sussex, and becausehe had no other child he made me his bellows-boy, and in time, as youknow, taught me his trade. But he was, as you also know, a sternmaster, and it was not until, on my sixteenth birthday, I forged a shoethe equal of your last, that he said I could not make a better. ' Andso saying he died. Now I had no other relative in all the world exceptmy Great-Aunt, the Wise Woman of the Bush Hovel, and her I had neverseen; but I thought I could not do better in my extremity than go toher for counsel. So, shouldering my father's tools, I journeyed westuntil I came to her place, and found her trying to break in a newbirch-broom that was still too green and full of sap to be easilymastered; and she was in a very bad temper. Good day, Great-Aunt, ' Isaid, I am your Great-Niece Viola. ' I have no more use for greatnieces, ' she snapped, than for little ones. ' And she continued totussle with the broomstick and took no further notice of me. Then Iwent into the Hovel, where a fire burned on the hearth, and I took outmy tools and fashioned a bit on the hob; and when it was ready I tookit to her and said, This will teach it its manners'; and she put thebit on the broom, which became as docile as a lamb. Great-Niece, ' saidshe, it appears that I told you a lie this morning. What can I do foryou?' Tell me, if you please, how I am to live now that my father isdead. ' There is no need to tell you, ' said she; you have your livingat your fingers' ends. ' But women cannot be smiths, ' said I. Thenbecome a lad, ' said she, and ply your trade where none knows you; andlest men should suspect you by your face, which fools though they bethey might easily do, let it be so sooted from week's end to week's endthat none can discover what you look like; and if any one remarks onit, put it down to your trade. '

But Great-Aunt, ' I said, I could not bear to go dirty from week'send to week's end. ' If you will be so particular, ' she said, take abath every Saturday night and spend your Sundays with me, as fair aswhen you were a babe. And before you go to work again on Monday youshall once more conceal your fairness past all men's penetration. 'But, dear Great-Aunt, ' I pleaded, it may be that the day will comewhen I might not wish--'"

And here, dear maidens, Viola faltered. And William put his arm abouther a little tighter--because it was there already--and said, "Whatmight you not wish, beloved?" And she murmured, "To be concealed pastone man's penetration. And my Great-Aunt said I need not worry. Becausethough men, she said, were fools, there was one time in every man'slife when he was quick enough to penetrate all obscurities, whether itwere a layer of soot or a night without a moon. " And she hid her faceon the King's shoulder, and he tried to kiss her but could not make herlook up until he said, "Or even a woman's waywardness?" Then she lookedup of her own accord and kissed him. 

"In this way, " she resumed, "it became my custom on each Saturday, after closing the forge, to come here with my woman's raiment, and waitin a hollow until night had fallen, and make myself clean of the week'sblackness. For I dared not do this by daylight, or be seen going forthfrom my forge in my proper person. "

"But why did you choose to bathe at midnight?" asked the King. 

She was silent for a few moments, and then said hurriedly, "I did notchoose to bathe at midnight until a month ago. --For the rest, " sheresumed, "I was hard to please in the matter of the shoes because Iknew that when they were finished you would ride away. And thereforethe more you improved the crosser I became. And if I have tormented youfor a month it was because you tormented me by refusing to speak whenyou saw me here, in spite of your hateful vow; and you would not evenlook at my cake in the larder. "

"Women are strange, " said the King. "How do you know I did not look atthe cake?"

"I do know, " she said as hurriedly as before. "And if I would not tellyou who I was, it was because I could not bear, on the other hand, toextort from you a love you seemed so reluctant to endure; until indeedit became of its own accord too strong even for the purpose whichbrought you every week to the Ring. For I knew that purpose, since alldwellers in Washington know why men go up the hill with the new moon. "

"But when my love did become too strong for my vow, and opened my lipsat last, " said the King, "why did you run away?"

Viola said, "Had you not run away the week before? And now I haveanswered all your questions. "

"No, " said the King, "not all. You haven't told me yet when you firstloved me. "

Viola smiled and said, "I first stole barley sugar when my father saidThis is for the other little girl over the way'; and I first loved youwhen, seeing you had been too absent-minded to know that Pepper hadcast her shoes, I feared you were in love. "

"But that was three minutes after we met!" cried the King. 

"Was it as much as that!" said she. 

Now after awhile Viola said, "Let us get down to the world again. Wecannot stay here for ever. "

"Why not?" said the King. However, they walked to the brow of the hill, and stood together gazing awhile over the sunlit earth that had neverbeen so beautiful to either of them; for their sight was newly-washedwith love, and all things were changed. 

"Now I know how she looks from heaven, " said the King, "and that islike heaven itself. Let us go; for I think she will still look so atour coming, seeing that we carry heaven with us. "

So they went downhill to the forge, and there Viola said to her lover, "I can stay no longer in this place where all men have known me as alad; and besides, a woman's home is where her husband lives. "

"But I live only in a Barn, " said William the King. 

"Then I will live there with you, " said Viola, "and from this verynight. But first I will shoe Pepper anew, for she is so unequally shodthat she might spill us on the road. And that she may be shod worthilyof herself and of us, give me what you have tied up in your bluehandkerchief. " The King fetched his handkerchief and unknotted it, andgave her his crown and scepter; and she set him at the bellows and madethree golden shoes and shod the nag on her two fore-feet and her offhind-foot. But when she looked at the near hind-foot, which the Kinghad shod last of all, she said: "I could not make a better. Andtherefore, like his father, the Lad must shut his smithy, for he isdead. " Then she put the three shoes she had removed into a bag withsome other trifles; and while she did so the King took what remained ofthe gold and made it into two rings. This done, they got on to Pepper'sback, and with her three shoes of gold and one of iron she bore themthe way the King had come. When they passed the Bush Hovel they saw theWise Woman currying her broomstick, and Viola cried:

"Great-Aunt, give us a blessing. "

"Great-Niece, " said the Wise Woman, "how can I give you what youalready have? But I will give you this. " And she held out a horseshoe. 

"Good gracious, " said the King, "this was once Pepper's. "

"It was, " said the Wise Woman. "In her merriment at hearing you ask asilly question, she cast it outside my door. "

A little further on they came to the Guess Gate, but when the King, dismounting, swung it open, it grated on something in the road. Hestooped and lifted--a horseshoe. 

"Wonder of wonders!" exclaimed the King. "This also was Pepper's. Whatshall we do with it?"

"Hang--it--up--hang--it--up--hang--" creaked the Gate; and clicked home. 

In due course they reached the Doves, and at the sound of Pepper'shoofs the Brothers flocked out to meet them. 

"Is all well?" cried the Ringdove, seeing the King only. "And have youreturned to us for the final blessing?"

"I have, " replied the King, "for I bring my bride behind me, and nowyou must make us one. "

The gentle Brothers, rejoicing at the sight of their happiness andtheir beauty, led them in; and there they were wedded. The Dovesoffered them to eat, but the King was impatient to reach his Barn bynightfall; so they got again on Pepper's back, and as they were aboutto leave the Ringdove said:

"I have something of yours which is in itself a thing of no moment;yet, because it is of good augury, take it with you. "

And he gave the King Pepper's third shoe. 

"Thank you, " said the King, "I will hang it over my Barn door. "

Now he urged Pepper to her full speed, and they went at a gallop pastthe Hawking Sopers, who, hearing the clatter, came running into theroad. 

"Stay, gallopers, stay!" they cried, "and make merry with us. "

"We cannot, " called the King, "for we are newly married. "

"Good luck to you then!" shouted the Sopers, and with huzzas andlaughter flung something after them. Viola stretched out her hand andcaught it in mid-air, and it was a horseshoe. 

"The tale is complete, " she laughed, "and now you know where Pepperpicked up her stones. "

Soon after the King said, "Here is my Barn. " And he sprang down andlifted his bride from the nag's back and brought her in. 

"It is a poor place, " he said gently, "but it is all I have. What can Ido for you in such a home?"

"I will tell you, " said Viola, and putting her hand into her leftpocket, she drew out the ruby winking with the wine of mirth. "You candance in it. " And suddenly they caught each other by the hands and wentcapering and laughing round the Barn like children. 

"Hurrah!" cried William, "now I know what a King should do in a Barn!"

"But he should do more than dance in it, " said Viola; and putting herhand into her right pocket she gave him the pearl, as pure as a prayer;"beloved, he should pray in it too. "

And William looked at her and knelt, and she knelt by him, and insilence they prayed the same prayer, side by side. 

Then William rose and said simply, "Now I know. "

But she knelt still, and took from her girdle the diamond, as bright aspower, and she put it in his hand, saying very low, "Oh, my dear King!but he should also rule in it. " And she kissed his hand. But the Kinglifted her very quickly so that she stood equal with his heart, andembracing her he said, with tears in his eyes:

"And you, beloved! what will a Queen do in a Barn?"

"The same as a King, " she whispered, and drew from her bosom the opal, as lovely and as variable as the human spirit. "With the other threestones you may, if you will, buy back your father's kingdom. But this, which contains all qualities in one, let us keep for ever, for ourchildren and theirs, that they may know there is nothing a King and aQueen may not do in a Barn, or a man and a woman anywhere. But the bestthing they can do is to work in it. "

Then, going out, she came back with the bag which she had slung onPepper's back, and took from it her father's tools. 

"In three weeks you learned all I learned in three years, " said she. "When I shod Pepper this morning I did my last job as a smith; for nowI shall have other work to do. But you, whether you choose to get yourfather's lands again or no, I pray to work in the trade I have givenyou, for I have made you the very king of smiths, and all men should dothe thing they can do best. So take the hammer and nail up thehorseshoes over the door while I get supper; for you look as hungry asI feel. "

"But there's nothing to eat, " said the King ruefully. 

However, he went outside, and over the door he hung as many shoes asthere are nails in one--the four Pepper had cast on the road, and thethree he had first made for her. As he drove the last nail home Violacalled:

"Supper is ready. "

And the King went into the Barn and saw a Wedding Cake. 

And now, if you please, Mistress Joan, I have earned my apple. 

FIRST INTERLUDE

Now there was a great munching of apples in the tree, for to tell thetruth during the latter part of the story this business had beensuspended, and between bites the milkmaids discussed the merits of whatthey had just heard. 

Jessica: What is your opinion of this tale, Jane?

Jane: It surprised me more than anything. For who could have suspectedthat the Lad was a Woman?

Martin: Lads are to be suspected of any mischief, Mistress Jane. 

Joscelyn: It is not to be supposed, Master Pippin, that we areacquainted with the habits of lads. 

Martin: I suppose nothing. But did the story please you?

Joscelyn: As a story it was well enough to pass an hour. I would bewilling to learn whether the King regained his kingdom or no. 

Martin: I think he did, since you may go to this day to the little cityon the banks of the Adur which is re-named after his Barn. But I doubtwhether he lived there, or anywhere but in the Barn where he and hisbeloved began their life of work and prayer and mirth and loving-rule. And died as happily as they had lived. 

Joan: I am glad they lived happily. I was afraid the tale would endunhappily. 

Joyce: And so was I. For when the King roamed the hills for a wholeweek without success, I began to fear he would never find the Womanagain. 

Jennifer: I for my part feared lest he should not open his lips duringthe fourth vigil, and so must become a Dove for the remainder of hisdays. 

Jane: It was but by the grace of a moment he did not drown himself inthe Pond. 

Jessica: Or what if, by some unlucky chance, he had never come to theforge at all?

Martin: In any of these events, I grant you, the tale must have endedin disaster. And this is the special wonder of love-tales: that thoughthey may end unhappily in a thousand ways, and happily in only one, yetthat one will vanquish the thousand as often as the desires of loversrun in tandem. But there is one accident you have left out of count, and it is the worst stumbling-block I know of in the path of happyendings. 

All the Milkmaids: What is it?

Martin: Suppose the lovely Viola had been a sworn virgin and a hater ofmen. 

There was silence in the Apple-Orchard. 

Joscelyn: She would have been none the worse for that, singer. And thetale would have been none the less a tale, which is all we look forfrom you. This talk of happy endings is silly talk. The King might havesought the Woman in vain, or kept his vow, or drowned himself, orridden to the confines of Kent, for aught I care. 

Joyce: Or I. 

Jennifer: Or I. 

Jessica: Or I. 

Jane: Or I. 

Martin: I am silenced. Tales are but tales, and not worth speculation. And see, the moon is gone to sleep behind a cloud, which shows usnothing save the rainbow of her dreams. It is time we did as she does. 

Like shooting-stars in August the milkmaids slid from their leafyheaven and dropped to the grass. And here they pillowed their heads ontheir soft arms and soon were breathing the breath of sleep. But littleJoan sat on in the swing. 

Now all this while she had kept between her hands the promised apple, turning and turning it like one in doubt; and presently Martin lookedaside at her with a smile, and held his open palm to receive hisreward. And first she glanced at him, and then at the sleepers, andlast she tossed the apple lightly in the air. But by some mishap shetossed it too high, and it made an arc clean over the tree and fell ina distant corner by the hedge. So she ran quickly to recover it forhim, and he ran likewise, and they stooped and rose together, she withthe apple in her hands, he with his hands on hers. At which she blusheda little, but held fast to the fruit. 

"What!" said Martin Pippin, "am I never to have my apple?"

She answered softly, "Only when I am satisfied, as you promised. "

"And are you not? What have I left undone?"

Joan: Please, Master Pippin. What did the young King look like?

Martin: Fool that I am to leave these vital things untold! I shallavoid this error in future. He was more than middle tall, and broad inthe shoulders; and he had gray-blue eyes, and a fresh color, and a kindand merry look, and dark brown hair that was not always as sleek as hewished it to be. 

Joan: Oh!

Martin: With this further oddity, that above the nape of his neck was awhitish tuft which, though he took great pains to conceal it, continually obtruded through the darker hair like the cottontail on theback of a rabbit. 

Joan: Oh! Oh!

And she became as red as a cherry. 

Martin: May I have my apple?

Joan: But had not he a--mustache?

Martin: He fondly believed so. 

Joan (with unexpected fire): It was a big and beautiful mustache!

Martin (fervently): There was never a King of twenty years with one sobig and beautiful. 

She gave him the apple. 

Martin: Thank you. Will you, because I have answered many questions, now answer one?

Joan: Yes. 

Martin: Then tell me this--what is your quarrel with men?

Joan: Oh, Master Pippin! they say that one and one make two. 

Martin: Is this possible? Good heavens, are men such numskulls! Whenthey have but to go to the littlest woman on earth to learn--what youand I well know--that one and one make one, and sometimes three, orfour, or even half-a-dozen; but never two. Fie upon these men!

Joan: I am glad you think I am in the right. But how obstinate they are!

Martin: As obstinate as children, and should be birched as roundly. 

Joan: Oh! but-- You would not birch children. 

Martin: You are right again. They should be coaxed. 

Joan: Yes. No. I mean-- Good night, dear singer. 

Martin: Good night, dear milkmaid. Sleep sweetly among your comradeswho are wiser than we, being so indifferent to happy endings that theywould never unpadlock sorrow, though they had the key in their keeping. 

Then he took her hands in one of his, and put his other hand verygently under her chin, and lifted it till he could look into her face, and he said: "Give me the key to Gillian's prison, little Joan, becauseyou love happy endings. "

Joan: Dear Martin, I cannot give you the key. 

Martin: Why not?

Joan: Because I stuck it inside your apple. 

So he kissed her and they parted, and lay down and slept; she among hercomrades under the apple-tree, and he under the briony in the hedge;and the moon came out of her dream and watched theirs. 

With morning came a hoarse voice calling along the hedge:

"Maids! maids! maids!"

Up sprang the milkmaids, rubbing their eyes and stretching their arms;and up sprang Martin likewise. And seeing him, Joscelyn was strickenwith dismay. 

"It is Old Gillman, our master, " she whispered, "come with bread andquestions. Quick, singer, quick! into the hollow russet before hereaches the hole in the hedge. "

Swiftly the milkmaids hustled Martin into the russet tree, andconcealed him at the very moment when the Farmer was come to thepeephole, filling it with his round red face and broad gray fringe ofwhiskers, like the winter sun on a sky that is going to snow. 

"Good morrow, maids, " quoth old Gillman. 

"Good morrow, master, " said they. 

"Is my daughter come to her mind yet?"

"No, master, " said little Joan, "but I begin to have hopes that shemay. "

"If she do not, " groaned Gillman, "I know not what will happen to thefarmstead. For it is six months now since I tasted water, and how can aman follow his business who is fuddled day and night with Barley Wine?Life is full of hardships, of which daughters are the greatest. Gillian!" he cried, "when will ye come into your senses and out of theWell-House?"

But Gillian took no more heed of him than of the quacking of the drakeon the duckpond. 

"Well, here is your bread, " said Gillman, and he thrust a basket withseven loaves in it through the gap. "And may to-morrow bring bettertidings. "

"One moment, dear master, " entreated little Joan. "Tell me, please, howNancy my Jersey fares. "

"Pines for you, pines for you, maid, though Charles does his best byher. But it is as though she had taken a vow to let down no milk tillyou come again. Rack and ruin, rack and ruin!"

And the old man retreated as he had come, muttering "Rack and ruin!"the length of the hedge. 

The maids then set about preparing breakfast, which was simplicityitself, being bread and apples than which no breakfast could besweeter. There was a loaf for each maid and one over for Gillian, whichthey set upon the wall of the Well-House, taking away yesterday's loafuntouched and stale. 

"Does she never eat?" asked Martin. 

"She has scarcely broken bread in six months, " said Joscelyn, "and whatshe lives on besides her thoughts we do not know. "

"Thoughts are a fast or a feast according to their nature, " saidMartin, "so let us feed the ducks, who have none. "

They broke the stale bread into fragments, and when the ducks had madea meal, returned to their own; and of two loaves made seven parts, thatMartin might have his share, and to this they added apples according totheir fancies, red or russet, green or golden. 

After breakfast, at Martin's suggestion, they made little boats oftwigs and leaves and sailed them on the duckpond, where they met withmany adventures and calamities from driftweed, small breezes, and thecuriosity of the ducks. And before they were aware of it the dinnerhour was upon them, when they divided two more loaves as before and ateapples at will. 

Then Martin, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, proposed a game ofBlindman's-Buff, and the girls, delighted, counterEener-Meener-Meiner-Mo to find the Blindman. And Joyce was He. SoMartin tied the handkerchief over her eyes. 

"Can you see?" asked Martin. 

"Of course I can't see!" said Joyce. 

"Promise?" said Martin. 

"I hope, Master Pippin, " said Jane reprovingly, "that you can take agirl's word for it. "

"I'm sure I hope I can, " said Martin, and turned Joyce round threetimes, and ran for his life. And Joyce caught Jane on the spot andguessed her immediately. 

Then Jane was blindfolded, and she was so particular about not seeingthat it was quite ten minutes before she caught Jennifer, but she knewwho she was by the feel of her gown; and Jennifer caught Joscelyn, andguessed her by her girdle; and Joscelyn caught Jessica and guessed herby the darn in her sleeve; and Jessica caught Joan, and guessed her byher ribbon; and Joan caught Martin, and guessed him by his difference. 

So then Martin was Blindman, and it seemed as though he would neverhave eyes again; for though he caught all the girls, one after another, he couldn't guess which was which, and gave Jane's nose to Jessica, andJessica's hands to Joscelyn, and Joscelyn's chin to Joyce, and Joyce'shair to Jennifer, and Jennifer's eyebrows to Joan; but when he caughtJoan he guessed her at once by her littleness. 

In due course the change of light told them it was supper-time; andwith great surprise they ate the last two loaves to the sweetaccompaniment of the apples. 

"I would never have supposed, " said Joscelyn, as they gathered underthe central tree at the close of the meal, "that a day could pass soquickly. "

"Bait time with a diversion, " said Martin, "and he will run like adonkey after a dangled carrot. "

"It has nearly been the happiest day of my life, " said Joyce with a slyglance at Martin. 

"And why not quite?" said he. 

"Because it lacked a story, singer, " she said demurely. 

"What can be rectified, " said Martin, "must be; and the day is not yetdeparted, but still lingers like a listener on the threshold of night. So set the swing in motion, dear Mistress Joyce, and to its measure Iwill endeavor to swing my thoughts, which have till now been laggards. "

With these words he set Joyce in the swing and himself upon the branchbeside it as before. And the other milkmaids climbed into theirperches, rustling the fruit down from the shaken boughs; and he made ofJoyce's lap a basket for the harvest. And he and each of the maidschose an apple as though supper had not been. 

"We are listening, " said Joscelyn from above. 

"Not all of you, " said Martin. And he looked up at Joscelyn alert onher branch, and down at Gillian prone on the steps. 

"You are here for no other purpose, " said Joscelyn, "than to make themlisten that will not. I would not have you think we desire to listen. "

"I think nothing but that you are the prey of circumstances, " saidMartin, "constrained like flowers to bear witness to that which isagainst all nature. "

"What do you mean by that?" said Joscelyn. "Flowers are nature itself. "

"So men have agreed, " replied Martin, "yet who but men have compelledthem repeatedly to assert such unnaturalnesses as that foxes weargloves and cuckoos shoes? Out on the pretty fibbers!"

"Please do not be angry with the flowers, " said Joan. 

"How could I be?" said Martin. "The flowers must always be forgiven, because their inconsistencies lie always at men's doors. Besides, whodoes not love fairy-tales?"

Then Martin kicked his heels against the tree and sang idly:

 When cuckoos fly in shoes And foxes run in gloves, Then butterflies won't go in twos And boys will leave their loves. 

"A silly song, " said Joscelyn. 

Martin: If you say so. For my part I can never tell the differencebetween silliness and sense. 

Jane: Then how can a good song be told from a bad? You must go bysomething. 

Martin: I go by the sound. But since Mistress Joscelyn pronounces mysong silly, I can only suppose she has seen cuckoos flying in shoes. 

Joscelyn: You are always supposing nonsense. Who ever heard of cuckoosflying in shoes?

Jane: Or of foxes running in gloves?

Joan: Or of butterflies going in ones?

Martin: Or of boys--

Joscelyn: I have frequently seen butterflies going in ones, foolishJoan. And the argument was not against butterflies, but cuckoos. 

Martin: And their shoes. Please, dear Mistress Joan, do not look sodowncast, nor you, dear Mistress Joscelyn, so vexed. Let us see if wecannot turn a more sensible song upon this theme. 

And he sang--

 Cuckoo Shoes aren't cuckoos' shoes, They're shoes which cuckoos never don; And cuckoo nests aren't cuckoos' nests, But other birds' for a moment gone; And nothing that the cuckoo has But he does make a mock upon. For even when the cuckoo sings He only says what isn't true-- When happy lovers first swore oaths An artful cuckoo called and flew, Yes! and when lovers weep like dew The teasing cuckoo laughs Cuckoo! What need for tears? Cuckoo, cuckoo!

As Martin ended, Gillian raised herself upon an elbow, and looked nomore into the green grass, but across the green duckpond. 

"The second song seems to me as irrelevant as the first, " saidJoscelyn, "but I observe that you cuckooed so loudly as to startle ourmistress out of her inattention. So if you mean to tell us anotherstory, by all means tell it now. Not that I care, except for ourextremity. "

"It is my only object to ease it, " said Martin, "so bear with me aswell as you may during the recital of Young Gerard. "

YOUNG GERARD

There was once, dear maidens, a shepherd who kept his master's sheep onAmberley Mount. His name was Gerard, and he was always called YoungGerard to distinguish him from the other shepherd who was known as OldGerard, yet was not, as you might suppose, his father. Their master wasthe Lord of Combe Ivy that lay in the southern valleys of the hillstoward the sea; he owned the grazing on the whole circle of the Downsbetween the two great roads--on Amberley and Perry and Wepham andBlackpatch and Cockhill and Highdown and Barnsfarm and Sullington andChantry. But the two Gerards lived together in the great shed behindthe copse between Rackham Hill and Kithurst, and the way they came todo so was this. 

One night in April when Old Gerard's gray beard was still brown, thedoor of the shed was pushed open, letting in not only the winds ofSpring but a woman wrapped in a green cloak, with a lining ofcherry-color and a border of silver flowers and golden cherries. In onehand she swung a crystal lantern set in a silver frame, but it had nolight in it; and in the other she held a small slip of a cherry-tree, but it had no bloom on it. Her dress was white, or had been; for theskirts of it, and her mantle, were draggled and sodden, and her greenshoes stained and torn, and her long fair hair lay limp and dank uponher mantle whose hood had fallen away, and the shadows round her blueeyes were as black as pools under hedgerows thawing after a frost, andher lovely face was as white as the snowbanks they bed in. Behind hercame another woman in a duffle cloak, a crone with eyes as black assloes, and a skin as brown as beechnuts, and unkempt hair like thefireless smoke of Old Man's Beard straying where it will on theNovember woodsides. She too was wet and soiled, but full of life wherethe young one seemed full of death. 

The Shepherd looked at this strange pair and said surlily, "What wantye?"

"Shelter, " replied the crone. 

She pushed the lady, who never spoke, into the shed, and took from hershoulders the wet mantle, and from her hands the lantern and the tree;and led her to the Shepherd's bed and laid her down. Then she spreadthe mantle over the Shepherd's bench and, "Lie there, " said she, "till love warms ye. "

Next she hung the lantern up on a nail in the wall, and, "Swing there, " said she, "till love lights ye. "

Last she took the Shepherd's trowel and went outside the shed, and setthe cherry-slip beside the door. And she said:

"Grow there, till love blossoms ye. "

After this she came inside and sat down at the bedhead. 

Gerard the Shepherd, who had watched her proceedings without word orgesture, said to himself, "They've come through the floods. "

He looked across at the women and raised his voice to ask, "Did ye comethrough the floods?"

The lady moaned a little, and the crone said, "Let her be and go tosleep. What does it matter where we came from by night? By daybreak weshall both of us be gone no matter whither. "

The Shepherd said no more, for though he was both curious andill-tempered he had not the courage to disturb the lady, knowing by therichness of her attire that she was of the quality; and the iron ofserfdom was driven deep into his soul. So he went to sleep on hisstool, as he had been bidden. But in the middle of the night he wasawakened by a gusty wind and the banging of his door; and he started uprubbing his knuckles in his eyes, saying, "I've been dreaming ofstrange women, but was it a dream or no?" He peered about the shed, andthe crone had vanished utterly, but the lady still lay on his bed. Andwhen he went over to look at her, she was dead. But beside her lay anewborn child that opened its eyes and wailed at him. 

Then the Shepherd ran to his open door and stared into the blowingnight, but there were no more signs of the crone without than therewere within. So he fastened the latch and came back to the bedside, andexamined the child. --

(But at this point Martin Pippin interrupted himself, and seizing therope of the swing set it rocking violently. 

Joyce: I shall fall! I shall fall!

Martin: Then you will be no worse off than I, who have fallen already. For I see you do not like my story. 

Joyce: What makes you say so?

Martin: Till now you listened with all your ears, but a moment ago youturned away your head a moment too late to hide the disappointment inyour eyes. 

Joyce: It is true I am disappointed. Because the beautiful lady isdead, and how can a love-story be, if half the lovers are dead?

Martin: Dear Mistress Joyce, what has love to do with death? Love anddeath are strangers and speak in different tongues. Women may die andmen may die, but lovers are ignorant of mortality. 

Joyce (pouting): That may be, singer. But lovers are also a man and awoman, and the woman is dead, and the love-tale ended before we haveeven heard it. You should not have let the woman die. What sort oflove-tale is this, now the woman is dead?

Martin: Are not more nests than one built in a spring-time?--Give me, Ipray you, two hairs of your head. 

She plucked two and gave them to him, turning her pouting to laughing. One of them Martin coiled and held before his lips, and blew on it. 

"There it flies, " said he, and gave her back the second hair. "Holdfast by this and keep it from its fellow with all your might, for topart true mates baffles the forces of the universe. And when you giveme this second hair again I swear I will send it where it will find itsfellow. But I will never ask for it until, my story ended, you say tome, I am content. '")

Examining the child (repeated Martin) the Shepherd discovered it to bea lusty boy-child, and this rejoiced him, so that while the baby wepthe laughed aloud. 

"It is better to weep for something than for nothing, " said he, "and tolaugh for something likewise. Tears are for serfs and laughter is forfreedmen. " For he had conceived the plan of selling the child to hismaster, the Lord of Combe Ivy, and buying his freedom with the purchasemoney. So in the morning he carried the body of the lady into the heartof the copse, and there he dug a grave and laid her in it in her whitegown. And afterwards he went up hill and down dale to his master, andsaid he had a man for sale. The Lord of Combe Ivy, who was a joviallord and a bachelor, laughed at the tale he had to tell; but beingalways of the humor for a jest he paid the Shepherd a gold piece forthe child, and promised him another each midnight on the anniversary ofits birth; but on the twenty-first anniversary, he said, the Shepherdwas to bring back the twenty-one gold pieces he had received, andinstead of adding another to them he would take them again, and makethe serf a freedman, and the child his serf. 

"For, " said the Lord of Combe Ivy, "an infant is a poor deal for a manin his prime, as you are, but a youth come to manhood is a goodexchange for a graybeard, as you will be. Therefore rear this babe asyou please, and if he live to manhood so much the better for you, butif he die first it's all one to me. "

The Shepherd had hoped for a better bargain, but he must needs becontent with seeing liberty at a distance. So he returned to his shedon the hills and made a leather purse to keep his gold-piece in, andhung it round his neck, touching it fifty times a day under his shirtto be sure it was still there. And presently he sought among his ewesone who had borne her young, saying, "You shall mother two instead ofone. " And the baby sucked the ewe like her very lamb, and thrived uponthe milk. And the shepherd called the child Gerard after himself, "since, " he said, "it is as good a name for a shepherd as another"; andfrom that time they became the Young and Old Gerards to all who knewthem. 

So the Young Gerard grew up, and as he grew the cherry-tree grewlikewise, but in the strangest fashion; for though it flourished pastall expectation, it never put forth either leaf or blossom. Thisbitterly vexed Old Gerard, who had hoped in time for fruit, and thefrustration of his hopes became to him a cause of grievance against theboy. A further grudge was that by no manner of means could he succeedin lighting any wick or candle in the silver lantern, of which hedesired to make use. 

"But if your tree and your lantern won't work, " said he, "it's noreason why you shouldn't. " So he put Young Gerard to work, first assheepboy to his own flock, but later the boy had a flock of his own. There was no love lost between these two, and kicks and curses were theyoung one's fare; for he was often idle and often a truant, and nonewas held responsible for him except the old shepherd who was sellinghim piece-meal, year by year, to their master. Because of what dependedon him, Old Gerard was constrained to show him some sort of care whenhe would liever have wrung his neck. The boy's fits exasperated theman; whether he was cutting strange capers and laughing without reason, as he frequently did, or sitting a whole evening in a morose dream, staring at the fire or at the stars, and saying never a word. The boy'scoloring was as mingled as his moods, a blend of light and dark--blackhair, brown skin, blue eyes and golden lashes, a very odd anomaly. 

(Martin: What is it, Mistress Joyce?

Joyce: I said nothing, Master Pippin. 

Martin: I thought I heard you sigh. 

Joyce: I did not--you did not. 

Martin: My imagination exceeds all bounds. )

Because of their mutual dislike, when the boy was put in charge of hisown sheep the two shepherds spent their days apart. The Old Gerardgrazed his flock to the east as far as Chantry, but the Young Gerardgrazed his flock to the west as far as Amberley, whose lovely dome wasdearer to him than all the other hills of Sussex. And here he would sitall day watching the cloud-shadows stalk over the face of the Downs, orslipping along the land below him, with the sun running swiftly after, like a carpet of light unrolling itself upon a dusky floor. And in theevening he watched the smoke going up from the tiny cottages till itwas almost dark, and a hundred tiny lights were lit in a hundred tinywindows. Sometimes on his rare holidays, and on other days too, he ranaway to the Wildbrooks to watch the herons, or to find in thewater-meadows the tallest kingcups in the whole world, and the myriadtreasures of the river--the giant comfrey, purple and white, meadowsweet, St. John's Wort, purple loose-strife, willowherb, and theninety-nine-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-five others, or whatevernumber else you please, that go to make a myriad. He came to know moreabout the ways of the Wildbrooks than any other lad of those parts, andone day he rediscovered the Lost Causeway that can be traveled even inthe floods, when the land lies under a lake at the foot of the hills. He kept this, like many other things, a secret; but he had one moreprecious still. 

For as he lay and watched the play of sun and shadow on the plains, hefancied a world of strange places he had known, somewhere beyond theveils of light and mist that hung between his vision and the distance, and he fell into a frequent dream of tunes and laughter, and sunlitboughs in blossom, and dancing under the boughs; or of fires burning inthe open night, and a wilder singing and dancing in the starlight; andoften when his body was lying on the round hill, or by the smokyhearth, his thoughts were running with lithe boys as strong andcareless as he was, or playing with lovely free-limbed girls withflowing hair. Sometimes these people were fair and bright-haired and inlight and lovely clothing, and at others they were dark, with eyes ofmischief, and clad in the gayest rags; and sometimes they came to himin a mingled company, made one by their careless hearts. 

One evening in April, on the twelfth anniversary, when Young Gerardcame to gather his flock, a lamb was missing; so to escape a scoldinghe waited awhile on the hills till Old Gerard should be gone about hisbusiness. What this was Young Gerard did not know, he only knew thateach year on this night the old shepherd left him to his own devices, and returned in the small hours of the morning. Not therefore until hejudged that the master must have left the hut, did the boy fold hissheep; and this done he ran out on the hills again, seeking the lostlamb. For careless though he was he cared for his sheep, as he did forall things that ran on legs or flew on wings. So he went swinging hislantern under the stars, singing and whistling and smelling the spring. Now and then he paused and bleated like a ewe; and presently a smallwhimper answered his signal. 

"My lost lamb crying on the hills, " said Young Gerard. He called again, but at the sound of his voice the other stopped, and for a moment hestood quite still, listening and perplexed. 

"Where are you, my lamb?" said he. 

"Here, " said a little frightened voice behind a bush. 

He laughed aloud and went forward, and soon discovered a tiny girlcowering under a thorn. When she saw him she ran quickly and graspedhis sleeve and hid her face in it and wept. She was small for heryears, which were not more than eight. 

Young Gerard, who was big for his, picked her up and looked at herkindly and curiously. 

"What is it, you little thing?" said he. 

"I got lost, " said the child shyly through her tears. 

"Well, now you're found, " said Young Gerard, "so don't cry any more. "

"Yes, but I'm hungry, " sobbed the child. 

"Then come with me. Will you?"

"Where to?"

"To a feast in a palace. "

"Oh, yes!" she said. 

Young Gerard set her on his shoulder, and went back the way he hadcome, till the dark shape of his wretched shed stood big between themand the sky. 

"Is this your palace?" said the child. 

"That's it, " said Young Gerard. 

"I didn't know palaces had cracks in the walls, " said she. 

"This one has, " explained Young Gerard, "because it's so old. " And shewas satisfied. 

Then she asked, "What is that funny tree by the door?"

"It's a cherry-tree. "

"My father's cherry-trees have flowers on them, " said she. 

"This one hasn't, " said Young Gerard, "because it's not old enough. "

"One day will it be?" she asked. 

"One day, " he said. And that contented her. 

He then carried her into the shed, and she looked around eagerly to seewhat a palace might be like inside; and it was full of flickeringlights and shadows and the scent of burning wood, and she did not seehow poor and dirty the room was; for the firelight gleamed upon a massof golden fruit and silver bloom embroidered on the covering of thesettle by the hearth, and sparkled against a silver and crystal lanternhanging in the chimney. And between the cracks on the walls YoungGerard had stuck wands of gold and silver palm and branches of snowyblackthorn, and on the floor was a dish full of celandine and daisies, and a broken jar of small wild daffodils. And the child knew that allthese things were the treasures of queens and kings. 

"Why don't you have that?" she asked, pointing to the crystal lanternas Young Gerard set down his horn one. 

"Because I can't light it, " said he. 

"Let ME light it!" she begged; so he fetched it from its nail, andthrust a pine twig in the fire and gave her the sweet-smoking torch. But in vain she tried to light the wick, which always spluttered andwent out again. So seeing her disappointment Young Gerard hung thelantern up, saying, "Firelight is prettier. " And he set her by the fireand filled her lap with cones and dry leaves and dead bracken to burnand make crackle and turn into fiery ferns. And she was pleased. 

Then he looked about and found his own wooden cup, and went away andcame back with the cup full of milk, set on a platter heaped withprimroses, and when he brought it to her she looked at it with shiningeyes and asked:

"Is this the feast?"

"That's it, " said Young Gerard. 

And she drank it eagerly. And while she drank Young Gerard fetched apipe and began to whistle tunes on it as mad as any thrush, and thechild began to laugh, and jumped up, spilling her leaves and primroses, and danced between the fitful lights and shadows as though she were, now a shadow taken shape, and now a flame. Whenever he paused shecried, "Oh, let me dance! Don't stop! Let me go on dancing!" until atthe same moment she dropped panting on the hearth and he flung his pipebehind him and fell on his back with his heels in the air, crying, "Pouf! d'you think I've the four quarters of heaven in my lungs, orwhat?" But as though to prove he had yet a capful of wind under hisribs, he suddenly began to sing a song she'd never heard before, and itwent like this:

 I looked before me and behind, I looked beyond the sun and wind, Beyond the rainbow and the snow, And saw a land I used to know. The floods rolled up to keep me still A captive on my heavenly hill, And on their bright and dangerous glass Was written, Boy, you shall not pass! I laughed aloud, You shining seas, I'll run away the day I please! I am not winged like any plover Yet I've a way shall take me over, I am not finned like any bream Yet I can cross you, lake and stream. And I my hidden land shall find That lies beyond the sun and wind-- Past drowned grass and drowning trees I'll run away the day I please, I'll run like one whom nothing harms With my bonny in my arms. 

"What does that mean?" asked the child. 

"I'm sure I don't know, " said Young Gerard. He kicked at the dying logon the hearth, and sent a fountain of sparks up the chimney. The childthrew a dry leaf and saw it shrivel, and Young Gerard stirred the whiteash and blew up the embers, and held a fan of bracken to them, till thefire ran up its veins like life in the veins of a man, and the frondthat had already lived and died became a gleaming spirit, and then ittoo fell in ashes among the ash. Then Young Gerard took a handful oftwigs and branches, and began to build upon the ash a castle of manysorts of wood, and the child helped him, laying hazel on his beech andfir upon his oak; and often before their turret was quite reared aspark would catch at the dry fringes of the fir, or the brownoakleaves, and one twig or another would vanish from the castle. 

"How quickly wood burns, " said the child. 

"That's the lovely part of it, " said Young Gerard, "the fire is alwayschanging and doing different things with it. "

And they watched the fire together, and smelled its smoke, that had asmany smells as there were sorts of wood. Sometimes it was like roastcoffee, and sometimes like roast chestnuts, and sometimes like incense. And they saw the lichen on old stumps crinkle into golden ferns, orfire run up a dead tail of creeper in a red S, and vanish in mid-airlike an Indian boy climbing a rope, or crawl right through the middleof a birch-twig, making hieroglyphics that glowed and faded between thegray scales of the bark. And then suddenly it caught the wholescaffolding of their castle, and blazed up through the fir and oak andspiny thorns and dead leaves, and the bits of old bark all overblue-gray-green rot, and the young sprigs almost budding, and hissingwith sap. And for one moment they saw all the skeleton and soul of thecastle without its body, before it fell in. 

The child sighed a little and yawned a little and said:

"How nice it is to live in a palace. Who lives here with you?"

"My friends, " said Young Gerard, poking at the log with a bit of stick. 

"What are your friends like?" she asked him, rubbing her knuckles inher eyes. 

He was silent for a little, stirring up sparks and smoke. Then heanswered, "They are gay in their hearts, and they're dressed in brightclothes, and they come with singing and dancing. "

"Who else lives in your palace with you?" she asked drowsily. 

"You do, " said Young Gerard. 

The child's head dropped against his shoulder and she said, "My name'sDorothea, but my father calls me Thea, and he is the Lord of CombeIvy. " And she fell fast asleep. 

For a little while Young Gerard held and watched her in the firelight, and then he rose and wrapped her in the old embroidered mantle on thesettle, and went out. And sure-foot as a goat he carried her over thedark hills by the tracks he knew, for roads there were none, and hisarms ached with his burden, but he would not wake her till they stoodat her father's gates. Then he shook her gently and set her down, andshe clung to him a little dazed, trying to remember. 

"This is Combe Ivy, " he whispered. "You must go in alone. Will you comeagain?"

"One day, " said Thea. 

"One day there'll be flowers on my cherry-tree, " said Young Gerard. "Don't forget. "

"No, I won't, " she said. 

He returned through the night up hill and down dale, but did not goback to the shed until he had recovered his lamb. By then it was almostdawn, and he found his master awake and cursing. He had feared the boyhad made off, and he had had curt treatment at Combe Ivy, which was ina stir about the loss of the little daughter. Young Gerard showed thelamb as his excuse, nevertheless the old shepherd leathered the youngone soundly, as he did six days in seven. 

After this when Young Gerard sat dreaming on the hills, he dreamed notonly of his happy land and laughing friends, but of the next coming oflittle Thea. But Combe Ivy was far away, and the months passed and theyears, and she did not come again. Meanwhile Young Gerard and his treegrew apace, and the limbs of the boy became longer and stronger, andthe branches of the tree spread up to the roof and even began to thrusttheir way through the holes in the wall; but the boy's life, save forhis dreaming, was as friendless as the tree's was flowerless. And of atree's dreaming who shall speak? Meanwhile Old Gerard thrashed andrated him, and reckoned his gold pieces, and counted the years thatstill lay between him and his freedom. At last came another Aprilbringing its hour. 

For as he sat on the Mount in the early morning, when he was in hisseventeenth year, Young Gerard saw a slender girl running over the turfand laughing in the sunlight, sometimes stopping to watch a birdflying, or stooping to pluck one of the tiny Down-flowers at her feet. So she came with a dancing step to the top of the Mount, and then shesaw him, and her glee left her and shyness took its place. But a littlepride in her prevented her from turning away, and she still cameforward until she stood beside him, and said:

"Good morning, Shepherd. Is it true that in April the country north ofthe hills is filled with lakes?"

"Yes, sometimes, Mistress Thea, " said Young Gerard. 

She looked at him with surprise and said, "You must be one of myfather's shepherds, but I do not remember seeing you at Combe Ivy. "

"I was only once near Combe Ivy, " said Young Gerard, "when I took youthere five years ago the night you were lost on these hills. "

"Oh, I remember, " she said with a faint smile. "How they did scold me. Is your cherry-tree in flower yet, Shepherd?"

"No, mistress, " said Young Gerard. 

"I want to see it, " she said suddenly. 

Young Gerard left his flock to the dog, and walked with her along thehillbrow. 

"I have run away, " she told him as they went. "I had to get up veryearly while they were asleep. I shall be scolded again. But travelerscome who talk of the lakes, and I wanted to see them, and to swim inthem. "

"I wouldn't do that, " said Young Gerard, hiding a smile. "It'sdangerous to swim in the April floods. And it would be rather cold. "

"What lies beyond?" she asked. 

"I'm not able to know, " said Young Gerard. 

"Some day I mean to know, shepherd. "

"Yes, mistress, " he said, "you'll be free to. "

She looked at him quickly and reddened a little, it might have beenfrom shame or pity, Young Gerard did not know which. And her shynessonce more enveloped her; it always came over her unexpectedly, takingher breath away like a breaking wave. So she said no more, and theywalked together, she looking at the ground, he at the soft brown hairblowing over the curve of her young cheek. She was fine and delicate inevery line, and in her color, and in the touch of her too, Young Gerardknew. He wanted to touch her cheek with his finger as he would havetouched the petal of a flower. Her neck, the back of it especially, wasone of the loveliest bits of her, like a primrose stalk. He fell a stepbehind so that he could look at it. They did not speak as they went. Hedid not want to, and she did not know what to say. 

When they reached the shed she lingered a moment by the tree, tracing abare branch with her finger, and he waited, content, till she shouldspeak or act, to watch her. At last she said with her faint smile, "Iam very thirsty. " Then he went into the shed and came out with hiswooden cup filled with milk. She drank and said, "Thank you, shepherd. How pretty the violets are in your copse. "

"Would you like some?" he asked. 

"Not now, " she said. "Perhaps another day. I must go now. " She gave himback his cup and went away, slowly at first, but when she was at somedistance he saw her begin to run like a fawn. 

She did not come again that spring. And so the stark lives of the boyand the tree went forward for another year. But one evening in thefollowing April, when the green was quivering on wood and hedgerow, hecame to the door of the shed and saw her bending like a flower at theedge of the copse, filling her little basket and singing to herself. She looked up soon and said:

"Good evening, shepherd. How does your cherry-tree?"

"As usual, Mistress Thea. "

"So I see. What a lazy tree it is. Have you some milk for me?"

He brought her his cup and she drank of it for the third time, and lefthim before he had had time to realize that she had come and gone, butonly how greatly her delicate beauty had increased in the last year. 

However, before the summer was over she came again--to swim in theriver, she told him, as she passed him on the hills, without lingering. And in the autumn she came to gather blackberries, and he showed herthe best place to find them. Any of these things she might have done aseasily nearer Combe Ivy, but it seemed she must always offer him somereason for her small truancies--whether to gather berries or flowers, or to swim in the river. He knew that her chief delight lay in escapingfrom her father's manor. 

Winter closed her visits; but Young Gerard was as patient as the earth, and did not begin to look for her till April. As surely as it broughtleaves to the trees and flowers to the grass, it would, he knew, bringhis little mistress's question, half shy, half smiling, "Is yourcherry-tree in blossom, shepherd?" And later her request, smiling andshy, for milk. 

They seldom exchanged more than a few words at any time. Sometimes theydid not speak at all. For he, who was her father's servant, never spokefirst; and she, growing in years and loveliness, grew also in timidity, so that it seemed to cost her more and more to address her greeting orher question even to her father's servant. The sweet quick reddening ofher cheek was one of Young Gerard's chief remembrances of her. 

But after a while, when they met by those sly chances which she couldcontrol and he could not; and when she did not speak, but glanced andhesitated and passed on; or glanced and passed without hesitation; orpassed without a glance; he came to know that she would not mind if hearose and walked with her, if he could control the pretext, which shecould not. And he did so quietly, having always something to show her. 

He showed her his most secret nests and his greatest treasures offlowers, his because he loved them so much. He would have been jealousof showing these things to any one but her. In a great water-meadow inthe valley, he had once shown her kingcups making sheets of gold, enameled with every green grass ever seen in spring--thousands ofkingcups and a myriad of milkmaids in between, dancing attendance inall their faint shades of silver-white and rosy-mauve. When a breezeblew, this world of milkmaids swayed and curtsied above the kings'daughters in their glory. Then Gerard and Thea looked at each othersmiling, because the same delight was in each, and soon she looked awayagain at the gentle maids and the royal ladies, but he looked still ather, who was both to him. 

In silence he showed her what he loved. 

But you must not suppose that she came frequently to those hills. Shewas to be seen no more often than you will see a kingfisher when youwatch for it under a willow. Yet because in the season of kingfishersyou know you may see one flash at any instant, so to Young Gerard eachday of spring and summer was an expectancy; and this it was that kepthis lift alight. This and his young troop of friends in a land of fruitin blossom and a sky in stars. For men, dear maids, live by the dailybread of their dreams; on realizations they would starve. 

At last came the winter that preceded Young Gerard's twenty-first year. With the stripping of the boughs he stripped his heart of all thoughtsof seeing her again till the green of the coming year. The snows came, and he tended his sheep and counted his memories; and Old Gerard tendedhis sheep and counted his coins. The count was full now, and he dreamedof April and the freeing of his body. Young Gerard also dreamed ofApril, and the freeing of his heart. And under the ice that bound theflooded meadows doubtless the earth dreamed of the freeing of herwaters and the blooming of the land. The snows and the frosts lastedlate that year as though the winter would never be done, and to the twoGerards the days crawled like snails; but in time March blew himselfoff the face of the earth, and April dawned, and the swollen river wentrushing to the sea above the banks it had drowned with its wildoverflow. And as Old Gerard began to mark the days off on a tally, Young Gerard began to listen on the hills. When the day came whosemidnight was to make the old man a freedman, Thea had not appeared. 

On the morning of this day, as the two shepherds stood outside theirshed before they separated with their flocks, their ears were accostedwith shoutings and halloos on the other side of the copse, and soonthey saw coming through the trees a man in gay attire. He had ascalloped jerkin of orange leather, and his shoes and cap were of thesame, but his sleeves and hose and feather were of a vivid green, likenothing in nature. He looked garish in the sun. Seeing the shepherds hetook off his cap, and solemnly thanked heaven for having after allcreated something besides hills and valleys. "For, " said he, "afterbeing lost among them I know not how many hours, with no other companythan my own shadow, I had begun to doubt whether I was not the only manon earth, and my name Adam. A curse of all lords who do not live byhighroads!"

"Where are you bound for, master?" asked Old Gerard. 

"Combe Ivy, " said the stranger, "and the wedding. "

Old Gerard nodded, as one little surprised; but to Young Gerard thismention of a wedding at Combe Ivy came as news. It did not stir himmuch, however, for he was not curious about the doings of the masterand the house he never saw; all that concerned him was that to-day, atleast, he must cease to listen on the hills, since his young mistresswould be at the wedding with the others. 

Old Gerard said to the stranger, "Keep the straight track to the southtill you come under Wepham, then follow the valley to the east, and soyou'll be in time for the feasting, master. "

"That's certain, " said the stranger, "for the Lord of Combe Ivy and theRough Master of Coates have had no peers at junketing since Gay Streetlost its Lord; and the feast is like to go on till midnight. "

With that he went on his way, and Old Gerard followed him with hiseyes, muttering, "Would I also were there! But for you, " he said, turning on the youngman with a sudden snarl, "I should be! Had ye not come a day too late, I'd be a freedman to-night instead of to-morrow, and junketing at thewedding with the rest. "

Young Gerard did not understand him. He was not in the habit ofquestioning the old man, and if he had would not have expected answers. But certain words of the stranger had pricked his attention, and now hesaid:

"Where is Gay Street?"

"Far away over the Stor and the Chill, " growled Old Gerard. 

"It's a jolly name. "

"Maybe. But they say it's a sorry place now that it lacks its Lord. "

"What became of him?"

"How should I know? What can a man know who lives all his life on ahill with pewits for gossips?"

"You know more than I, " said Young Gerard indolently. "You know there'sa wedding down yonder. Who's the Rough Master of Coates?"

"The bridegroom, young know-nothing. You've a tongue in your headto-day. "

"Why do they call him the Rough Master?"

"Because that's what he is, and so are his people, as rough as furze ona common, they say. Have you any more questions?"

"Yes, " said Young Gerard. "Who is the bride?"

"Who should the bride be? Combe Ivy's mother?"

"She's dead, " said Young Gerard. 

"His daughter then, " scoffed Old Gerard. 

Young Gerard stared at him. 

"Get about your business, " shouted the old shepherd with sudden wrath. "Why do ye stare so? You're not drunk. Ah! down yonder they'll begetting drunk without me. Enough of your idling and staring!"

He raised his staff, but Young Gerard thrust it aside so violently thathe staggered, and the boy went away to his sheep and they met no moretill evening. The whole of that day Young Gerard sat on the Mount, notlooking as usual to the busy north dreaming of the unknown land beyondthe water, but over the silent slopes and valleys of the south, whosepeoples were only birds and foxes and rabbits, and whose only citieswere built of lights and shadows. Somewhere beyond them was Combe Ivy, and little Thea getting married to the Rough Master of Coates, in themidst of feasting and singing and dancing. He thought of her dancingover the Downs for joy of being free, he thought of her singing toherself as she gathered flowers in his copse, and he thought of herfeasting on wild berries he had helped her to find--that also was afeasting and singing and dancing. All day long his thoughts ran, "Shewill not come any more in the mornings to bathe in the river over thehill. She will not come with her little basket to gather flowers andberries. She will not stop and ask for a cup of milk, or say, Let mesee the young lambs, or say, Is your cherry-tree in flower yet, shepherd? She will not ask me with her eyes to come with her--oh, shewill not ask me by turning her eyes away, with her little head bent. You! you Rough Master of Coates, what are you like, what are you like?"

In the evening when he gathered his sheep, one was missing. He had totake the flock back without it. Old Gerard was furious with him; itseemed as though on this last night that separated him from the longfulfillment of his hopes he must be more furious than he had ever beenbefore. He was furious at being thwarted of the fun in the valley, furious at the loss of the lamb, most furious at young Gerard'sindifference to his fury. He told the boy he must search on the hills, and Young Gerard only sat down by the side of the shed and looked tothe south and made no answer. So he went himself, leaving the boy toprepare the mess for supper; for he feared that if he went to Combe Ivythat night with a bad tale to tell, his master for a whim might saythat a young sheep was a fair deal for an old shepherd, and take hisgold, and keep him a bondman still. For the Lord of Combe Ivy lived byhis whimsies. But Old Gerard could not find the lost sheep, and when hecame back the boy was where he had left him, looking over the darkeninghills. 

"Is the mess ready?" said Old Gerard. 

"No, " said Young Gerard. 

"Why not?"

"Because I forgot. "

Old Gerard slashed at him with a rope he had taken in case of need. "That will make you remember. "

"No, " said Young Gerard. 

"Why not?"

Young Gerard said, "You beat me too often, I cannot remember all thereasons. "

"Then, " said Old Gerard full of wrath, "I will beat you out of allreason. "

And he began to thrash Young Gerard will all his might, talking betweenthe blows. "Haven't you been the curse of my life for twenty-oneyears?" snarled he. "Can I trust you? Can I leave you? Would the sheepget their straw? Would the lambs be brought alive into the world? Bah!for all you care the sheep would go cold and their young would die. Anddown yonder they are getting drunk without me!"

"Old shepherd, " said a voice behind him. 

The angry man, panting with his rage and the exertion of his blows, paused and turned. Near the corner of the shed he saw a woman in aduffle cloak standing, or rather stooping, on her crutch. She was soancient that it seemed as though Death himself must have forgotten her, but her eyes in their wrinkled sockets were as piercing as thorns. OldGerard, staring at them, felt as though his own eyes were pricked. 

"Where have I seen you before, hag?" he said. 

"Have you ever seen me before?" asked the old woman. 

"I thought so, I thought so"--he fumbled with his memory. 

"Then it must have been when we went courting in April, nine-and-ninetyyears ago, " said the old woman dryly, "but you lads remember me betterthan I do you. Can I sleep by your hearth to-night?"

"Where are you going to?" asked Old Gerard, half grinning, half sour. 

"Where I'll be welcome, " said she. 

"You're not welcome here. But there's nothing to steal, you may sleepby the hearth. "

"Thank you, shepherd, " said the crone, "for your courtesy. Why were youbeating the boy?"

"Because he's one that won't work. "

"Is he your slave?"

"He's my master's slave. But he's idle. "

"I am not idle, " said Young Gerard. "The year round I'm busy longbefore dawn and long after dark. "

"Then why are you idle to-day, " sneered Old Gerard, "of all the days inthe year?"

"I've something else to think of, " said the boy. 

"You see, " said the old man to the crone. 

"Well, " said she, "a boy cannot always be working. A boy will sometimesbe dreaming. Life isn't all labor, shepherd. "

"What else is it?" said Old Gerard. 

"Joy. "

"Ho, ho, ho!" went Old Gerard. 

"And power. "

"Ho, ho, ho!"

"And triumph. "

"Not for serfs, " said Old Gerard. 

"For serfs and lords, " she said. 

"Ho, ho, ho!"

"You were young once, " said the crone. 

Old Gerard said, "What if I was?"

"Good night, " said the crone; and she went into the shed. 

The shepherds looked after her, the old one stupidly, the young onewith lighted eyes. 

"Will you get supper?" growled Old Gerard. 

"No, " said Young Gerard, "I won't. I want no supper. Put down thatrope. I am taller and stronger than you, and why I've let you go onbeating me so long I don't know, unless it is that you began to beat mewhen you were taller and stronger than I. If you want any supper, getit yourself. "

Old Gerard turned red and purple. "The boy's mad!" he gasped. "Do youknow what happens to servants who defy their masters?"

"Yes, " said Young Gerard, "then they're lords. " And he too went intothe shed. 

"Try that on Combe Ivy!" bawled Old Gerard, "and see what you'll getfor it. I thank fortune, I'll be quit of you tomorrow-- What's thatto-do in the valley?" he muttered, and stared down the hill. 

Away in the hollows and shadows he saw splashes of moving light, andheard far-off snatches of song and laughter, but the movements andsounds were still so distant that they seemed to be only those ofghosts and echoes. Nearer they came and nearer, and now in the night hecould discern a great rabble stumbling among the dips and rises of thehills. 

"They're heading this way, " said Old Gerard. "Why, tis thewedding-party, " he said amazed, "if it's not witchcraft. But why arethey coming here?"

"Hola! hola! hola!" shouted a tipsy voice hard by. 

"Here's dribblings from the wineskin, " said Old Gerard; and up thetrack struggled a drunken man, waving a torch above his head. It wasthe guest whom he had directed in the morning. 

"Hola!" he shouted again on seeing Old Gerard. 

"Well, racketer?" said the shepherd, with a chuckle. 

"Shall a man not racket at another man's wedding?" he cried. "Let someone be jolly, say I!"

"The bridegroom, " said Old Gerard. 

"Ha, ha!" laughed the other, "the bridegroom! He was first in highfeather and last in the sulks. "

"The bride, then. "

"Ha, ha! ha, ha! during the toasts he tried to kiss her. "

"Wouldn't she?"

"She wouldn't. "

"Hark!" said Old Gerard, "here they come. " The sound of rollickingincreased as the rout drew nearer. 

"He's taking her home across the river, " said the guest. "I wouldn't beshe. There she sat, her pretty face fixed and frozen, but a fright inher that shook her whole body. You could see it shake. And we drank, how we drank! to the bride and the groom and their daughters and sons, to the sire and the priest, and the ring and the bed, to the kiss andthe quarrel, to love which is one thing and marriage which isanother--Lord, how we drank! But she drank nothing. And for all herterror the Rough could do no more with her than with a stone. Somethingin her turned him cold every time. Suddenly up he gets. We'll have nomore of this, ' he says, we'll go. ' Combe Ivy would have had them stay, but She's where she's used to lord it here, ' says Rough, I'll takeher where I lord it, and teach her who's master, ' And he pushes downhis chair and takes her hand and pulls her away; and out we tumbleafter him. Combe Ivy cries to him to wait for the horses, but no, We'll foot it, ' says he, up hill and down dale as the crow flies, andif she hates me now without a cause I swear she'll love me with one atthe end of the dance. ' We're dancing them as far as the Wildbrooks; ont'other side they may dance for themselves. Here they comedancing--dance, you!" cried the guest, and whirled his torch like amadman. And as he whirled and staggered, up the hill came thewedding-party as tipsy as he was: a motley procession, waving torchesand garlands, winecups, flagons, colored napkins, shouting and singingand beating on trenchers and salvers--on anything that they couldsnatch from the table as they quitted it. They came in all theirbravery--in doublets of flame-colored silk and blue, in scarlet leatherand green velvet, in purple slashed with silver and crimson fringedwith bronze; but their vests were unlaced, their hose sagged, and silkand velvet and leather were stained bright or dark with wine. Some hadstuck leaves and flowers in their hair, others had tied their forelockswith ribbons like horses on a holiday, and one had torn his yellowmantle in two and capered in advance, waving the halves in either handlike monstrous banners, or the flapping wings of some golden bird ofprey. In the midst of them, pressing forward and pressed on by the riotbehind, was the Rough Master of Coates, and with him, always hanging alittle away and shrinking under her veil, Thea, whose right wrist hegrasped in his left hand. Breathless she was among the breathlessrabble, who, gaining the hilltop seized each other suddenly and brokeinto antics, shaking their napkins and rattling on their plates. Theirvoices were hoarse with laughter and drink, and their faces flushedwith it; only among those red and swollen faces, the bridegroom's, inthe flare of the torches, looked as black as the bride's looked white. The night about the newly-wedded pair was one great din and flutter. 

Then in a trice the dancers all lost breath, and the dance parted asthey staggered aside; and at the door of the shed Young Gerard stood, and gazed through the broken revel at little Thea, and she stood gazingat him. And behind and above him, along the walls of the hut, and overthe doorway, and making lovely the very roof, she saw a cloud ofsnowwhite blossom. 

Somebody cried, "Here's a boy. He shall dance too. Boy, is there drinkwithin?"

The others took up the clamor. "Drink! bring us something to drink!"

"The red grape!" cried one. 

"The yellow grape!" cried another. 

"The sap of the apple!"

"The juice of the pear!"

"Nut-brown ale!"

"The spirit that burns!"

"Bring us drink!" they cried in a breath. 

"Will you have milk?" said Young Gerard. 

At this the company burst into a roar of laughter. They laughed tillthey rocked. But when they were silent little Thea spoke. She said in afaint clear voice:

"I would like a cup of milk. "

Young Gerard went into the hut and came out with his wooden cup filledwith milk, and brought it to her, and she drank. None spoke or movedwhile she drank, but when she gave him the cup again one of the crewsaid chuckling, "Now she has drunk, now she's merrier. Try her again, Rough, try her on milk!"

Again the night reeled with their laughter. They surrounded the weddedpair crying, "Kiss her! kiss her! kiss her!" Then the Rough Master ofCoates pulled her round to him, dark with anger, and tried to kiss her. But she turned sharply in his arms, bending her head away. And despitehis force, and though he was a man and she little more than a child, hecould not make her mouth meet his. And the laughter of the guests rosehigher, and infuriated him. 

Then he who had spoken before said, "By Hymen, the bride should kisssomething. If the lord's not good enough, let her kiss the churl!" Atthis the revelers, wild with delight, beat on their trenchers andshouted, "Ay, let her!"

And suddenly they surged in, parting Thea from the Rough; while somepulled him back others dragged Young Gerard forward, till he stoodwhere the bridegroom had stood; and in that seething throng of mockeryhe felt her clinging helplessly to him, and his arm went round her. 

"Kiss him! kiss him! kiss him!" cried the guests. 

She looked up pitifully at him, and he bent his head. And she heard himwhisper:

"My cherry-tree's in flower. "

She whispered, "Yes. "

And they kissed each other. 

Then the tumult of laughter passed all bounds, so that it was a wonderif it was not heard at Combe Ivy; and the guests clashed theirtrenchers one against another, and whirled their torches till thesparks flew, yelling, "The bride's kiss! Ha, ha! the bride's kiss!"

But the Rough Master of Coates had had enough; snarling like a mad doghe thrust his way through the crowd on one side, as Old Gerard, seeinghis purpose, thrust through on the other, and both at the same instantfell on the boy, the one with his scabbard, the other with his staff. 

"Kisses, will ye?" cried the Rough Master of Coates, "here's kisses forye!"

"Ha, ha!" cried the guests, "more kisses, more kisses for him thatkissed the bride!"

And then they all struck him at once, kicking and beating him withoutmercy, till he lay prone on the earth. When he had fallen, the Roughshouted, "Away to the Wildbrooks, away!"

And he seized Thea in his arms, and rushed along the brow of the hill, and all the company followed in a confusion, and were swallowed up inthe night. 

But Young Gerard raised himself a little, and groaned, "TheWildbrooks--are they going to the Wildbrooks?"

"Ay, and over the Wildbrooks, " said Old Gerard. 

"But they're in flood, " gasped Young Gerard. "They'll never cross it inthe spring floods. "

"They'll manage it somehow. The Rough--did you see his eyes when you--?ho, ho! he'll cross it somehow. "

"He can't, " the boy muttered. "The April tide's too strong. He willdrown in the flood. "

"And she, " said Old Gerard. 

"Perhaps she will swim on the flood, " said Young Gerard faintly. And hesighed and sank back on the earth. 

"Ay, you'll be sore, " chuckled the old man. "You had your salve beforeyou had your drubbing. Lie there. I must be gone on business. "

He took up his staff and went down the hill for the last time to CombeIvy, to purchase his freedom. 

But Young Gerard lay with his face pressed to the turf. "And that wasthe bridegroom, " he said, and shook where he lay. 

"Young shepherd, " said a voice beside him. He looked up and saw thehooded crone, come out of the hut. "Why do you water the earth?" saidshe. "Have not the rains done their work?"

"What work, dame?"

"You've as fine a cherry in flower, " said she, "as ever blossomed inGay Street in the season of singing and dancing. "

"Singing and dancing!" he cried, his voice choking, and he sprang updespite his pains. "Don't speak to me, dame, of singing and dancing. You're old, like the withered branch of a tree, but did you not seewith your old eyes, and hear with your old ears? Did you not see hercome up the green hillside with singing and dancing? Oh, yes, mycherry's in flower, like a crown for a bride, and the spring is all inmovement, and the birds are all in song, and she--she came up thehillside with singing and dancing. "

"I saw, " said the crone, "and I heard. I'm not so old, young shepherd, that I do not remember the curse of youth. "

"What's that?" he said moodily. 

"To bear the soul of a master in the body of a slave, " said she; "to bea flower in a sealed bud, the moon in a cloud, water locked in ice, Spring in the womb of the year, love that does not know itself. "

"But when it does know?" said Young Gerard slowly. 

"Oh, when it knows!" said she. "Then the flower of the fruit will leapthrough the bud, and the moon will leap like a lamb on the hills of thesky, and April will leap in the veins of the year, and the river willleap with the fury of Spring, and the headlong heart will cry in thebody of youth, I will not be a slave, but I will be the lord of life, because--"

"Because?" said Young Gerard. 

"Because I will!"

Young Gerard said nothing, and they sat together in a long silence inthe darkness, and time went by filling the sky with stars. 

Now as they sat the hilltop once more began to waver with shadows andvoices, but this time the shadows came on heavy feet and weary, and thevoices were forlorn. One feebly cried, "Hola!" And round the belt oftrees straggled the rout that had left them an hour or so earlier. Butnow they were sodden and dejected, draggled and woebegone, as sorry aspectacle as so many drowned rats. 

"Fire!" moaned one. "Fire! fire!"

"Who's burning?" said Young Gerard, and got quickly on his feet; but hedid not see the two he looked for. 

"None's burning, fool, but many are drowning. Do we not look likedrowned men? How shall we ever get back to Combe Ivy, and warmth anddrink and comforts? Would we were burning!"

"What has happened?" the boy demanded. 

"We went in search of the ferry, " he said, "but the ferry was drownedtoo. "

"We couldn't find the ferry, " said a second. 

"No, " mumbled a third, "the river had drunk it up. Where there werepaths there are brooks, and where there were meadows, lakes. "

The miserable crew broke out into plaints and questions--"Have you nofire? have you no food? no coverings?"

"None, " said Young Gerard. "Where is the bride?"

"Have you do drink?"

"Where is the bride?"

"The groom stumbled, " said one. "Let us to Combe Ivy, in comfort'sname. There'll be drink there. "

He staggered down the hill, and his fellows made after him. But YoungGerard sprang upon one, and gripped him by the shoulder and shook him, and for the third time cried:

"Where is the bride?"

"In the water, " he answered heavily, "because--there was--no wine. "

Then he dragged himself out of the boy's grasp, and fell down the hillafter his companions. 

Young Gerard stood for one instant listening and holding his breath. Suddenly he said, "My lost lamb, crying on the hills. " He ran into theshed and looked about, and snatched from the settle the green andcherry cloak, and from the wall the crystal and silver lantern. Hestruck a spark from a flint and lit the wick. It burned brightly andsteadily. Then he ran out of the shed. The old woman rose up in hispath. 

"That's a good light, " said she, "and a warm cloak. "

"Don't stop me!" said Young Gerard, and ran on. She nodded, and as hevanished in one direction, she vanished in the other. 

He had not run far when he saw one more shadow on the hills; and itcame with faltering steps, and a trembling sobbing breath, and he heldup his lantern and the light fell on Thea, shivering in her wet veil. As the flame struck her eyes she sighed, "Oh, I can't see the way--Ican't see!"

Young Gerard hurried to her and said, "Come this way, " and he took herhand; but she snatched it quickly from him. 

"Go, man!" she said. "Don't touch me. Go!"

"Don't be frightened of me, " said Young Gerard gently. 

Then she looked at him and whispered, "Oh--it is you--shepherd. I wastrying to find you. I'm cold. "

Young Gerard wrapped the cloak about her, and said, "Come with me. I'llmake you a fire. "

He took her back to the shed. But she did not go in. She crouched onthe ground under the cherry-tree. Young Gerard moved about collectingbrushwood. They scarcely looked at each other; but once when he passedher he said, "You're shivering. "

"It's because I'm so wet, " said Thea. 

"Did you fall in the water?"

She nodded. "The floods were so strong. "

"It's a bad night for swimming, " said Young Gerard. 

"Yes, shepherd. " She then said again, "Yes. " He could tell by her voicethat she was smiling faintly. He glanced at her and saw her looking athim; both smiled a little and glanced away again. He began to pile hisbrushwood for the fire. 

After a short pause she said timidly, "Are you sore, shepherd?"

"No, I feel nothing, " said he. 

"They beat you very hard. "

"I did not feel their blows. "

"How could you not feel them?" she said in a low voice. He looked ather again, and again their eyes met, and again parted quickly. 

"Now I'll strike a spark, " said Young Gerard, "and you'll be warm soon. "

He kindled his fire; the branches crackled and burned, and she kneltbeside the blaze and held her hands to it. 

"I was never here by night before, " she said. 

"Yes, once, " said Young Gerard. "You often came, didn't you, to gatherflowers in the morning and to swim in the river at noon. But oncebefore you were here in the night. "

"Was I?" said she. 

He dropped a handful of cones into her lap, throwing the last on thefire. She threw another after it, and smiled as it crackled. 

"I remember, " she said. "Thank you, shepherd. You were always kind andfound me the things I wanted, and gave me your cup to drink of. Who'lldrink of it now?"

"No one, " he said, "ever again. "

He went and fetched the cup and gave it to her. "Burn that too, " saidYoung Gerard. Thea put it into the fire and trembled. When it wasburned she asked very low, "Will you be lonely?"

"I'll have my sheep and my thoughts. "

"Yes, " said Thea, "and stars when the sheep are folded. The stars aregood to be with too. "

"Good to see and not be seen by, " he said. 

"How do you know they don't see you?" she asked shyly. 

"One shepherd on a hill isn't much for the eye of a star. He may watchthem unwatched, while they come and go in their months. Sometimes therearen't any, and sometimes not more than one pricking the sky near themoon. But to-night, look! the sky's like a tree with full branches. "

Thea looked up and said with a child's laugh, "Break me a branch!"

"I'd want Jacob's Ladder for that, " smiled Young Gerard. 

"Then shake the tree and bring them down!" she insisted. 

"Here come your stars, " said Young Gerard. Suddenly she was envelopedin a falling shower, white and heavenly. 

"The stars--!" she cried. "Oh, what is it?"

"My cherry-tree--it's in flower--" said Young Gerard, and his voicetrembled. She looked up quickly and saw that he was standing besideher, shaking the tree above her head. And now their eyes met and didnot separate. He put out his hand and broke a branch from the tree andoffered it to her. She took it from him slowly, as though she were in adream, and laid it in her lap, and put her face in her hands and beganto cry. 

Young Gerard whispered, "Why are you crying?"

Thea said, "Oh, my wedding, my wedding! Only last year I thought of thenight of my wedding and how it would be. It was not with torchlight andshouting and wine, but moonlight and silence and the scent of wildblossoms. And now I know that it was not the night of my wedding Idreamed of. "

"What did you dream of?" asked Young Gerard. 

"The night of my first love. "

"Thea, " said Young Gerard, and he knelt beside her. 

"And my love's first kiss. "

"Oh, Thea, " said Young Gerard, and he took her hands. 

"Why did you not feel their blows?" she said. "I felt them. "

Their arms went round each other, and for the second time that nightthey kissed. 

Young Gerard said, "I've always wondered if this would happen. "

And Thea answered, "I didn't know it would be you. "

"Didn't you? didn't you?" he whispered, stroking her head, wondering athimself doing what he had so often dreamed of doing. 

"Oh, " she faltered, "sometimes I thought--it might--be you, darling. "

"Thea, Thea!"

"When I came over the Mount to swim in the river, and saw you in thedistance among your sheep, there was a swifter river running throughall my body. When I came every April to ask for your cherry-tree, whatdid it matter to me that it was not in bloom? for all my heart was wildwith bloom, oh, Gerard, my--lover!"

"Oh, Thea, my love! What can I give you, Thea, I, a shepherd?"

"You were the lord of the earth, and you gave me its flowers and itsbirds and its secret waters. What more could you give me, you, ashepherd and my lord?"

"The wild white bloom of its fruit-trees that comes to the branches inApril like love to the heart. I'll give it you now. Sit here, sit here!I'll make you a bower of the cherry, and a crown, and a carpet too. There's nothing in all April lovely and wild enough for you to-night, your bridal night, my lady and my darling!"

And in a great fit of joy he broke branch after branch from the tree asshe sat at its foot, and set them about her, and filled her arms tooverflowing, and crowned her with blossoms, and shook the bloom underher feet, till her shy happy face, paling and reddening by turns, looked out from a world of flowers and she cried between laughing andweeping, "Oh, Gerard, oh, you're drowning me!"

"It's the April floods, " shouted Young Gerard, "and I must drown withyou, Thea, Thea, Thea!" And he cast himself down beside her, andclasped her amid all the blossoming, and with his head on her shoulderkissed and kissed her till he was breathless and she as pale as theflowers that smothered their kisses. 

And then suddenly he folded her in the green mantle, blossoms and all, and sprang up and lifted her to his breast till she lay like a child inthe arms of its mother; and he picked up the lantern and said, "Now wewill go away for ever. "

"Where are we going?" she whispered with shining eyes. 

"To the Wildbrooks, " he said. 

"To drown in the floods together?" She closed her eyes. 

"There's a way through all floods, " said Young Gerard. 

And he ran with her over the hills with all his speed. 

And Old Gerard returned to a hut as empty as it had been one-and-twentyyears ago. And they say that Combe Ivy, having never set eyes on theboy in his life, swore that the shepherd's tale had been a fiction fromfirst to last, and kept him a serf to the end of his days. 

("What a night of stars it is!" said Martin Pippin, stretching his arms. 

"Good heavens, Master Pippin, " cried Joyce, "what a moment to mentionit!"

"It is worth mentioning, " said Martin, "at all moments when it is so. Iwould not think of mentioning it in the middle of a snowstorm. "

"You should as little think of mentioning it, " said Joyce, "in themiddle of a story. "

"But I am at the end of my story, Mistress Joyce. "

Joscelyn: Preposterous! Oh! Oh, how can you say so? I am ashamed of you!

Martin: Dear Mistress Joscelyn, I thank you in charity's name for beingthat for me which I have never yet succeeded in being for myself. 

Joscelyn: What! are you not ashamed to offer us a broken gift? Yourstory is like a cracked pitcher with half the milk leaked out. What wasthe secret of the Lantern, the Cloak, and the Cherry-tree?

Joyce: Who was the lovely lady, his mother? and who the old crone?

Jennifer: What was the end of the Rough Master of Coates?

Jessica: Did not the lovers drown in the floods?

Jane: And if they did not, what became of them?

"Please, " said little Joan, "tell us why Young Gerard dreamed thosedreams. Oh, please tell us what happened. "

"Women's taste is for trifles, " said Martin. "I have offered you mycake, and you wish only to pick off the nuts and the cherries. "

"No, " said Joan, "we wish you to put them on. Do you not love nuts andcherries on a cake?"

"More than anything, " said Martin. )

A long while ago, dear maidens, there were Lords in Gay Street, and upand down the Street the cherry-trees bloomed in Spring as they bloomednowhere else in Sussex, and under the trees sang and danced theloveliest lads and lasses in all England, with hearts like children. And on all their holiday clothes they worked the leaf and branch andflower and fruit of the cherry. And they never wore anything else buttheir holiday clothes, because in Gay Street it was always holidays. 

And a long while ago there were Gypsies on Nyetimber Common, themerriest Gypsies in the southlands, with the gayest tatters and thebrightest eyes, and the maddest hearts for mirth-making. They were alsomakers of lanterns when they were anything else but what all Gypsiesare. 

And once the son of a Gypsy King loved the daughter of a Lord of GayStreet, and she loved him. And because of this there was wrath in GayStreet and scorn on Nyetimber, and all things were done to keep thelovers apart. But they who attempt this might more profitably chasewild geese. So one night in April they were taken under one of herfather's own wild cherries by the light of one of his father's ownlanterns. And it was her father and his father who found them, as theyhad missed them, in the same moment, and were come hunting forsweethearts by night with their people behind them. 

Then the Lord of Gay Street pronounced a curse of banishment on his owndaughter, that she must go far away beyond the country of the floods, and another on his own tree, that it might never blossom more. Andthere and then it withered. And the Gypsy King pronounced as dark acurse of banishment on his own son, and a second on his own lantern, that it might never more give light. And there and then it went out. 

Then from the crowd of gypsies came the oldest of them all, who was theKing's great-grandmother, and she looked from the angry parents to theunhappy lovers and said, "You can blight the tree and make the lanterndark; nevertheless you cannot extinguish the flower and the light oflove. And till these things lift the curse and are seen again unitedamong you, there will be no Lords in Gay Street nor Kings on Nyetimber. "

And she broke a shoot from the cherry and picked up the lantern andgave them to the lady and her lover; and then she took them one by eachhand and went away. And the Lord of Gay Street and the Gypsy King diedsoon after without heirs, and the joy went out of the hearts of bothpeoples, and they dressed in sad colors for one-and-twenty years. 

But the three traveled south through the country of the floods, and onthe way the King's son was drowned, as others had been before him, andafter him the Rough Master of Coates. But the crone brought the ladysafely through, and how she was at once delivered of her son and hersorrow, dear maidens, you know. 

And for one-and-twenty years the crone was seen no more, and then of asudden she re-appeared at daybreak and bade her people put on theirbright apparel because their King was coming with a young Queen; andafter this she led them to Gay Street where she bade the folk to dontheir holiday attire, because their Lord was on his way with a fairLady. And all those girls and boys, the dark and the light, felt thechild of joy in their hearts again, and they went in the morning withsinging and dancing to welcome the comers under the cherry-trees. 

I entreat you now, Mistress Joyce, for the second hair from your head. 

SECOND INTERLUDE

The milkmaids put their forgotten apples to their mouths, and thechatter began to run out of them like juice from bitten fruit. 

Jessica: What did you think of this story, Jane?

Jane: I did not know what to think, Jessica, until the very conclusion, and then I was too amazed to think anything. For who would haveimagined the young Shepherd to be in reality a lord?

Martin: Few of us are what we seem, Mistress Jane. Even chimney-sweepsare Jacks-in-Green on May-Days; for the otherthree-hundred-and-sixty-four days in the year they pretend to bechimney-sweeps. And I have actually known men who appeared to be hatersof women, when they secretly loved them most tenderly. 

Joscelyn: It does not surprise me to hear this. I have alwaysunderstood men to be composed of caprices. 

Martin: They are composed of nothing else. I see you know them throughand through. 

Joscelyn: I do not know anything at all about them. We do not studywhat does not interest us. 

Martin: I hope, Mistress Joscelyn, you found my story worthy of study?

Joscelyn: It served its turn. Might one, by going to Rackham Hill, seethis same cherry-tree and this same shed?

Martin: Alas, no. The shed rotted with time and weather, and bit by bitits sides were rebuilt with stone. And the cherry-tree Old Gerardchopped down in a fury, and made firewood of it. But it too had servedits turn. For as every man's life (and perhaps, but you must answer forthis, every woman's life), awaits the hour of blossoming that makes itimmortal, so this tree passed in a single night from sterility toimmortality; and it mattered as little if its body were burned the nextday, as it would have mattered had Gerard and Thea gone down throughthe waters that night instead of many years later, after a life-time ofgreat joy and delight. 

Joyce: I am glad of that. There were moments when I feared it would notbe so. 

Jennifer: I too. For how could it be otherwise, seeing that he was ashepherd and she a lord's daughter?

Jessica: And when it was related how she was to wed the Rough Master ofCoates, my hopes were dashed entirely. 

Jane: And when they beat Young Gerard I was perfectly certain he wasdead. 

Joan: I rather fancied the tale would end happily, all the same. 

Martin: I fancied so too. For though any of these accidents would havemarred the ending, love is a divinity above all accidents, and guardshis own with extraordinary obstinacy. Nothing could have thwarted himof his way but one thing. 

Five of the Milkmaids: Oh, what?

Martin: Had Thea been one of those who are not interested in the studyof men. 

Nobody said anything in the Apple-Orchard. 

Joscelyn: She need not have been condemned to unhappiness on thataccount, singer. And what does the happiness or unhappiness of an idlestory weigh? Whether she wedded another, or whether they were parted bywhatever cause, such as her superior station, or even his death, it'sall one to me. 

Jennifer: And me. 

Jessica: And me. 

Jane: And me. 

Martin: The tale is judged. Let it go hang. For a cloud has droppedover nine-tenths of the moon, like the eyelid of a girl who still peepsthrough her lashes, but will soon fall asleep for weariness. I havemade her lids as heavy as yours with my poor story. Let us all sleepand forget it. 

So the girls lay down in the grass and slept. But Joyce went onswinging. And every time she swayed past him she looked at Martin, andher lips opened and shut again, nothing having escaped them but a verylittle laughter. The tenth time this happened Martin said:

"What keeps your lashes open, Mistress Joyce, when your comrades' lietangled on their cheeks? Is it the same thing that opens your lips andpeeps through the doorway and runs away again?"

"MUST my lashes shut because others' do?" said Joyce. "May not lasheshave whims of their own?"

"Nothing is more whimsical, " said Martin Pippin. "I have known, forinstance, lashes that WILL be golden though the hair of the head bedark. It is a silly trick. "

"I don't dislike such lashes, " said Joyce. "That is, I think I shouldnot if ever I saw them. "

Martin: Perhaps you are right. I should love them in a woman. 

Joyce: I never saw them in a woman. 

Martin: In a man they would be regrettable. 

Joyce: Then why did you give them to Young Gerard?

Martin: Did I? It was pure carelessness. Let us change the color of hislashes. 

Joyce: No, no! I will not have them changed. I would not for the world. 

Martin: Dear Mistress Joyce, if I had the world to offer you, I wouldsit by the road and break it with a pickax rather than change a singleeyelash in Young Gerard's lids. Since you love them. 

Joyce: Oh, did I say so?

Martin: Didn't you?--Mistress Joyce, when you laugh I am ready toforgive you all your debts. 

Joyce: Why, what do I owe you?

Martin: An eyelash. 

Joyce: I am sure I do not. 

Martin: No? Then a hair of some sort. How will you be able to sleepto-night with a hair on your conscience? For your own sake, lift thatcrowbar. 

Joyce: To tell you the truth, I fear to redeem my promise lest you areunable to redeem yours. 

Martin: Which was?

Joyce: To blow it to its fellow, who is now wandering in the night likethistledown. 

Martin: I will do it, nevertheless. 

Joyce: It is easier promised than proved. But here is the hair. 

Martin: Are you certain it is the same hair?

Joyce: I kept it wound round my finger. 

Martin: I know no better way of keeping a hair. So here it goes!

And he held the hair to his lips and blew on it. 

Martin: A blessing on it. It will soon be wedded. 

Joyce: I have your word on it. 

Martin: You shall have your eyes on it if you will tell me one thing. 

Joyce: Is it a little thing?

Martin: It's as trifling as a hair. I wish only to know why you havefallen out with men. 

Joyce: For the best of reasons. Why, Master Pippin! they say the worldis round!

Martin: Heaven preserve us! was ever so giddy a statement? Round? Why, the world's as full of edges as the dealings of men and women, in whichyou can scarcely go a day's march without reaching the end of allthings and tumbling into heaven. I tell you I have traveled the worldmore than any man living, and it takes me all my time to keep fromfalling off the brink. Round? The world is one great precipice!

Joyce: I said so! I said so! I know I was right! I should like totell--them so. 

Martin: Were you only able to go out of the Orchard, you would be freeto tell--them so. They are such fools, these men. 

Joyce: Not in all matters, Master Pippin, but certainly in this. Theyare good at some things. 

Martin: For my part I can't think what. 

Joyce: They whitewash cowsheds beautifully. 

Martin: Who wouldn't? Whitewash is such beautiful stuff. No, let us bedone with these round-minded men and go to bed. Good night, dearmilkmaid. 

Joyce: Ah, but singer! you have not yet proved your fable of the twohairs, which you swore were as hard to keep apart as the two lovers inyour tale. 

"Whom love guarded against accidents, " said Martin; and he held out toher the third finger of his left hand, and wound at its base were thetwo hairs, in a ring as fine as a cobweb. She took his finger betweentwo of hers and laughed, and examined it, and laughed again. 

"You have been playing the god of love to my hairs, " said Joyce. 

"Somebody must protect those that cannot, or will not, be kind tothemselves, " said Martin. And then his other fingers closed quickly onher hand, and he said: "Dear Mistress Joyce, help me to play the god oflove to Gillian, and give me your key to the Well-House, because therewere moments when you feared my tale would end unhappily. "

She pulled her hand away and began to swing rapidly, without answering. But presently she exclaimed, "Oh, oh! it has dropped!"

"What? what?" said Martin anxiously. 

But she only cried again, "Oh, my heart! it has dropped under theswing. "

"In love's name, " said Martin, "let me recover your heart. "

He groped in the grass and found what she had dropped, and then wasobliged to fall flat on his back to escape her feet as she swung. 

"Well, any time's a time for laughing, " said Martin, crawling forth andgetting on his knees. "Here's the key to your heart, laughing Joyce. "

"Oh, Martin! how can I take it with my hands on the ropes?"

"Then I'll lay it on your lap. "

"Oh, Martin! how do you expect it to stay there while I swing?"

"Then you must stop swinging. "

"Oh, Martin! I will never stop swinging as long as I live!"

"Then what must I do with this key?"

"Oh, Martin! why do you bother me so about an old key? Can't you seeI'm busy?"

"Oh, Joyce! when you laugh I must--I must--"

"Yes?"

"I must!"

And he caught her two little feet in his hands as she next flew by, andkissed each one upon the instep. 

Then he ran to his bed under the hedge, and she sat where she was tillher laughing turned to smiling, and her smiling to sleeping. 

"Maids! maids! maids!"

It was morning. 

"To your hiding-place, Master Pippin!" urged Joscelyn. "It's our mastercome again. "

Martin concealed himself with speed, and an instant later the farmer'sburly face peered through the gap in the hedge. 

"Good morrow, maids. "

"Good morrow, master. "

"Has my daughter stopped weeping yet?"

"No, master, " said Joyce, "but I begin to think that she will beforelong. "

"A little longer will be too long, " moaned Gillman, "for my purse isrunning dry with these droughty times, and I shall have to mortgage thefarm to buy me ale, since I am foiled of both water and milk. Who wouldhave daughters when he might have sons? Gillian!" he cried, "when willye learn that old heads are wiser than young ones?"

But Gillian paid no more attention to him than to the cawing rooks inthe elms in the oatfield. 

"Take your bread, maids, " said Gillman, "and heaven send us graceto-morrow. "

"Just an instant, master, " said Joyce. "I would like to know if Blossommy Shorthorn is well?"

"As well as a child without its mother, maid, though Michael has turnednurse to her. But she seems sworn to hold back her milk till you comeagain. Rack and ruin, nothing but rack and ruin!"

And off he went. 

Then breakfast was prepared as on the previous day, and Gillian's staleloaf was broken for the ducks. But Joscelyn pointed out that one of thekissing-crusts had been pulled off in the night. 

"Your stories, Master Pippin, are doing their work, " said she. 

"I begin to think so, " said Martin cheerfully. And then they fell to ontheir own white loaves and sweet apples. 

When they had breakfasted Martin observed that he could make better andlonger daisy-chains than any one else in the world, and his statementwas pooh-poohed by six voices at once. For girls' fingers, said thesevoices, had been especially fashioned by nature for the making ofdaisy-chains. Martin challenged them to prove this, and they pluckedlapfuls of the small white daisies with big yellow eyes, and threadedchains of great length, and hung them about each other's necks. And sodeft and dainty was their touch that the chains never broke in themaking or, what is still more delicate a matter, in the hanging. ButMartin's chains always broke before he had joined the last daisy to thefirst, and the girls jeered at him for having no necklace to matchtheir necklaces of pearls and gold, and for failing so contemptibly inhis boast. And he appeared so abashed by their jeers that little Joanrelented and made a longer chain than any that had been made yet, andhung it round his neck. At which he was merry again, and confessedhimself beaten, and the girls became very gracious, being in theirtriumph even more pleased with him than with themselves. Which was agreat deal. And by then it was dinner-time. 

After dinner Martin proposed that as they had sat all the morning theyshould run all the afternoon, so they played Touchwood. And Martin wasHe. But an orchard is so full of wood that he had a hard job of it. Andhe observed that Jennifer had very little daring, and scarcely everlifted her finger from the wood as she ran from one tree to another;and that Jane had no daring at all, and never even left her tree. Andthat Joscelyn was extremely daring when it was safe to be so; and thatJessica was daring enough to tweak him and run away, while Joyce wasmore daring still, for she tweaked him and did not run. As for littleJoan, she puzzled him most of all; for half the time she outdid themall in daring, and then she was uncatchable, slipping through his veryfingers like a ray of sunlight a child tries to hold; but the otherhalf of the time she was timidity itself, and crept from tree to tree, and if he were near became like a little frightened rabbit, forgetting, or being through fear unable, to touch safety; and then she was snaredmore easily than any. 

By supper, however, every maid had been He but Jane. For no man cancatch what doesn't run. 

"How the time has flown, " said Joscelyn, when they were all seatedabout the middle tree after the meal. 

"It makes such a difference, " said Jennifer, "when there's something todo. We never used to have anything to do till Master Pippin came, andnow life is all games and stories. "

"The games, " said Joscelyn, "are well enough. "

"Shall we, " said Martin, "forego the stories?"

"Oh, Master Pippin!" said Jennifer anxiously, "we surely are to have astory to-night?"

"Unless we are to remain here for ever, " said Martin, "I fear we must. But for my part I am quite happy here. Are not you, Mistress Joscelyn?"

"Your questions are idle, " said she. "You know very well that we cannotescape a story. "

"You see, Mistress Jennifer, " said Martin. "Let us resign ourselvestherefore. And for your better diversion, please sit in the swing, andwhen the story is tedious you will have a remedy at hand. "

So saying, he put Jennifer on the seat and her hands on the ropes, andthe five other girls climbed into the tree, while he took the boughthat had become his own. And all provided themselves with apples. 

"Begin, " said Joscelyn. 

"A story-teller, " said Martin, "as much as any other craftsman, needshis instruments, of which his auditors are the chief. And of these Ilack one. " And he fixed his eyes of the weeper in the Well-House. 

"You have six already, " said Joscelyn. "The seventh you must acquire asyou proceed. So begin. "

"Without the vital tool?" cried Martin. "As well might you bid MadamToad to spin flax without her distaff. "

"What folly is this?" said Joscelyn. "Toads don't spin. "

"Don't they?" said Martin, much astonished. "I thought they did. Whatthen is toadflax? Do the wildflowers not know?"

And still keeping his eyes fixed on Gillian he thrummed and sang--

 Toad, toad, old toad, What are you spinning? Seven hanks of yellow flax Into snow-white linen. What will you do with it Then, toad, pray? Make shifts for seven brides Against their wedding-day. Suppose e'er a one of them Refuses to be wed? Then she shall not see the jewel I wear in my head. 

As he concluded, Gillian raised herself on her two elbows, and with herchin on her palms gazed steadily over the duckpond. 

Joscelyn: Why seven?

Martin: Is it not as good a number as another?

Jennifer: What is the jewel like in the toad's head, Master Pippin?

Martin: How can I say, Mistress Jennifer? There's but one way ofknowing, according to the song, and like a fool I refused it. 

Jennifer: I wish I knew. 

Martin: The way lies open to all. 

Joscelyn: These are silly legends, Jennifer. It is as little likelythat there are jewels in toads' heads as that toads spin flax. ButMaster Pippin pins his faith to any nonsense. 

Martin: True, Mistress Joscelyn. My faith cries for elbow-room, and hewho pins his faith to common-sense is like to get a cramp in it. Therefore since women, as I hear tell, have ceased to spin brides'shifts, I am obliged to believe that these things are spun by toads. Because brides there must be though the wells should run dry. 

Joscelyn: I do not see the connection. However, it is obvious that thebad logic of your song has aroused even Gillian's attention, so formercy's sake make short work of your tale before it flags again. 

Martin: I will follow your advice. And do you follow me with your bestattention while I turn the wheel of The Mill of Dreams. 

THE MILL OF DREAMS

There was once, dear maidens, a girl who lived in a mill on theSidlesham marshes. But in those days the marshlands were meadowlands, with streams running in from the coast, so that their water wasbrackish and salt. And sometimes the girl dipped her finger in thewater and sucked it and tasted the sea. And the taste made storms risein her heart. Her name was Helen. 

The mill-house was a gaunt and gloomy building of stone, as gray assleep, weatherstained with dreams. It had fine proportions, and lookedlike a noble prison. And in fact, if a prison is the lockhouse ofsecrets, it was one. The great millstones ground day and night, andwhat the world sent in as corn it got back as flour. And as to thesecrets of the grinding it asked no questions, because to the worldresults are everything. It understands death better than sorrow, marriage better than love, and birth better than creation. And themillstones of joy and pain, grinding dreams into bread, it seldomhears. But Helen heard them, and they were all the knowledge she had oflife; for if the mill was a prison of dreams it was her prison too. 

Her father the miller was a harsh man and dark; he was dark within andwithout. Her mother was dead; she did not remember her. As she grew upshe did little by little the work of the big place. She was herfather's servant, and he kept her as close to her work as he kept hismillstones to theirs. He was morose, and welcomed no company. Gayety hehated. Helen knew no songs, for she had heard none. From morning tillnight she worked for her father. When she had done all her other workshe spun flax into linen for shirts and gowns, and wool for stockingsand vests. If she went outside the mill-house, it was only for a fewsteps for a few moments. She wasn't two miles from the sea, but she hadnever seen it. But she tasted the salt water and smelt the salt wind. 

Like all things that grow up away from the light, she was pale. Heroval face was like ivory, and her lips, instead of being scarlet, hadthe tender red of apple-blossom, after the unfolding of the bright bud. Her hair was black and smooth and heavy, and lay on either side of herface like a starling's wings. Her eyes too were as black as midnight, and sometimes like midnight they were deep and sightless. But when shewas neither working nor spinning she would steal away to themillstones, and stand there watching and listening. And then there weretwo stars in the midnight. She came away from those stolen timespowdered with flour. Her black hair and her brows and lashes, her oldblue gown, her rough hands and fair neck, and her white face--all thatwas dark and pale in her was merged in a mist, and seen only throughthe clinging dust of the millstones. She would try to wipe off all theevidences of her secret occasions, but her father generally knew. Hadhe known by nothing else, he need only have looked at her eyes beforethey lost their starlight. 

One day when she was seventeen years old there was a knock at themill-house door. Nobody ever knocked. Her father was the only man whocame in and went out. The mill stood solitary in those days. The faceof the country has since been changed by man and God, but at that timethere were no habitations in sight. At regular times the peasantsbrought their grain and fetched their meal; but the miller kept hisdaughter away from his custom. He never said why. Doubtless at the backof his mind was the thought of losing what was useful to him. Mostparents have their ways of trying to keep their children; in some it isthis way, in others that; not many learn to keep them by letting themgo. 

So when the knock came at the door, it was the strangest thing that hadever happened in Helen's life. She ran to the door and stood with herhand on the heavy wooden bar that fell across it into a great socket. Her heart beat fast. Before we know a thing it is a thousand things. Only one thing would be there when she lifted the bar. But as she stoodwith her hand upon it, a host of presences hovered on the other side. Aknight in armor, a king in his gold crown, a god in the guise of abeggar, an angel with a sword; a dragon even; a woman to be her friend;her mother. . . A child. . . 

"Would it be better not to open?" thought Helen. For then she wouldnever know. Yes, then she could run to her millstones and fling themher thoughts in the husk, and listen, listen while they ground theminto dreams. What knowledge would be better than that? What would shelose by opening the door?

But she had to open the door. 

Outside on the stones stood a common lad. He might have been threeyears older than she. He had a cap with a hole in it in his hand, and ashabby jersey that left his brown neck bare. He was whistling when shelifted the bar, but he stopped as the door fell back, and gave Helen aquick and careless look. 

"Can I have a bit of bread?" he asked. 

Helen stared at him without answering. She was so unused to people thather mind had to be summoned from a world of ghosts before she couldhear and utter real words. The boy waited for her to speak, but, as shedid not, shrugged his shoulders and turned away whistling his tune. 

Then she understood that he was going, and she ran after him quicklyand touched his sleeve. He turned again, expecting her to speak; butshe was still dumb. 

"Thought better of it?" he said. 

Helen said slowly, "Why did you ask me for bread?"

"Why?" He looked her up and down. "To mend my boots with, of course. "

She looked at his boots. 

"You silly thing, " grinned the boy. 

A faint color came under her skin. "I'm sorry for being stupid. Isuppose you're hungry. "

"As a hunter. But there's no call to trouble you. I'll be where I canget bread, and meat too, in forty minutes. Good-by, child. "

"No, " said Helen. "Please don't go. I'd like to give you some bread. "

"Oh, all right, " said the boy. "What frightened you? Did you think Iwas a scamp?"

"I wasn't frightened, " said Helen. 

"Don't tell me, " mocked the boy. "You couldn't get a word out. "

"I wasn't frightened. "

"You thought I was a bad lot. You don't know I'm not one now. "

Helen's eyes filled with tears. She turned away quickly. "I'll get youyour bread, " she said. 

"You are a silly, aren't you?" said the boy as she disappeared. 

Before long she came back with half a loaf in one hand, and somethingin the other which she kept behind her back. 

"Thanks, " said the boy, taking the bit of loaf. "What else have you gotthere?"

"It's something better than bread, " said Helen slowly. 

"Well, let's have a look at it. "

She took her hand from behind her, and offered him seven ears of wheat. They were heavy with grain, and bowed on their ripe stems. 

"Is this what you call better than bread?" he asked. 

"It is better. "

"Oh, all right. I sha'n't eat it though--not all at once. "

"No, " said Helen, "keep it till you're hungry. The grains go quite along way when you're hungry. "

"I'll eat one a year, " said the boy, "and then they'll go so farthey'll outlast me my lifetime. "

"Yes, " said Helen, "but the bread will be gone in forty minutes. Andthen you'll be where you can get meat. "

"You funny thing, " said the boy, puzzled because she never smiled. 

"Where can you get meat?" she asked. 

"In a boat, fishing for rabbits. "

But she took no notice of the rabbits. She said eagerly, "A boat? areyou going in a boat?"

"Yes. "

"Are you a sailor?"

"You've hit it. "

"You've seen the sea! you've been on the sea!--sailors do that. . . "

"Oh, dear no, " said the boy, "we sail three times round the duckpondand come home for tea. "

Helen hung her head. The boy put his hand up to his mouth and watchedher over it. 

"Well, " he said presently, "I must get along to Pagham. " He stuck thelittle sheaf of wheat through the hole in his cap, and it bobbed like aruddy-gold plume over his ear. Then he felt in his pocket and aftersome fumbling got hold of what he wanted and pulled it out. "Here youare, child, " he said, "and thank you again. "

He put his present into her hand and swung off whistling. He turnedonce to wave to her, and the corn in his cap nodded with its weight andhis light gait. She stood gazing till he was out of sight, and then shelooked at what he had given her. It was a shell. 

She had heard of shells, of course, but she had never seen one. Yet sheknew this was no English shell. It was as large as the top of a teacup, but more oval than round. Over its surface, like pearl, rippled wavesof sea-green and sea-blue, under a luster that was like goldenmoonlight on the ocean. She could not define or trace the waves ofcolor; they flowed in and out of each other with interchangeablemovement. One half of the outer rim, which was transparently thin andcurled like the fantastic edge of a surf wave, was flecked with a faintplay of rose and cream and silver, that melted imperceptibly into themoonlit sea. When she turned the shell over she found that she couldnot see its heart. The blue-green side of the shell curled under like asmooth billow, and then broke into a world of caves, and caves withincaves, whose final secret she could not discover. But within and withinthe color grew deeper and deeper, bottomless blues and unfathomablegreens, shot with such gleams of light as made her heart throb, forthey were like the gleams that shoot through our dreams, the light thatjust eludes us when we wake. 

She went into the mill, trembling from head to foot. She was notconscious of moving, but she found herself presently standing by thegrinding stones, with sound rushing through her and white dust whirlinground her. She gazed and gazed into the labyrinth of the shell asthough she must see to its very core; but she could not. So sheunfastened her blue gown and laid the shell against her young heart. Itwas for the first time of so many times that I know not whether when, twenty years later, she did it for the last time, they outnumbered thesilver hairs among her black ones. And the silver by then wereuncountable. Yet on the day when Helen began her twenty years of lonelylistening--

(But having said this, Martin Pippin grasped the rope just aboveJennifer's hand, and pulled it with such force that the swing, insteadof swinging back and forth, as a swing should, reeled sideways so thatthe swinger had much ado to keep her seat. 

Jennifer: Heaven help me!

Martin: Heaven help ME! I need its help more sorely than you do. 

Jennifer: Oh, you should be punished, not helped!

Martin: I have been punished, and the punished require help more thancensure, or scorn, or anger, or any other form of righteousness. 

Jennifer: Who has punished you? And for what?

Martin: You, Mistress Jennifer. For my bad story. 

Jennifer: I do not remember doing so. The story is only begun. I amsure it will be a very good story. 

Martin: Now you are compassionate, because I need comfort. But thetruth is that, good or bad, you care no more for my story. For I saw atear of vexation come into your eye. 

Jennifer: It was not vexation. Not exactly vexation. And doubtlessHelen will have experiences which we shall all be glad to hear. But allthe same I wish--

Martin: You wish?

Jennifer: That she was not going to grow old in her loneliness. Becauseall lovers are young. 

Martin: You have spoken the most beautiful of all truths. Does thegrass grow high enough by the swing for you to pluck me two blades?

Jennifer: I think so. Yes. What do you want with them?

Martin: I want but one of them now. You shall only give me the otherif, at the end of my tale, you agree that its lovers are as green asthis blade and that. )

On the day (resumed Martin) when Helen began her lonely listening ofheart and ears betwixt the seashell and the millstones of her dreams, there was not, dear Mistress Jennifer, a silver thread in her blacklocks to vex you with. For a girl of seventeen is but a child. Yet oldenough to begin spinning the stuff of the spirit. . . 

"My boy!--

"Oh, how strange it was, your coming like that, so suddenly. Before Iopened the door I stood there guessing. . . And how could I have guessedthis? Did you guess too on the other side?"

"No, not much. I thought it might be a cross old woman. What did YOUguess?"

"Oh, such stupid things. Kings and knights and even women. And it wasyou!"

"And it was you!"

"Suppose I'd been a cross old woman?"

"Suppose I'd been a king?"

"And you were just my boy. "

"And you--my sulky girl. "

"Oh, I wasn't sulky. Oh, didn't you understand? How could I speak toyou? I couldn't hear you, I couldn't see you, even!"

"Can you see me now?"

She was lying with her cheek against his heart, and she turned her facesuddenly inwards, because she saw him bend his head, and the sweetnessof his first kiss was going to be more than she could bear. 

"Why don't you look up, you silly child? Why don't you look at me, dear?"

"How can I yet? Can I ever? It's so hard looking in a person's eyes. But I am looking at you, I AM, though you can't see me. "

"Then tell me what color my eyes are. "

"They're gray-green, and your hair is dark red, a sort of chestnut buta little redder and rough over your forehead, and your nose is all overfreckles with very very snub--"

(Martin: Heaven help you, Mistress Jennifer!

Jennifer: W-w-w-w-why, Master Pippin?

Martin: Were you not about to fall again?

Jennifer: N-n-n-n-no. I-I-I-I-I--

Martin: I see you are as firm as a rock. How could I have been sodeceived?)

He shook her a little in his arms, saying: "How rude you are to mynose. I wish you'd look up. "

"No, not yet. . . Presently. But you, did you look at me?"

"Didn't you see me look?"

"When?"

"As soon as you opened the door. "

"What did you see?"

"The loveliest thing I'd ever seen. "

"I'm not really--am I?"

"I used to dream about you at night on my watches. I made you up out ofbits of the night--white moonlight, black clouds, and stars. SometimesI would take the last cloud of sunset for your lips. And the wind, whenit was gentle, for your voice. And the movements of the sea for yourmovements, and the rise and fall of it for your breathing, and the lapof it against the boat for your kisses. Oh, child, look up!. . . "

She looked up. . . . 

"What's your name?"

"Helen. "

"I can't hear you. "

"Helen. Say it. "

"I'm trying to. "

"I can't hear YOU now. And I want to hear your voice say my name. Oh, my boy, do say it, so that I can remember it when you're away. "

"I can't say it, child. Why didn't you tell me your name?"

"What is yours?"

"I'm trying to tell you. "

"Please--please!"

"I'm trying with all my might. Listen with all yours. "

"I am listening. I can't hear anything. Yet I'm listening so hard thatit hurts. I want to say your name over and over and over to myself whenyou're away. CAN'T you say it louder?"

"No, it's no good. "

"Oh, why didn't you tell me, boy?"

"Oh, child, why didn't you tell me?"

"Is my bread sweet to you?"

"The sweetest I ever ate. I ate it slowly, and took each bit from yourhand. I kept one crust. "

"And my corn. "

"Oh, your corn! that is everlasting. You have sown your seed. I haveeaten a grain, and it bore its harvest. One by one I shall eat them, and every grain will bear its full harvest. You have replenished theunknown earth with fields of golden corn, and set me walking there forever. "

"And you have thrown golden light upon strange waters, and set mefloating there for ever. Oh, you on my earth and I on your ocean, howshall we meet?"

"Your corn is my waters, my waters are your corn. They move on onewave. Oh, child, we are borne on it together, for ever. "

"But how you teased me!"

"I couldn't help it. "

"You and your boats and your duckponds. "

"It was such fun. You were so serious. It was so easy to tease you. "

"Why did you put your hand over your mouth?"

"To keep myself from--"

"Laughing at me?"

"Kissing you. You looked so sorry because sailors only sail roundduckponds, when you thought they always sailed out by the West and homeby the East. You believed the duckponds. "

"I didn't really. "

"For a moment!"

"I felt so stupid. "

"You blushed. "

"Oh, did I?"

"A very little. Like the inside of a shell. I'd always tease you tomake you blush like that. Don't you ever smile or laugh, child?"

"You might teach me to. I haven't had the sort of life that makes onesmile and laugh. Oh, but I could. I could smile and laugh for you ifyou wished. I could do anything you wanted. I could be anything youwanted. "

"Shall I make something of you? What shall it be?"

"I don't care, so long as it is yours. Oh, make something of me. I'vebeen lonely always. I don't want to be any more. I want to be able tocome to you when I please, not only because I need so much to come, butbecause you need me to come. Can you make me sure that you need me?When no one has ever needed you, how can you believe. . . ? Oh, no, no!don't look sorry. I do believe it. And will you always stand with mehere in the loneliness that has been so dark? Then it won't be dark anymore. Why do two people make light? One alone only wanders and holdsout her hand and finds no one--nothing. Sometimes not even herself. Will you be with me always?"

"Always. "

"Why?"

"Because I love you. "

"No, " said Helen, "but because I love you. "

"Tell me--WERE you frightened?"

"Of you? when I saw you at the door?"

"Yes. Were you?"

"Oh, my boy. "

"But didn't you think I might be a scamp?"

"I didn't think about it at all. It wouldn't have made any difference. "

"Then why were you as mum as a fish?"

"Oh, my boy. "

"Why? why? why?--if you weren't frightened? Of course you werefrightened. "

"No, no, I wasn't. I told you I wasn't. Why don't you believe me?-- Oh, you're laughing at me again. "

"You're blushing again. "

"It's so easy to make me ashamed when I've been silly. Of course youknow now why I couldn't speak. You know what took my words away. Didn'tyou know then?"

"How could I know? How could I dream it would be as quick for you asfor me?"

"One can dream anything. . . Oh!"

"What is it, child?" For she had caught at her heart. 

"Dreams. . . And not truth. Oh, are you here? Am I? Where are you--whereare you? Hold me, hold me fast. Don't let it be just empty dreams. "

"Hush, hush, my dear. Dreams aren't empty. Dreams are as near the truthas we can come. What greater truth can you ever have than this? For asmen and women dream, they drop one by one the veils between them andthe mystery. But when they meet they are shrouded in the veils again, and though they long to strip them off, they cannot. And each sees ofeach but dimly the truth which in their dreams was as clear as light. Oh, child, it's not our dreams that are our illusions. "

"No, " she whispered. "But still it is not enough. Not quite enough forthe beloved that they shall dream apart and find their truths apart. Inlife too they must touch, and find the mystery together. Though it beonly for one eternal instant. Touch me not only in my dreams, but inlife. Turn life itself into the dream at last. Oh, hold me fast, myboy, my boy. . . "

"Hush, hush, child, I'm holding you. . . "

"You wept. "

"Oh, did you see? I turned my head away. "

"Why did you weep?"

"Because you thought I had misjudged you. "

"Then I misjudged you. "

"But I did not weep for that. "

"Would you, if I misjudged you?"

"It would not be so hard to bear. "

"And you went away with tears and brought me the corn of your mill. "

"And you took it with smiles, and gave me the shell of your seas. "

"Your corn rustled through my head. "

"Your shell whispers at my heart. "

"You shall always hear it whispering there. It will tell you what I cannever tell you, or only tell you in other ways. "

"Of your life on the sea? Of the countries over the water? Of stormsand islands and flashing birds, and strange bright flowers? Of all thelands and life I've never seen, and dream of all wrong? Will it tell methose things?--of your life that I don't know. "

"Yes, perhaps. But I could tell you of that life. "

"Of what other life will it tell me?"

"Of my life that you do know. "

"Is there one?"

"Look in your own heart. "

"I am looking. "

"And listen. "

"Yes. "

"What do you hear?"

"Oh, boy, the whispering of your shell!"

"Oh, child, the rustling of your corn!"

Oh, maids! the grinding of the millstones. 

This is only a little part of what she heard. But if I told you thewhole we should rise from the story gray-headed. For every day shecarried her boy's shell to the grinding stones, and stood there whileit spoke against her heart. And at other times of the day it lay in herpocket, while she swept and cooked and spun, and she saw shadows of hermill-dreams in the cobwebs and the rising steam, and heard echos ofthem in her singing kettle and her singing wheel. And at night it layon her pillow against her ear, and the voice of the waters went throughher sleep. 

So the years slipped one by one, and she grew from a girl into a youngwoman; and presently passed out of her youth. But her eyes and herheart were still those of a girl, for life had touched them withnothing but a girl's dream. And it is not time that leaves its traceson the spirit, whatever it may do to the body. Her father meanwhilegrew harder and more tyrannical with years. There was little for him tofear now that any man would come to take her from him; but the habit ofthe oppressor was on him, and of the oppressed on her. And when thishas been many years established, it is hard for either to realize that, to escape, the oppressed has only to open the door and go. 

Yet Helen, if she had ever thought of escape into another world andlife, would not have desired it. For in leaving her millstones shewould have lost a world whose boundaries she had never touched, and alife whose sweetness she had never exhausted. And she would have losther clue to knowledge of him who was to her always the boy in the oldjersey who had knocked at her door so many years ago. 

Once he was shipwrecked. . . 

. . . The waters had sucked her under twice already, when her helplesshands hit against some floating substance on the waves. She could nothave grasped it by herself, for her strength was gone; but a handgripped her in the darkness, and dragged her, almost insensible, tosafety. For a long while she lay inert across the knees of her rescuer. Consciousness was at its very boundary. She knew that in some dimdistance strong hands were chafing a wet and frozen body. . . But whosehands?. . . Whose body?. . . Presently it was lifted to the shelter of strongarms; and now she was conscious of her own heart-beats, but it was likea heart beating in air, not in a body. Then warmth and breath began tofall like garments about this bodiless heart, and they were indeed nother own warmth and breath, but these things given to her byanother--the warmth was that of his own body where he had laid her coldhands and breast to take what heat there was in him, and the breath wasof his own lungs, putting life into hers through their twomouths. . . . She opened her eyes. It was dark. The darkness she had comeout of was bright beside this pitchy night, and her struggle back tolife less painful than the fierce labor of the wind and waves. Theirfrail precarious craft was in ceaseless peril. His left arm held herlike a vice, but for greater safety he had bound a rope round their twobodies and the small mast of their craft. With his right arm he claspedthe mast low down, and his right hand came round to grip her shakingknees. In this close hold she lay a long while without speaking. Thenshe said faintly:

"Is it my boy?"

"Yes, child. Didn't you know?"

"I wanted to hear you say it. How long have you been in danger?"

"I don't know. Some hours. I thought you would never come to yourself. "

"I tried to come to you. I can't swim. "

"The sea brought you to me. You were nearly drowned. You slipped meonce. If you had again--!"

"What would you have done?"

"Jumped in. I couldn't have stayed on here without you. "

"Ah, but you mustn't ever do that--promise, promise! For then you'dlose me for ever. Promise. "

"I promise. But there's no for ever of that sort. There's no losingeach other, whatever happens. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, I do know. When people love, they find each other for ever. But Idon't want you to die, and I don't want to die--yet. But if it isto-night it will be together. Will it be to-night, do you think?"

"I don't know, dear. The storm's breaking up over there, but that's notthe only danger. "

"But nothing matters, nothing matters at all while I'm with you. " Shelay heavily against him; her eyes closed, and she shook violently. 

"Child, you're shuddering, you're as cold as ice. " He put his hand uponher chilly bosom, and hugged her more fiercely to his own. With asudden movement of despair and anger at the little he could do, heslipped his arms from his jacket, and stripping open his shirt pulledher to him, re-fastening his jacket around them both, tying it tightlyabout their bodies by the empty sleeves. She felt his lips on her hairand heard him whisper, "You're not frightened of me, are you, child?You never will be, will you?"

She shook her head and whispered, "I never have been. "

"Sleep, if you can, dear. "

"I'll try. "

So closely was she held by his coat and his arms, so near she lay tohis beloved heart, that she knew no longer what part of that union washerself; they were one body, and one spirit. Her shivering grew less, and with her lips pressed to his neck she fell asleep. 

It was noon. 

The hemisphere of the sky was an unbroken blue washed with a silverglare. She could not look up. The sea was no longer wild, but it wasnot smooth; it was a dancing sea, and every small wave rippled withcrested rainbows. A flight of gulls wheeled and screamed over theirheads; their movements were so swift that the mid-air seemed to befilled with visible lines described by their flight, silver lines thatgleamed and melted on transparent space like curved lightnings. 

"Oh, look! oh, look!" cried Helen. 

He smiled, but he was not watching the gulls. "Yes, you've never seenthat, have you, child?" His eyes searched the distance. 

"But you aren't looking. What are you looking at?"

"Nothing. I can't see what I'm looking for. But the gulls might meanland, or icebergs, or a ship. "

"I don't want land or a ship, or even icebergs, " said Helen suddenly. 

He looked at her with the fleeting look that had been her firstimpression of him. 

"Why not? Why don't you?"

"I'm so happy where I am. "

"That's all very well, " said her boy, with his eyes on the distance. 

For awhile she lay enjoying the warmth of the sun, watching the gullssliding down the unseen slopes of the air. Presently high up she sawone hover and pause, settling on nothingness by the swift, almostimperceptible beat of its wings. And suddenly it dropped like a stoneupon a wave, and darted up again so quickly that she could not followwhat had happened. 

"What is it doing?" she asked. 

"Fishing, " said the boy. "It wanted its dinner. "

"So do I, " said Helen. 

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a packet wrapped inoilskin. There was biscuit in it. He gave some to her, bit by bit;though it was soft and dull, she was glad of it. But soon she drew awayfrom the hand that fed her. 

"What's the matter?" he asked. 

"You must have some too. "

"That's all right. I'm not greedy like you birds. "

"I'm not a bird. And I'm not greedy. Being hungry's not being greedy. I'd be greedy if I ate while you're hungry. "

"I'm not hungry. "

"Then neither am I. "

To satisfy her he ate a biscuit. Soon after she began to feel thirst, but she dared not ask for water. She knew he had none. He looked at herlying pale in his arms, and said with a smile that was not like a realsmile, "It's a pity about the icebergs. " She smiled and nodded, and laystill in the heat, watching the gulls, and thinking of ice. Some of thebirds settled on the raft. One sat on the mast; another hovered at herknee, picking at crumbs. They played in the sun, rising and falling, and turned in her vision into a whirl of snowflakes, enormoussnowflakes. . . . She began to dream of snow, and her lips parted in thehope that some might fall upon her tongue. Presently she ceased todream of snow. . . . The boy looked down at her closed lids, and at hercheeks, as white as the breasts of the gulls. He could not bear to looklong, and returned to his distances. 

It was night again. 

The circle of the sea was as smooth as silk. Pale light played over itlike dreams and ghosts. The sky was a crowded arc of stars, millions ofstars, she had never seen or imagined so many. They glittered, glittered restlessly, in an ecstasy that caught her spirit. She too wasfilled with millions of stars, through her senses they flashed andglittered--a delirium of stars in heaven and her heart. . . . 

"My boy!"

"Yes, child. "

"Do you see the stars?"

"Yes, child. "

"Do you feel them?"

"Yes. "

"Oh, can't we die now?"

She felt him move stiffly. "There's a ship! I'm certain of it now--I'mcertain! Oh, if it were day!"

The stars went on dazzling. She did not understand about the ship. Timemoved forward, or stood still. For her the night was timeless. It waseternity. 

But things were happening outside in time and space. By what means theyhad been seen or had attracted attention she did not know. But thefloating dreamlight and the shivering starlight on the sea were brokenby a dark movement on the waveless waters. A boat was coming. For sometime there had been shouting and calling in strange voices, one of themher boy's. But once again she hovered on the dim verge ofconsciousness. She had flown from the body he was painfully unbindingfrom his own. What he had suffered in holding it there so long shenever knew. From leagues away she heard him whispering, "Child, can youhelp yourself a little?" And now for an instant her soul re-approachedher body, and looked at him through the soft midnight of her eyes, andhe saw in them such starlight as never was in sky or on sea. 

"Kiss me, " said Helen. 

He kissed her. 

With a great effort she lifted herself and stood upright on the raft, swaying a little and holding by the mast. The boat was still a littledistant. 

"Good-by, my boy. "

"Child--!"

"Don't jump. You promised not to. You promised. But I can't come withyou now. You must let me go. "

He looked at her, and saw she was in a fever. He made a desperateclutch at her blue gown. But he was not quick enough. "Keep yourpromise!" she cried, and disappeared in the dreamlit waters; shedisappeared like a dream, without a sound. As she sank, she heard himcalling her by the only name he knew. . . . 

When she was thirty-five her father died. Now she was free to go whereshe pleased. But she did not go anywhere. 

Ever since, as a child, she had first tasted salt water, she had longedto travel and see other lands. What held her now? Was it that herlonging had been satisfied? that she had a host of memories of greatmountains and golden shores, of jungles and strange cities of thecoast, of islands lost in seas of sapphire and emerald? of caravans andtowers of ivory? of haunted caverns and deserted temples? where, achild always, with her darling boy, she had had such adventures aswould have filled a hundred earthly lives. They had built huts inuninhabited places, or made a twisted bower of strong green creepers, and lived their primitive paradisal life wanting nothing but eachother; sometimes, through accidents and illness, they had nursed eachother, with such unwearied tenderness that death himself had towithdraw, defeated by love. Once on a ship there had been mutiny, andshe alone stood by him against a throng; once savages had captured her, and he, outwitting them, had rescued her, riding through leagues ofprairie-land and forest, holding her before him on the saddle. Innearly all these adventures it was as though they had met for the firsttime, and were struck anew with the dumb wonder of first love, and thestrange shy sweetness of wooing and confession. Yet they were butplaying above truth. For the knowledge was always between them thatthey were bound immortally by a love which, having no end, seemed alsoto have had no beginning. They quarreled sometimes--this was playingtoo. She put, now herself, now him, in the wrong. And eitherreconciliation was sweet. But it was she who was oftenest at fault, hisforgiveness was so dear to her. And still, this was but playing at it. When all these adventures and pretenses were done, they stood heart toheart, and out of their only meeting in life built up eternal truth andtold each other. They told it inexhaustibly. 

And so, when her father left her free to go, Helen lived on still inthe mill of dreams, and kept her millstones grinding. Two years wentby. And her hard gray lonely life laid its hand on her hair and hercountenance. Her father had worn her out before her time. 

It was only invisible grain in the mill now. The peasants came nolonger with their corn. She had enough to live on, and her longseclusion unfitted her for strange men in the mill, and people she musttalk to. And so long was the habit of the recluse on her, that thoughher soul flew leagues her body never wandered more than a few hundredyards from her home. Some who had heard of her, and had glimpses ofher, spoke to her when they met; but they could make no headway withthis sweet, shy, silent woman. Yet children and boys and girls feltdrawn to her. It was the dream in her eyes that stirred the love intheir hearts; though they knew it no more than the soup in the pipkinknows why it bubbles and boils. For it cannot see the fire. But to themshe did not seem old; her strength and eagerness were still upon her, and that silver needlework with which time broiders all men had in herits special beauty, setting her aloof in the unabandoned dream whichthe young so often desert as their youth deserts them. Those of herage, seeing that unyouthful gleam of her hair combined with thestill-youthful dream of her eyes, felt as though they could not touchher; for no man can break another's web, he can only break his own, andthese had torn their films to tatters long ago, and shouldered theirway through the smudgy rents, and no more walked where she walked. Butvery young people knew the places she walked in, and saw her clearly, for they walked there too, though they were growing up and she wasgrowing old. 

At the end of the second year there was a storm. It lasted three dayswithout stopping. Such fury of rain and thunder she had never heard. The gaunt rooms of the mill were steeped in gloom, except whenlightning stared through the flat windows or split into fierce crackson the dingy glass. Those three days she spent by candle-light. Outsidethe world seemed to lie under a dark doom. 

On the third morning she woke early. She had had restless nights, butnow and then slept heavily; and out of one dull slumber she awakened tothe certainty that something strange had happened. The storm had lulledat last. Through her window, set high in the wall, she could see thedead light of a blank gray dawn. She had seen other eyeless mornings onher windowpane; but this was different, the air in her room wasdifferent. Something unknown had been taken from or added to it. As shelay there wondering, but not yet willing to discover, the flat light atthe window was blocked out. A seagull beat against it with its wingsand settled on the sill. 

The flutter and the settling of the bird overcame her. It was as thoughreality were more than she could bear. The birds of memory and painflew through her heart. 

She got up and went to the window. The gull did not move. It was brokenand exhausted by the storm. And beyond it she looked down upon the sea. 

Yes, it was true. The sea itself washed at the walls of the mill. 

She did not understand these gray-green waters. She knew them invision, not in reality. She cried out sharply and threw the window up. The draggled bird fluttered in and sank on the floor. A sea-wind blewin with it. The bird's wings shivered on her feet, and the wind on herbosom. She stared over the land, swallowed up in the sea. Wreckage ofall sorts tossed and floated on it. Fences and broken gates andbranches of trees; and fragments of boats and nets and bits of cork;and grass and flowers and seaweed--She thought--what did she think? Shethought she must be dreaming. 

She felt like one drowning. Where could she find a shore?

She hurried to the bed and got her shell; its touch on her heart washer first safety. In her nightgown as she was she ran with her nakedfeet through the dim passages until she stood beside the grindingstones. . . . 

"Child! child! child!"

"Where are you, my boy, where are you?"

"Aren't you coming? Must I lose you after all this?--Oh, come!"

"But tell me where you are!"

"In a few hours I should have been with you--a few hours after manyyears. "

"Oh, boy, for pity, tell me where to find you!"

"You are there waiting for me, aren't you, child? I know you are--I'vealways known you were. What would you have said to me when you openedthe door in your blue gown?--"

"Oh, but say only where you are, my boy!"

"Do you know what I should have said? I shouldn't have said anything. Ishould have kissed you--"

"Oh, let me come to you and you shall kiss me. . . . "

But she listened in vain. 

She went back to her room. The gull was still on the floor. Its wingwas broken. Her actions from this moment were mechanical; she did whatshe did without will. First she bound the broken wing, and fetchedbread and water for the wounded bird. Then she dressed herself and wentout of the mill. She had a rope in her hands. 

The water was not all around the mill. Strips and stretches of landwere still unflooded, or only thinly covered. But the face of the earthhad been altered by one of those great inland swoops of the sea thathave for centuries changed and re-changed the point of Sussex, advancing, receding, shifting the coast-line, making new shores, restoring old fields, wedding the soil with the sand. 

Helen walked where she could. She had no choice of ways. She kept bythe edge of the water and went into no-man's land. A bank of rottinggrasses and dry reeds, which the waves had left uncovered, rose fromthe marshes. She mounted it, and beheld the unnatural sea on eitherhand. Here and there in the desolate water mounds of gray-green grasslifted themselves like drifting islands. Trees stricken or still inleaf reared from the unfamiliar element. Many of those which wereleafless had put on a strange greenness, for their boughs dripped withseaweed. Over the floods, which were littered with such flotsam as shehad seen from her window, flew sea-birds and land-birds, crying andcheeping. There was no other presence in that desolation except her own. 

And then at last her commanded feet stood still, and her will came backto her. For she saw what she had come to find. 

He was hanging, as though it had caught him in a snare, in a treestanding solitary in the middle of a wide waste of water. He washanging there like a dead man. She could distinguish his dark red hairand his blue jersey. 

She paused to think what to do. She couldn't swim. She would not havehesitated to try; but she wanted to save him. She looked about, and sawamong the bits of stuff washing against the foot of the bank a largedismembered tree-trunk. It bobbed back and forth among the hollowreeds. She thought it would serve her if she had an oar. She went insearch of one, and found a broken plank cast up among the tangledgrowth of the bank. When she had secured it she fastened one end of herrope around the stump of an old pollard squatting on the bank like asturdy gnome, and the other end she knotted around herself. Then, gathering all the middle of the rope into a coil, and using her plankas a prop, she let herself down the bank and slid shuddering into thewater. But she had her tree-trunk now; with some difficulty shescrambled on to it, and paddled her way into the open water. 

It was not really a great distance to his tree, but to her it seemedimmeasurable. She was unskillful, and her awkwardness often put herinto danger. But her will made her do what she otherwise might not havedone; presently she was under the branches of the tree. 

She pulled herself up to a limb beside him and looked at him. And itwas not he. 

It was not her boy. It was a man, middle-aged, rough and weatherbeaten, but pallid under his red-and-tan. His hair was grizzled. And his facewas rough with a growth of grizzled hair. His whole body lurchedheavily and helplessly in a fork of the tree, and one arm hung limp. His eyes were half-shut. 

But they were not quite shut. He was not unconscious. And under thedrooping lids he was watching her. 

For a few minutes they sat gazing at each other in silence. She had herbreath to get. She thought it would never come back. 

The man spoke first. 

"Well, you made a job of it, " he said. 

She didn't answer. 

"But you don't know much about the water, do you?"

"I've never seen the sea till to-day, " said Helen slowly. 

He laughed a little. "I expect you've seen enough of it to-day. Butwhere do you live, then, that you've never seen the sea? In the middleof the earth?"

"No, " said Helen, "I live in a mill. "

His eyelids flickered. "Do you? Yes, of course you do. I might haveguessed it. "

"How should you guess it?"

"By your blue dress, " said the man. Then he fainted. 

She sat there miserably, waiting, ready to prop him if he fell. She didnot know what else to do. Before very long he opened his eyes. 

"Did I go off again?" he asked. 

She nodded. 

"Yes. Well, it's time to be making a move. I dare say I can now you'rehere. What's your name?"

"Helen. "

"Well, Helen, we'd better put that rope to some use. Will that tree atthe other end hold?"

"Yes. "

"Then just you untie yourself and we'll get aboard and haul ourselveshome. "

She unfastened the rope from her body, and helped him down to hermakeshift boat. 

"You take the paddle, " he said. "My arm's damaged. But I can pull onthe rope with the other. "

"Are you sure? Are you all right? What's your name?"

"Yes, I can manage. My name's Peter. This would have been a lark thirtyyears ago, wouldn't it? It's rather a lark now. "

She nodded vaguely, wondering what she would do if he fell off the login mid-water. 

"Suppose you faint again?"

"Don't look for trouble, " said the man. "Push off, now. "

Pulling and paddling they got to the bank. He took her helping-hand upit, and she saw by his movements that he was very feeble. He leaned onher as they went back to the mill; they walked without speaking. 

When they reached the door Peter said, "It's twenty years since I washere, but I expect you don't remember. "

"Oh, yes, " said Helen, "I remember. "

"Do you now?" said Peter. "It's funny you should remember. "

And with that he did faint again. And this time when he recovered hewas in a fever. His staying-power was gone. 

She put him to bed and nursed him. She sat day and night in his room, doing by instinct what was right and needful. At first he lay eitherunconscious or delirious. She listened to his incoherent speech in asort of agony, as though it might contain some clue to a riddle; andsat with her passionate eyes brooding on his countenance, as though inthat too might lie the answer. But if there was one, neither his wordsnor his face revealed it. "When he wakes, " she whispered to herself, "he'll tell me. How can there be barriers between us any more?"

After three days he came to himself. She was sitting by the windowpreparing sheep's-wool for her spindle. She bent over her task, usingthe last of the light, which fell upon her head. She did not know thathe was conscious, or had been watching her, until he spoke. 

"Your hair used to be quite brown, didn't it?" he said. "Nut-brown. "

She started and turned to him, and a faint flush stained her cheeks. 

"Ah, you're not pleased, " said Peter with a slight grin. "None of uslike getting old, do we?"

Helen put by the question. "You're yourself again. "

"Doing my best, " said he. "How long is it?"

"Three days. "

"As much as that? I could have sworn it was only yesterday. Well, timepasses. "

He said no more, and fell into a doze. Helen was as grateful for thisas she could have been for anything just then. She couldn't have goneon talking. She was stunned with misgivings. How could he ever havethought her hair was brown? Couldn't he see even now that it had oncebeen as black as jet? She put her hand up to her head, and unpinned acoil of her heavy hair, and spread it over her breast and looked at it. Yes, the silver was there, too much and too soon. But there was lesssilver than black. It was still time's stitchery, not his fabric. Theman who was not her boy need never have seen her before to know thatonce her hair had been black. This was worse than forgetfulness in him;it was misremembrance. She pulled at the silver hairs passionately asthough she would pluck them out and make him see her as she had been. But soon she stopped her futile effort to uncount the years. "I amfoolish, " she whispered to herself, and coiled her lock again and boundit in its place. "There are other ways of making him remember. Presently when he wakes again I will talk to him. I will remind him ofeverything, yes, and I'll tell him everything. I WON'T be afraid. " Shewaited with longing his next consciousness. 

But to her woe she found herself defeated. While he slept she was able, as when he had been delirious or absent, to create the occasion and thetalk between them. She dropped all fears, and in frank tendernessbrought him her twenty years of dreams. And in her thought he acceptedand answered them. But when he woke and spoke to her from the bed, sheknew at once that the man who lay there was not the man with whom shehad been speaking. His personality fenced with hers; it had barriersshe could not pass. She dared not try, for dread of his indifference orhis smiles. 

"What made you stick on in this place?" he asked her. 

"I don't know, " said Helen. "Places hold one, don't they?"

"None ever held me. I couldn't have been content to stay the best halfof my life in one spot. But I suppose women are different. "

"You speak as though all women were the same. "

"Aren't they? I thought they might be. I don't know much about them, "said Peter, rubbing his chin. "Rough as a porcupine, aren't I? You musthave thought me a savage when you found me stuck upside-down in thattree like a sloth. What DID you think?"

She looked at him, longing to tell him what she had thought. She longedto tell him of the boy she had expected to find in the tree. She longedto tell him how the finding had shocked her by bringing home to her herloss--not of the boy, but of something in that moment still moreprecious to her. Because (she longed to tell him) she had so swiftlyrediscovered the lost boy, not in his face but in his glance, not inhis words but in the tones of his voice. 

But when she looked at him and saw him leaning on his elbow waiting forher answer with his half-shut lids and the half-smile on his lips, sheanswered only, "I was thinking how to get you back to the bank. "

"Was that it? Well, you managed it. I've never thanked you, have I?"

"Don't!" said Helen with a quick breath, and looked out of the window. 

He waited for a few moments and then said, "I'm a bad hand at thanking. I can't help being a savage, you know. I'm not fit for women's company. I don't look so rough when I'm trimmed. "

"I don't want to be thanked, " said Helen controlling her voice; andadded with a faint smile, "No one looks his best when he's ill. "

"Wait till I'm well, " grinned Peter, "and see if I'm not fit to walkyou out o' Sundays. " He lay back on his pillow and whistled a snatch oftune. Her heart almost stopped beating, because it was the tune he hadwhistled at the door twenty years ago. For a moment she thought shecould speak to him as she wished. But desire choked her power to chooseher words; so many rushed through her brain that she had to pause, seeking which of them to utter; and that long pause, in which shereally seemed to have uttered them all aloud, checked the impulse. Butsurely he had heard her? No; for she had not spoken yet. And before shecould make the effort he had stopped whistling, and when she looked athim to speak, he was fumbling restlessly about his pillow. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

"Something I had--where's my clothes?"

She brought them to him, and he searched them till he had found amongthem a small metal box which he thrust under the pillow; and then helay back, as though too tired to notice her. So her impulse died inher, unacted on. 

And during the next four days it was always so. A dozen times in theirtalks she tried to come near him, and could not. Was it because hewould not let her? or because the thing she wished to find in him wasnot really there? Sometimes by his manner only, and sometimes by hiswords, he baffled her when she attempted to approach him--and theattempt had been so painful to conceive, and its still-birth was suchagony to her. He would talk frequently of the time when he would bemaking tracks again. 

"Where to?" asked Helen. 

"I leave it to chance. I always have. I've never made plans. Or veryseldom. And I'm not often twice in the same place. You look tired. I'msorry to be a bother to you. But it'll be for the last time, mostlikely. Go and lie down. "

"I don't want to, " said Helen under her breath. And in her thoughts shewas crying, "The last time? Then it must be soon, soon! I'll make youlisten to me now!"

"I want to sleep, " said Peter. 

She left the room. Tears of helplessness and misery filled her eyes. She was almost angry with him, but more angry with herself; but herself-anger was mixed with shame. She was ashamed that he made her feelso much, while he felt nothing. Did he feel nothing?

"It's my stupidity that keeps us apart, " she whispered. "I will breakthrough it!" As quickly as she had left him she returned, and stood bythe bed. He was lying with his hand pressed over his eyes. When he wasconscious of her being there, his hand fell, and his keen eyes shotinto hers. His brows contracted. 

"You nuisance, " he muttered, and hid his eyes again. She turned andleft him. When she got outside the door she leaned against it and shookfrom head to foot. She hovered on the brink of her delusions and feltas though she would soon crash into a precipice. She longed for him togo before she fell. Yes, she began to long for the time when he shouldgo, and end this pain, and leave her to the old strange life that hadbeen so sweet. His living presence killed it. 

After that third day she had had no more fears for his safety, and hewas strong and rallied quickly. The gull too was saved. He saved it. Ithad drooped and sickened with her. She did not know what to do with it. On the fourth day as he was so much better, she brought it to him. Hereset its wing and kept it by him, making it his patient and hisplayfellow. It thrived at once and grew tame to his hand. He fondledand talked to it like a lover. She would watch him silently with hersmoldering eyes as he fed and caressed the bird, and jabbered to it inscraps of a dozen foreign tongues. His tenderness smote her heart. 

"You're not very fond of birds, " he said to her once, when she had beensitting in one of her silences while he played with his pet. 

The words, question or statement, filled her with anger. She would nottrust herself to protest or deny. "I don't know much about them, " shesaid. 

"That's a pity, " said Peter coolly. "The more you know em the more youhave to love em. Yet you could love them for all sorts of thingswithout knowing them, I'd have thought. "

She said nothing. 

"For their beauty, now. That's worth loving. Look at this one--you're abeauty all right, aren't you, my pretty? Not many girls to match you. "He paused, and ran his finger down the bird's throat and breast. "Perhaps you don't think she's beautiful, " he said to Helen. 

"Yes, she's beautiful, " said Helen, with a difficulty that sounded likereluctance. 

"Ah, you don't think so. You ought to see her flying. You shall someday. When her hurt's mended she'll fly--I'll let her go. "

"Perhaps she won't go, " said Helen. 

"Oh, yes, she will. How can she stop in a place like this? This is noair for her--she must fly in her own. "

"You'll be sorry to see her go, " said Helen. 

"To see her free? No, not a bit. I want her to fly. Why should I keepher? I'd not let her keep me. I'd hate her for it. Why should I makeher hate me?"

"Perhaps she wouldn't, " said Helen, in a low voice. 

"Oh, I expect she would. Ungrateful little beggar. I've saved her life, and she ought to know she belongs to me. So she might stay out ofgratitude. But she'd come to hate me for it, all the same. Not atfirst; after a bit. Because we change. Bound to, aren't we?"

"Perhaps. "

"I know I do. We can none of us stay what we were. You haven't either. "

"You haven't much to go by, " said Helen. 

"Seven minutes at the door, wasn't it? This time it's been seven days. "

"Yes. "

"It's a long time for me, " said Peter. 

"It's not much out of a lifetime. "

"No. But suppose it were more than seven days?"

Helen looked at him and said slowly, "It will be, won't it? You won'tbe able to go to-morrow. "

"No, " said Peter, "not to-morrow, or next day perhaps. Perhaps I won'tbe able to go for the rest of my life. "

This time Helen looked at him and said nothing. 

Peter stroked his bird and whistled his tune and stopped abruptly andsaid, "Will you marry me, Helen?"

"I'd rather die, " said Helen. 

And she got up and went out of the room. 

("Oh, the green grass!" chuckled Martin like a bird. 

"Nobody asked her you to begin a song, Master Pippin, " quaveredJennifer. 

"It was not the beginning of a song, Mistress Jennifer. It was theepilogue of a story. "

"But the epilogue comes at the end of a story, " said Jennifer. 

"And hasn't my story come to its end?" said Martin. 

Joscelyn: Ridiculous! oh, dear! there's no bearing with you. How CANthis be the end? How can it be, with him on one side of the door andher on the other?

Joyce: And her heart's breaking--you must make an end of that. 

Jennifer: And you must tell us the end of the shell. 

Jessica: And of the millstones. 

Jane: What did he have in his box?

"Please, " said little Joan, "tell us whether she ever found her boyagain--oh, please tell us the end of her dreams. "

"Do these things matter?" said Martin. "Hasn't he asked her to marryhim?"

"But she said no, " said Jennifer with tears in her eyes. 

"Did she?" said Martin. "Who said so?"

"Master Pippin, " said Joscelyn, and her voice shook with the agitationof her anger, "tell us immediately the things we want to know!"

"When, I wonder, " said Martin, "will women cease to want to know littlethings more than big ones? However, I suppose they must be indulged inlittle things, lest--"

"Lest?" said little Joan. 

"There is such a thing, " said Martin, "as playing for safety. ")

Well, then, my dear maids, when Helen ran out of his room she went toher own, and she threw herself on the bed and sobbed without weeping. Because everything in her life seemed to have been taken away from her. She lay there for a long time, and when she moved at last her head wasso heavy that she took the pins from her hair to relieve herself of itsweight. But still the pain weighed on her forehead, which burned on hercold fingers when she pressed them over her eyes, trying to think andfind some gleam of hope among her despairing thoughts. And then sheremembered that one thing at least was left her--her shell. During hisillness she had never carried it to the millstones. It was as thoughhis being there had been the only answer to her daily dreams, an answerthat had failed them all the time. But now in spite of him she wouldtry to find the old answers again. So she went once more to themillstones with her shell. And when she got there she held it sotightly to her heart that it marked her skin. 

And the millstones had nothing to say. For the first time they refusedto grind her corn. 

Then Helen knew that she really had nothing left, and that thehome-coming of the man had robbed her of her boy and of the child shehad been. Nothing was left but the man and woman who had lost theiryouth. And the man had nothing to give the woman. Nothing but gratitudeand disillusion. And now a still bitterer thought came to her--thethought that the boy had had nothing to give the girl. For twenty yearsit had been the girl's illusion. The storms in her heart broke out. Sheput her face in her hands and wept like wild rain on the sea. She weptso violently that between her passion and the speechless grinding ofthe stones she did not hear him coming. She only knew he was there whenhe put his arm round her. 

"What is it, you silly thing?" said Peter. 

She looked up at him through her hair that fell like a girl's in softmasses on either side of her face. There was a change in him, but shedidn't know then what it was. He had got into his clothes and madehimself kempt. His beard was no longer rough, though his hair was stillunruly across his forehead, and under it his gray-green eyes looked, half-anxious, half-smiling, into hers. His face was rather pale, and hewas a little unsteady in his weakness. But the look in his eyes was theonly thing she saw. It unlocked her speech at last. 

"Oh, why did you come back?" she cried. "Why did you come back? If youhad never come I should have kept my dream to the end of my life. Butnow even when you go I shall never get it again. You have destroyedwhat was not there. "

He was silent for a moment, still keeping his arm round her. Then hesaid, "Look what's here. " And he opened his hand and showed her hismetal box without its lid; in it were the mummies of seven ears ofcorn. Some were only husks, but some had grain in them still. 

She stared at them through her tears, and drew from her breast her handwith the shell in it. Suddenly her mouth quivered and she criedpassionately, "What's the use?" And she snatched the old corn from himand flung it to the millstones with her shell. And the millstonesground them to eternal atoms. . . . 

"My boy! my boy! it was you over there in the tree!"

"Oh, child, you came at last in your blue gown!"

"Why didn't you call to me?"

"I'd no breath. I was spent. And I knew you'd seen me and would do yourbest. "

"I'll never forget that sight of you in the tree, with your old jerseyand your hair as red as ever. "

"I shall always see your free young figure standing on the high bankagainst the sky. "

"Oh, I was desperate. "

"I wondered what you'd do. I knew you'd do something. "

"I thought I'd never get across the water. "

"Do you know what I thought as I saw you coming so bravely and sobadly? I thought, I'll teach her to swim one day. Shall I, child?"

"I can't swim without you, my boy, " she whispered. 

"But you pretended not to know me!"

"I couldn't help it, it was such fun. "

"How COULD you make fun of me then?"

"I always shall, you know. "

"Oh, yes, " she said, "do, always. "

"What DID you think when you saw me in the tree? What did you see whenyou got there? Not what you expected. "

"No. I saw twenty years come flying upon me, twenty years I'd forgottenall about. Because for me it has always been twenty years ago. "

"And you expected to see a boy, and you saw a grizzled man. "

"No, " said Helen, her eyes shining with tears, "I expected to see aboy, and I saw a gray-haired woman. I've seen her ever since. "

"I've only seen her once, " said Peter. "I saw her rise up from thewater and sit in my tree. And when she spoke and looked at me, it was achild. " He put his hand over her wet eyes. "You must stop seeing her, child, " he said. 

"When I told you my name, were you disappointed?"

"No. It's the loveliest name in the world. "

"You said it at once. "

"I had to. I'd wanted to say it for twenty years. But I sha'n't say itoften, Helen. "

"Won't you?"

"No, child. "

"Now and then, for a treat?" she looked up at him half-shy, half-merry. 

"Oh, you CAN smile, can you?"

"You were to teach me that too. "

"Yes, I've a lot to teach you, haven't I?--I've yet to teach you to saymy name. "

"Have you?"

"You've never said it once. "

"I've said it a thousand times. "

"You've never let me hear you. "

"Haven't I?"

"Let me hear you!"

"Peter. "

"Say it again!"

"Peter! Peter! Peter!"

"Again!"

"My boy!". . . 

"When we got back to the mill-door the last of the twenty years, thathad been melting faster and faster, melted away for ever. And you and Iwere standing there as we'd stood then; and I wanted to kiss your mouthas I'd wanted to then. "

"Oh, why didn't you?--both times!"

"Shall I now, for both times?"

"Oh!--oh, that's for a hundred times. "

"Think of all the times I've wanted to, and been without you. "

"You've never been without me. "

"I know that. How often I came to the mill. "

"Did you come to the mill?"

"As often as I ate your grain. Didn't you know?"

"I know how often your sea brought me to you. "

"Did it?"

"And, oh, my boy! at last the sea brought you to me. "

"And the mill, " he said. "Where has that brought us?"

"I thought perhaps you'd die. "

"I couldn't have died so close on finding you. I was fighting thedemons all the time--fighting my way through to you. And at last Iopened my eyes and saw you again, your black hair edged with lightagainst the window. "

"My black hair? you mean my brown hair, don't you?"

"Oh, weren't you cross! I loved you for being cross. "

"I wasn't cross. Why will you keep on saying I'm things I'm not?"

"You were so cross that you pretended our twenty years were sixty. "

"I never said anything about twenty years, OR sixty. "

"You did, though. Sixty! why, in sixty years we'd have been very nearlyold. So to punish you I pretended to go to sleep, and I saw you takeyour hair down. It was so beautiful. You've seen the threads spidersspin on blackened furze that gypsies have set fire to? Your hair waslike that. You were angry with those lovely lines of silver, and youwanted to get rid of them. I nearly called to you to stop hurting whatI loved so much, but you stopped of yourself, as though you had heardme before I called. "

"I was ashamed of myself, " whispered Helen. "I was ashamed of trying tobe again what I was the only other time you saw me. "

"You've never stopped being that, child, " said Peter. 

"You knew, didn't you, why it was I had stayed on at the mill? You knewwhat it was that held me, and why I could never leave it?"

"Yes, I knew. It held you because it held me too. I wondered if you'dtell me that. "

"I longed to, but I couldn't. I've never been able to tell you things. And I never shall. "

"Oh, child, don't look so troubled. You've always told me things andalways will. Do you think it's with our tongues we tell each otherthings? What can words ever tell? They only circle round the truth likebirds flying in the sun. The light bathes their flight, yet they aremillions of miles away from the light they fly in. We listen to eachother's words, but we watch each other's eyes. "

"Some people half-shut their eyes, Peter. "

"Some people, Helen, can't shut their eyes at all. Your eyes will neverstop telling me things. And the strangest thing about them is thatlooking into them is like being able to see in the dark. They aredarkness, not light. And in darkness dreams are born. When I look intoyour eyes I go into your dream. "

"I shall never shut my eyes again, " she whispered. "I will keep you inmy dream for ever. "

"Women aren't all the same, Peter. "

"Aren't they?"

"And yet--they are. "

"Well, I give it up. "

"Didn't you know?"

"No. I told you the truth that time. I've not had very much to do withwomen. "

"Then I've something to teach you, Peter. "

"I don't know what you can prove, " said Peter. "One woman by herselfcan't prove a difference. "

"Can't she?" said Helen; and laughed and cried at once. 

"But why did you call me a nuisance?"

"You were one--you are one. You leave a man no peace--you're like thesea. You're full of storms, aren't you?"

"Not only storms. "

"I know. But the sea wouldn't be the sea without her storms. They'reone of her ways of holding us, too. And there are more storms in herthan ever break. I see them in you, big ones and little ones, brooding. Then you're a--nuisance. You always will be, won't you?"

"Not to wreck you. "

"You won't do that. Or if you do--I can survive shipwreck. "

"I know. "

"How do you know? I nearly gave up once, but the thought of you stoppedme. I wanted to come back--I'd always meant to. So I held on. "

"I know. "

"How do you know? I never told you, did I?"

"Oh, Peter, the things we have to tell each other. The times youthought you were alone--the times I thought I was! You've had a lifeyou never dreamed of--and I another life that was not in my dreams. "

"You've saved me from death more than once, " said Peter. 

"You've done more than that, " said Helen, "you've given me the onlylife I've had. But a thing doesn't belong to you because you've savedits life or given it life. It only belongs to you because you love it. I know you belong to me. But you only know if I belong to you. "

"That's not true now. You do know. And I know. "

"Yes; and we know that as that belonging has nothing to do with death, it can't have anything either to do with the saving or even the givingof life. So you must never thank me, or I you. There are no thanks inlove. And that was why I couldn't bear your asking me to marry youto-day. I thought you were thanking me. "

"When you played with the seagull. . . "

"Yes?"

"How you loved it!"

"Yes. "

"I looked to see how you felt when you loved a thing. I wanted so muchto be the seagull in your hands. "

"When I touched it I was touching you. "

She put his hand to her breast and whispered, "I love birds. "

He smiled. "I knew you loved them; and best free. All birds must fly intheir own air. "

"Yes, " she said. "But their freedom only means their power to choosewhat air they'll fly in. And every choice is a cage too. "

"I shall leave the door open, child. "

"I shall never fly out, " said Helen. 

"You talked of going away. "

"Yes. But not from you. "

"Am I to go with you always, following chance and making no plans?"

"Will you? You are the only plan I ever made. Will you leave everythingelse but me to chance? Perhaps it will lead us all over the earth; andperhaps after all we shall not go very far. But I never could seeahead, except one thing. "

"What was it?"

"The mill-door and you in your old blue gown. And for seven days I'vestopped seeing that. I haven't it to steer by. Will you chance it?"

"Must you be playing with meanings even in dreams? Don't youknow--don't you know that for a woman who loves, and is not sure thatshe is loved, her days and nights are all chances, every minute shelives is a chance? It might be. . . It might not be. . . Oh, those ghosts ofjoy and pain! they are almost too much to bear. For the joy isn't purejoy, or the pain pure pain, and she cannot come to rest in either ofthem. Sometimes the joy is nearly as great as though she knew; yet atthe instant she tries to take it, it looks at her with the eyes ofdoubt, and she trembles, and dare not take it yet. And sometimes thepain is all but the death she foresees; yet even as she submits to it, it lays upon her heart the finger of hope. And then she trembles again, because she need not take it yet. Those are her chances, Peter. Butwhen she knows that her beloved is her lover, life may do what it willwith her; but she is beyond its chances for ever. "

"Your corn! you kept my corn!"

"Till it should bear. And your shell there--you've kept my shell. "

"Till it should speak. And now--oh, see these things that have held ourdreams for twenty years! The life is threshed from them for ever--theyare only husks. They can hold our dreams no more. Oh, I can't go ondreaming by myself, I can't, it's no use. I thought my heart hadlearned to bear its dream alone, but the time comes when love in itsbeauty is too near to pain. There is more love than the single heartcan bear. Good-by, my boy--good-by!"

"Helen! don't suffer so! oh, child, what are you doing?--"

"Letting my dear dreams go. . . It's no use, Peter. . . "

The millstones took them and crushed them. 

She uttered a sharp cry. . . . 

His arm tightened round her. "What is it, child?" she heard him say. 

She looked at him bewildered, and saw that he too was dazed. She lookedinto the gray-green eyes of a boy of twenty. She said in a voice ofwonder, "Oh, my boy!" as he felt her soft hair. 

"Such a fuss about an empty shell and a bit of dead wheat. "

She hid her face on his jersey. 

"You are a silly, aren't you?" said Peter. "I wish you'd look up. "

Helen looked up, and they kissed each other for the first time. 

I defy you now, Mistress Jennifer, to prove that your grassblade isgreener than mine. 

THIRD INTERLUDE

The girls now turned their attention to their neglected apples, varyingthis more serious business with comments on the story that had justbeen related. 

Jessica: I should be glad to know, Jane, what you make of this matter. 

Jane: Indeed, Jessica, it is difficult to make anything at all ofmatter so bewildering. For who could have divined reality to be theillusion and dreams the truth? so that by the light of their dreams thelovers in this tale mistook each other for that which they were not. 

Martin: Who indeed, Mistress Jane, save students of human nature likeyourselves?--who have doubtless long ago observed how men and womenbegin by filling a dim dream with a golden thing, such as youth, andend by putting a shining dream into a gray thing, such as age. And inthe end it is all one, and lovers will see to the last in each otherthat which they loved at the first, since things are only what we dreamthem to be, as you have of course also observed. 

Joscelyn: We have observed nothing of the sort, and if we dreamed atall we would dream of things exactly as they are, and never dream ofmistaking age for youth. But we do not dream. Women are not given todreams. 

Martin: They are the fortunate sex. Men are such incurable dreamersthat they even dream women to be worse preys of the delusive habit thanthemselves. But I trust you found my story sufficiently wide-awake tokeep you so. 

Joscelyn: It did not make me yawn. Is this mill still to be found onthe Sidlesham marshes?

Martin: It is where it was. But what sort of gold it grinds now, whether corn or dreams, or nothing, I cannot say. Yet such is the powerof what has been that I think, were the stones set in motion, any rightlistener might hear what Helen and Peter once heard, and even more; forthey would hear the tale of those lovers' journeys over the changingwaters, and their return time and again to the unchanging plot of earththat kept their secrets. Until in the end they were together deliveredup to the millstones which thresh the immortal grain from its mortalhusk. But this was after long years of gladness and a life kept youngby the child which each was always re-discovering in the other's heart. 

Jennifer: Oh, I am glad they were glad. Do you know, I had begun tothink they would not be. 

Jessica: It was exactly so with me. For suppose Peter had neverreturned, or when he did she had found him dead in the tree?

Jane: And even after he returned and recovered, how nearly they wereremoved from ever understanding each other!

Joan: Oh, no, Jane! once they came together there could be no doubt ofthe understanding. As soon as Peter came back, I felt sure it would beall right. 

Joyce: And I too, all along, was convinced the tale must end happily. 

Martin: Strange! so was I. For Love, in his daily labors, is as swiftin averting the nature of perils as he is deft in diverting the causesof misunderstanding. I know in fact of but one thing that would havefoiled him. 

Four of the Milkmaids: What then?

Martin: Had Helen not been given to dreams. 

Not a word was said in the Apple-Orchard. 

Joscelyn: It would have done her no harm had she not been, singer. Norwould your story have suffered, being, like all stories, a thing asimportant as thistledown. In either event, though Peter had perished, or misunderstood her for ever, it would not have concerned me a whit. Or even in both events. 

Jessica: Nor me. 

Jane: Nor me. 

Martin: Then farewell my story. A thing as important as thistledown isas unimportantly dismissed. And yonder in heaven the moon sulks at usthrough a cloud with a quarter of her eye, reproaching us for ourpeace-destroying chatter. It destroys our own no less than hers. Todream is forbidden, but at least let us sleep. 

One by one the milkmaids settled in the grass and covered their faceswith their hands, and went to sleep. But Jennifer remained where shewas. She sat with downcast eyes, softly drawing the grassblade throughand through her fingers, and the swing swayed a little like a branchmoving in an imperceptible wind, and her breast heaved a little asthough stirred with inaudible sighs. She sat so long like that thatMartin knew she had forgotten he was beside her, and he quietly put outhis hand to draw the grassblade from hers. But before he had eventouched it he felt something fall upon his palm that was not rain ordew. 

"Dear Mistress Jennifer, " said Martin gently, "why do you weep?"

She shook her head, since there are times when the voice plays a girlfalse, and will not serve her. 

"Is it, " said Martin, "because the grass is not green enough?"

She nodded. 

"Pray let me judge, " entreated Martin, and took the grassblade from herfingers. Whereupon she put her face into her two hands, whispering:

"Master Pippin, Master Pippin, oh, Master Pippin. "

"Let me judge, " said Martin again, but in a whisper too. 

Then Jennifer took her hands from her wet face, and looked at him withher wet eyes, and said with great braveness and much faltering:

"I will be nineteen in November. "

At this Martin looked very grave, and he got down from the tree andwalked to the end of the orchard full of thought. But when he turnedthere he found that she had stolen after him, and was standing near himhanging her head, yet watching him with deep anxiety. 

Jennifer: It is t-t-too old, isn't it?

Martin: Too old for what?

Jennifer: I--I--I don't know. 

Martin: It is, of course, extremely old. There are things you willnever be able to do again, because you are so old. 

Jennifer sobbed. 

Martin: You are too old to be rocked in a cradle. You are too old towrite pothooks and hangers, and too old, alas, to steal pickles and jamwhen the house is abed. Yet there are still a few things you might doif--

Jennifer: Oh, if?

Martin: If you could find a friend as old as yourself, or even a littleolder, to help you. 

Jennifer: But think how old h--h--h-- the friend would have to be. 

Martin: What would that matter? For all grass is green enough if it notnear grass that looks greener. 

Jennifer: Oh, is this true?

Martin: It is indeed. And I believe too that were your friend's hairred enough, and your friend's freckled nose snub enough, since youthresides long in these qualities, you might even, with such a companion, begin once more to steal pickles and jam by night, to learn yourpothooks and hangers, and even in time to be rocked asleep by a cradle. 

Jennifer: D-d-dear Master Pippin. 

Martin: They look quite green, don't they?

And he laid the two blades side by side on her palm, and Jennifer, whose voice once more would not serve her, nodded and put the twoblades in her pocket. Then Martin took out his handkerchief and verycarefully dried her eyes and cheeks, saying as he did so, "Now that Ihave explained this to your satisfaction, won't you, please, explainsomething to mine?"

Jennifer: I will if I can. 

Martin: Then explain what it is you have against men. 

Jennifer: I don't know how to tell you, it is so terrible. 

Martin: I will try to bear it. 

Jennifer: They say women cannot--cannot--

Martin: Cannot?

Jennifer: Keep secrets!

Martin: Men say so?

Jennifer: Yes!

Martin: MEN say so?

Jennifer: They do, they do!

Martin: Men! Oh, Jupiter! if this were true--but it is not--these menwould be blabbing the greatest of secrets in saying so. If I had asecret--but I have not--do you think I would trust it to a man? Not I!What does a man do with a secret? Forgets it, throws it behind him intosome empty chamber of his brain and lets the cobwebs smother it! buriesit in some deserted corner of his heart, and lets the weeds grow overit! Is this keeping a secret? Would you keep a garden or a baby so? Iwill a thousand times sooner give my secret to a woman. She will tendit and cherish it, laugh and cry with it, dress it in a new dress everyday and dandle it in the world's eye for joy and pride in it--nay, shewill bid the whole world come into her nursery to admire the prettysecret she keeps so well. And under her charge a little secret willgrow into a big one, with a hundred charms and additions it had notwhen I confided it to her, so that I shall hardly know it again when Iask for it: so beautiful, so important, so mysterious will it havebecome in the woman's care. Oh, believe me, Mistress Jennifer, it iswomen who keep secrets and men who neglect them. 

Jennifer: If I had only thought of these things to say! But I am notclever at argument like men. 

Martin: I suspect these clever arguers. They can always find the rightthing to say, even if they are in the wrong. Women are not to be blamedfor washing their hands of them for ever. 

Jennifer: I know. Yet I cannot help wondering who bakes themgingerbread for Sunday. 

Martin: Let them go without. They do not deserve gingerbread. 

Jennifer: I know, I know. But they like it so much. And it is nicemaking it, too. 

Martin: Then I suppose it will have to be made till the last ofSundays. What a bother it all is. 

Jennifer: I know. Good night, dear Master Pippin. 

Martin: Dear milkmaid, good night. There lie your fellows, careless ofthe color of the grass they lie on, and of the years that lie on them. They have forsworn the baking of cakes, the eating of which begetsdreams, to which women are not given. Go lie with them, and be if youcan as careless and dreamless as they are. 

And then, seeing the tears refilling her eyes, he hastily pulled outhis handkerchief again and wiped them as they fell, saying, "But if youcannot--if you cannot (don't cry so fast!)--if you cannot, then give meyour key (dear Jennifer, please dry up!) to Gillian's Well-House, because you were glad that my tale ended gladly, and also because alllovers, no matter of what age, are green enough, and chiefly because myhandkerchief's sopping. "

Then Jennifer caught his hands in hers and whispered, "Oh, Martin! arethey? ALL lovers?--are they green enough?"

"God help them, yes!" said Martin Pippin. 

She dropped his hands, leaving her key in them, and looked up at himwith wet lashes, but happiness behind them. So he stooped and kissedthe last tears from her eyes. Since his handkerchief had become quiteuseless for the purpose. 

And she stole back to her place, and he lay down in his, and Jenniferdreamed that she was baking gingerbread, and Martin that he was eatingit. 

"Maids! maids! maids!"

It was Old Gillman on the heels of dawn. 

"A pest on him and all farmers, " groaned Martin, "who would harvestmen's slumbers as soon as they're sown. "

"Get into hiding!" commanded Joscelyn. 

"I will not budge, " said Martin. "I am going to sleep again. For atthat moment I had a lion in one hand and a unicorn in the other--"

"WILL you conceal yourself!" whispered Joscelyn, with as much fury as awhisper can compass. 

"And the lion had comfits in his crown, and the unicorn a gilded horn. And both were so sticky and spicy and sweet--"

Joscelyn flung herself upon her knees before him, spreading her yellowskirts which barely concealed him, as Old Gillman thrust his headthrough the hawthorn gap. 

"Good morrow, maids, " he grunted. 

"--that I knew not, dear Mistress Joscelyn, " murmured Martin, "which tobite first. "

"Good morrow, master!" cried the milkmaids loudly; and they flutteredtheir petticoats like sunshine between the man at the hedge and the manin the grass. 

"Is my daughter any merrier this morning?"

"No, master, " said Jennifer, "yet I think I see smiles on their way. "

"If they lag much longer, " muttered the farmer, "they'll be on thewrong side of her mouth when they do come. For what sort of a home willshe return to?--a pothouse! and what sort of a father?--a drunkard! Andthe fault's hers that deprives him of the drink he loved in his soberdays. Gillian!" he exclaimed, "when will ye give up this child's whimto learn by experience, and take an old man's word for it?"

But Gillian was as deaf to him as to the cock crowing in the barnyard. 

"Come fetch your portion, " said Old Gillman to the milkmaids, "sincethere's no help for it. And good day to ye, and a better morrow. "

"Wait a bit, master!" entreated Jennifer, "and tell me if Daisy, myLincoln Red, lacks for anything. "

"For nothing that Tom can help her to, maid. But she lacks you, andlacking you, her milk. So that being a cow she may be said to lackeverything. And so do I, and the men, and the farm--ruin's our portion, nothing but rack and ruin. "

Saying which he departed. 

"To breakfast, " said Martin cheerfully. 

"Suppose you'd been seen, " scolded Joscelyn. 

"Then our tales would have been at an end, " said Martin. "Would thishave distressed you?"

"The sooner they're ended the better, " said Joscelyn, "if you can donothing but babble of sticky unicorns. "

"It was fresh from the oven, " explained Martin meekly. "I wish we couldhave gingerbread for breakfast instead of bread. "

"Do not be sure, " said Joscelyn severely, "that you will get evenbread. "

"I am in your hands, " said Martin, "but please be kinder to the ducks. "

Joscelyn, all of a fluster, then put new bread in the place ofGillian's old; but her annoyance was turned to pleasure when shediscovered that the little round top of yesterday's loaf had entirelydisappeared. 

"Upon my word!" cried she, "the cure is taking effect. "

"I believe you are right, " said Martin. "How sorry the ducks will be. "

They quickly fed the ducks, and then themselves; and Martin receivedhis usual share, Joscelyn having so far relented that she even advisedhim as to the best tree for apples in the whole orchard. 

After breakfast Martin found six pair of eyes fixed so earnestly uponhim that he began to laugh. 

"Why do you laugh?" asked little Joan. 

"Because of my thoughts, " said he. So she took a new penny from herpocket and gave it to him. 

"I was thinking, " said Martin, "how strange it is that girls are all soexactly alike. "

"Oh!" cried six different voices in a single key of indignation. 

"What a fib!" said Joyce. "I am like nobody but me. "

"Nor am!" cried all the others in a breath. 

"Yet a moment ago, " said Martin, "you, Mistress Joyce, were wonderingwith all your might what diversion I had hit upon for this morning. Andso were Jane and Jessica and Jennifer and Joan and Joscelyn. "

"I was NOT!" cried six voices at once. 

"What, none of you?" said Martin. "Did I not say so?"

And they were very provoked, not knowing what to answer for fear itmight be on the tip of her neighbor's tongue. So they said nothing atall, and with one accord tossed their heads and turned their backs onhim. And Martin laughed, leaving them to guess why. On which, greatlyput out, every girl without even consulting one another they decided tohave nothing further to do with him, and each girl went and sat under adifferent apple-tree and began to do her hair. 

"Heigho!" said Martin. "Then this morning I must divert myself. " And hebegan to spin his golden penny in the sun, sometimes spinning it verydexterously from his elbow and never letting it fall. But the girlswouldn't look, or if they did, it was through stray bits of their hair;when they could not be suspected of looking. 

"I shall certainly lose this penny, " communed Martin with himself, quite audibly, "if somebody does not lend me a purse to keep it in. "But nobody offered him one, so he plucked a blade of Shepherd's Pursefrom the grass, soliloquizing, "Now had I been a shepherd, or had theshepherd's name been Martin, here was my purse to my hand. And then, having saved my riches I might have got married. Yet I never was ashepherd, nor ever knew a shepherd of my name; and a penny is in anycase a great deal too much money for a man to marry on, be he ashepherd or no. For it is always best to marry on next-to-nothing, fromwhich a penny is three times removed. "

Then he went on spinning his penny in the air again, humming to himselfa song of no value, which, so far as the girls could tell for the hairover their ears, went as follows:

 If I should be so lucky As a farthing for to find. I wouldn't spend the farthing According to my mind, But I'd beat it and I'd bend it And I'd break it into two, And give one half to a Shepherd And the other half to you. And as for both your fortunes, I'd wish you nothing worse Than that YOUR half and HIS half Should lie in the Shepherd's Purse. 

At the end of the song he spun the penny so high that it fell into theWell-House; and endeavoring to catch it he flung the spire ofwild-flower after it, and so lost both. And nobody took the leastnotice of his song or his loss. 

Then Martin said, "Who cares?" and took a new clay pipe and a littlepacket from his pocket; and he wandered about the orchard till he hadfound an old tin pannikin, and he scooped up some water from theduckpond and made a lather in it with the soap in the packet, and saton the gate and blew bubbles. The first bubble in the pipe was alwayscrystal, and sometimes had a jewel hanging from it which made it fallto the earth; and the second was tinged with color, and the thirdgleamed like sunset, or like peacocks' wings, or rainbows, or opals. All the colors of earth and heaven chased each other on their surfacesin all the swift and changing shapes that tobacco smoke plays at on theair; but of all their colors they take the deepest glow of one or two, and now Martin would blow a world of flame and orange through thetrees, or one of blue and gold, or another of green and rose. And, ashe might have watched his dreams, he watched the bubbles float away;and break. But one of the loveliest at last sailed over the Well-Houseand between the ropes of the swing and among the fruit-laden boughs, miraculously escaping all perils; and over the hedge, where a smallwind bore it up and up out of sight. And Martin, who had been lookingafter it with a rapt gaze, sighed, "Oh!" And six other "Ohs!" echoedhis. Then he looked up and saw the six milkmaids standing quite closeto him, full of hesitation and longing. So he took six more pipes fromhis pockets, and soon the air was glistening with bubbles, big andlittle. Sometimes they blew the bubbles very quickly, shaking the tinyglobes as fast as they could from the bowl, till the air was filledwith a treasure of opals and diamonds and moonstones and pearls, asthough the king of the east had emptied his casket there. And sometimesthey blew steadily and with care, endeavoring to create the best andbiggest bubble of all; but generally they blew an instant too long, andthe bubble burst before it left the pipe. Whenever a great sphere waslaunched the blower cried in ecstasy, "Oh, look at mine!" and hercomrades, merely glancing, cried in equal ecstasy, "Yes, but see mine!"And each had a moment's delight in the others' bubbles, but everlastingjoy in her own, and was secretly certain that of all the bubbles herswere the biggest and brightest. The biggest and brightest of all wasreally blown by little Joan: as Martin, in a whisper, assured her. Hewhispered the same thing, however, to each of her friends, and for onetruth told five lies. Sometimes they played together, taking theirbubbles delicately from one pipe to another, and sometimes blew theirbubbles side by side till they united, and made their venture into theworld like man and wife. And often they put all their pipes at onceinto the pannikin, and blew in the water, rearing a great palace ofcrystal hemispheres, that rose until it hit their chins and cheeks andthe tips of their noses, and broke on them, leaving on their fair skina trace of glistening foam. And as the six laughing faces bent over thepannikin on his knees, Martin observed that Joscelyn's hair was coiledlike two great lovely roses over her ears, and that Joyce's was inclusters of ringlets, and that Jane's was folded close and smooth andshining round her small head, and that Jessica's was tucked under likea boy's, while Jennifer's lay in a soft knot on her neck. But littleJoan's was hanging still in its plaits over her shoulders, and onethick plait was half undone, and the loose hair got in her own andeverybody's way, and was such a nuisance that Martin was obliged atlast to gather it in his hand and hold it aside for the sake of thebubble-blowers. And when they lifted their heads he was looking at themso gravely that Joyce laughed, and Jessica's eyes were a question, andJane looked demure, and Jennifer astonished, and Joscelyn extremelycomposed and indifferent. And little Joan blushed. To cover herblushing she offered him another penny. 

"I was thinking, " said Martin, "how strange it is that girls are soabsolutely different. "

Then six demure shadows appeared at the very corners of their mouths, and they rose from their knees and said with one accord, "It must bedinner-time. " And it was. 

"Bread is a good thing, " said Martin, twirling a buttercup as heswallowed his last crumb, "but I also like butter. Do not you, MistressJoscelyn?"

"It depends on who makes it, " said she. "There is butter and butter. "

"I believe, " said Martin, "that you do not like butter at all. "

"I do not like other people's butter, " said Joscelyn. 

"Let us be sure, " said Martin. And he twirled his buttercup under herchin. "Fie, Mistress Joscelyn!" he cried. "What a golden chin! I neversaw any one so fond of butter in all my days. "

"Is it very gold?" asked Joscelyn, and ran to the duckpond to look, butcouldn't see because she was on the wrong side of the gate. 

"Do I like butter?" cried Jessica. 

"Do I?" cried Jennifer. 

"Do I?" cried Joyce. 

"Do I?" cried Jane. 

"Oh, do I?" cried Joan. 

"We'll soon find out, " said Martin, and put buttercups under all theirchins, turn by turn. And they all liked butter exceedingly. 

"Do YOU like butter, Master Pippin?" asked little Joan. 

"Try me, " said he. 

And six buttercups were simultaneously presented to his chin, and itwas discovered that he liked butter the best of them all. 

Then every girl had to prove it on every other girl, and again onMartin one at a time, and he on them again. And in this deliciouspastime the afternoon wore by, and evening fell, and they camegolden-chinned to dinner. 

Supper was scarcely ended--indeed, her mouth was still full--whenJessica, looking straight at Martin, said, "I'm dying to swing. "

"I never saved a lady's life easier, " said Martin; and in one momentshe found herself where she wished to be, and in the next saw him closebeside her on the apple-bough. The five other girls went to their ownbranches as naturally as hens to the roost. Joscelyn inspected themlike a captain marshalling his men, and when each was armed with anapple she said:

"We are ready now, Master Pippin. "

"I wish I were too, " said he, "but my tale has taken a fit of theshivers on the threshold, like an unexpected guest who doubts hiswelcome. "

"Are we not all bidding it in?" said Joscelyn impatiently. 

"Yes, like sweet daughters of the house, " said Martin. "But what of themistress?" And he looked across at Gillian by the well, but she lookedonly into the grass and her thoughts. 

"Let the daughters do to begin with, " said Joscelyn, "and make it yourbusiness to stay till the mistress shall appear. "

"That might be to outstay my welcome, " said Martin, "and then herappearance would be my discomfiture. For a hostess has, according toher guests, as many kinds of face as a wildflower, according to itscounties, names. "

"Some kinds have only one name, " said Jessica, plucking a stalk crownedwith flowers as fine as spray. "What would you call this but CowParsley?"

"If I were in Anglia, " said Martin, "I would call it Queen's Lace. "

"That's a pretty name, " said Jessica. 

"Pretty enough to sing about, " said Martin; and looking carelessly atthe Well-House he thrummed his lute and sang--

 The Queen netted lace On the first April day, The Queen wore her lace In the first week of May, The Queen soiled her lace Ere May was out again, So the Queen washed her lace In the first June rain. The Queen bleached her lace On the first of July, She spread it in the orchard And left it there to dry, But on the first of August It wasn't in its place Because my sweetheart picked it up And hung it o'er her face. She laughed at me, she blushed at me, With such a pretty grace That I kissed her in September Through the Queen's own lace. 

At the end of the song Gillian sat up in the grass, and looked with allher heart over the duckpond. 

Joscelyn: I find your songs singularly lacking in point, singer. 

Martin: You surprise me, Mistress Joscelyn. The kiss was the point. 

Joscelyn: It is like you to think so. It is just like you to thinka--a--a--

Martin: --kiss--

Joscelyn: Sufficient conclusion to any circumstances. 

Martin: Isn't it?

Joscelyn: My goodness! You might as soon ask, is a peardrop sufficientfor a body's dinner. 

Martin: It would suffice me. I love peardrops. But then I am a man. Women doubtless need more substance, being in themselves moreinsubstantial. Now as to your quarrel with my song--

Joscelyn: It is of no consequence. You raise expectations which you donot fulfill. But it is not of the least consequence. 

Martin: Dear Mistress Joscelyn, my only desire is to please you. Wewill not conclude on a kiss. You shall fulfill your own expectations. 

Joscelyn: Mine?--I have no expectations whatever. 

Martin: But I have disappointed you. What shall I do with mysweetheart? Shall she be whipped for her theft? Shall she be shut in adungeon? Shall she be thrown before elephants? Choose your conclusion. 

Joan: But, Master Pippin!--why must the poor sweetheart be punished? Iam sure Joscelyn never wished her to be punished. There are otherconclusions. 

Martin: Dunderhead that I am, I can't think of any! What, MistressJoscelyn, was the conclusion you expected?

Joscelyn: I tell you, I expected none!

Joan: Why, Master Pippin! I should have fancied that, seeing the dearsweetheart had hung the veil over her face, she might--

Martin: Yes?

Joan: Be expected--

Martin: Yes!

Joan: To be about to be--

Joscelyn: I am sick to death of this silly sweetheart. And since ourmistress appears to be listening with both her ears, it would be moreto the point to begin whatever story you propose to relate to-night, and be done with it. 

Martin: You are always right. Therefore add your ears to hers, while Itell you the tale of Open Winkins. 

OPEN WINKINS

There were once, dear maidens, five lords in the east of Sussex, whoowned between them a single Burgh; for they were brothers. Their nameswere Lionel and Hugh and Heriot and Ambrose and Hobb. Lionel was tenyears of age and Hobb was twenty-two, there being exactly three yearsall but a month between the birthdays of the brothers. And Lionel had amerry spirit, and Hugh great courage and daring, and Heriot had beautypast any man's share, and Ambrose had a wise mind; but Hobb had nothingat all for the world's praise, for he only had a loving heart, which hespent upon his brothers and his garden. And since love begets love, they all loved him dearly, and leaned heavily on his affection, thoughneither they nor any man looked up to him because he was a lord. Although he was the eldest, and in his quiet way administered theaffairs of the Burgh and of the people of Alfriston under the Burgh, itwas Ambrose who was always thinking of new schemes for improvement, andHeriot who undertook the festivities. As for the younger boys, theykept the old place alive with their youth and spirits; and it wasevident that later on Hugh would win honor to the Burgh in battle andadventure, and Lionel would draw the world thither with his charm. ButHobb, to whom they all brought their shapeless dreams white-hot, sincesympathy helps us to create bodies for the things which begin theirexistence as souls--Hobb differed from the four others not only in hisname, but in his plain appearance and simple tastes. And all thesethings, as well as his tender heart, he got from his mother, who wasthe only daughter of a gardener of Alfriston. The gardener, to whom shewas the very apple of his eye, had kept her privately in a place on ahill, fearing lest in her youth and inexperience she should fall to thelot of some man not worthy of her; for her knew, or believed, that ayoung girl of her sweetness and tenderness and devotedness ofdisposition would by her sweetness attract a lover too early, and byher tenderness respond to him too readily, and by her devotednessfollow him too blindly, before she had time to know herself or men. Andhe also knew, or believed, that first love is as often awill-o'-the-wisp as the star for which all young things take it. Fivedays in the week he tended the gardens of Alfriston, the sixth he gaveto the Lord of the Burgh that lay among the hills, and the seventh hekept for his daughter on the hill a few miles distant, which wasafterwards known as Hobb's Hawth. She on her part spent her week inendeavoring to grow a perfect rose of a certain golden species, and herheart was given wholly to her father and her flower. And he watched herefforts with interest and advice, and for the first she thanked him butof the second took no heed. "For, " said she, "this is MY garden, father, and MY rose, and I will grow it in my own way or not at all. Have you not had a lifetime of gardens and roses which you have broughtto perfection? And would you let any man take your own upon hisshoulders, even your own mistakes, and shoulder at last the praiseafter the blame?" Then Hobb, her father, laughed at her indulgently andsaid, "Nay, not any man; yet once I let a woman, and without her aid Iwould never have brought my rarest and dearest flower to perfection. Soif I should let a woman help me, why not you a man?" "Was the womanyour mother?" said she. And her father was silent. Then a day came whenhe trudged up and down the hills from Alfriston, and standing at thegate of her garden saw his child in the arms of a stranger; and herface, as it lay against his heart, seemed to her father also to be theface of a stranger, and not of his child. He recognized in the strangerthe Lord of the Burgh. And he saw that what he had feared had come topass, and that his daughter's heart would be no more divided betweenher father and her flower, for it was given whole to the lover who hadfirst assailed it. Hobb came into the garden, and they looked up as thegate clicked, and their faces grew as red as though one had caught thereflection from the other. But both looked straight into his eyes. Andhis daughter, pointing to her bush, said, "Father, my rose is grown atlast, " and he saw that the bush was crowned with a glorious goldenbloom, perfect in every detail. Then it was the turn of the Lord of theBurgh, and he said, "Sir, I ask leave to rob your garden of its rose. ""Do robbers ask leave?" said Hobb. And he shook his head, adding, "Nay, when the thief and the theft are in collusion, what say is left to theowner of the treasure? Yet I do not like this. Sir, have you consideredthat she is a gardener's child? Daughter, have you considered that heis a lord?" And neither of them had considered these questions, andthey did not propose to do so. Then Hobb shook his head again and said, "I will not waste words. I know when a plant can drink no more water. And though you pretend to ask my leave, I know that you are prepared todispense with it. But by way of consent I will say this: whatever youmay call your other sons, you shall call your first Hobb, to remind youto-morrow of what you will not consider to-day. For my daughter, whenshe is a lord's wife, will none the less still be a gardener'sdaughter, and your children will be grafted of two stocks. And if thisseems to you a hard condition, then kiss and bid farewell. " And theyboth laughed with joy at the lightness of the condition; but thegardener did not laugh. And so the Lord of the Burgh married thegardener's daughter, and they called their first son Hobb. He was bornon a first of August, and thirty-five months later Ambrose was born onthe first of July, and in due course Heriot in June, and Hugh in May, and Lionel in April. And the Lord, loving his sons equally, made themequal possessors of the Burgh when in time it should pass out of hishands. Which, since men are mortal, presently came to pass, and therewere five lords instead of one. 

It happened on a roaring night of March, when the wind was blusteringover the barren ocean of the east Downs, and Lionel was still a boy often, but soon to be eleven, that the five brothers sat clustered aboutthe great hearth in the hall, roasting apples and talking of this andthat. But their talk was fitful, and had long pauses in which theylistened to the gusty night, which had so much more to say than they. And after one of the silences Lionel shuddered slightly, and drawinghis little stool close to Hobb he said:

"It sounds like witches. " Hobb put his big hand round the child's headand face, and Lionel pressed his cheek against his brother's knee. 

"Or lions, " said Hugh, jumping up and running to the window, where heflattened his nose to stare into the night. "I wish it were lionscoming over the Downs. "

"What would you do with them?" said Hobb, smiling broadly. 

"Fight them, " said Hugh, "and chain them up. I should like to havelions instead of dogs--a red lion and a white one. "

"I never heard tell of lions of those colors, " said Hobb. "But perhapsAmbrose has with all his reading. "

"Not I, " said Ambrose, "but I haven't read half the books yet. The windstill knows more than I, and it may be that he knows where red andwhite lions are to be found. For he knows everything. "

"And has seen everything, " murmured Heriot, watching a lovely flame ofblue and green that flickered among the red and gold on the hearth. 

"And has been everywhere, " muttered Hugh. "If I could find and catchhim, I'd ask him for a red and a white lion. "

"I'd rather have peacocks, " said Heriot, his eyes on the fire. 

"What would you choose, Ambrose?" asked Hobb. 

"Nothing, " said he, "but it's the hardest of all things to have, and Idoubt if I'd get it. But what business have we to be choosing presents?That is Lionel's right before ours, for isn't his birthday next month?What will you ask of the wind for your birthday, Lal?"

Then Lionel, who was getting very drowsy, smiled a sleepy smile, andsaid, "I'd like a farm of my own in the Downs, a very little farm withpink pigs and black cocks and white donkeys and chestnut horses nobigger than grasshoppers and mice, and a very little well as big as mymug to draw up my water from, and a little green paddock the size of mypocket-handkerchief, and another of yellow corn, and another of crimsontrefoil. And I would have a blue farm-wagon no larger than Hobb's shoe, and a haystack half as big as a seed-cake, and a duckpond that I couldcover with my platter. And I'd live there and play with it all daylong, if only I knew where the wind lives, and could ask him how to getit. "

"Don't start till to-morrow, " jested Ambrose, "to-night you're toosleepy to find the way. "

Then he turned to his book, and Hugh was still at the window, andHeriot gazing into the fire. And as he felt the child's head droop inhis hand, Hobb picked him up in his arms and carried him to bed. And healone of all those brothers had made no choice, nor had they thought toask him, so accustomed were they to see him jog along without thedesires that lead men to their goals--such as Ambrose's thirst forknowledge, and Heriot's passion for beauty, and Hugh's lust foradventure, and Lionel's pursuit of delight. And yet, unknown to themall, he had a heartfelt wish, which, among other things, he hadinherited from his mother. For on a height west of the Burgh he hadmade a garden where, like her, he labored to produce a perfect goldenrose. But so far luck was against him, though his height, which wastherefore spoken of as the Gardener's Hill, bloomed with the loveliestflowers of all sorts imaginable. But year by year his rose was attackedby a special pest, the nature of which he had not succeeded indiscovering. Yet his patience was inexhaustible, and his brothers whosometimes came to his garden when they needed a listener for theirachieved or unachieved ambitions, never suspected that he too had anambition he had not realized, for they saw only a lovely garden of hiscreating, where wisdom, beauty, adventure, and delight were madeequally welcome by the gardener. 

Now on the March day following the night of the brothers' windy talk--

(But suddenly Martin, with a nimble movement, stood upright on hisbough, and grasping that to which the swing was attached, shook it withsuch frenzy that a tempest seemed to pass through the tree, and thegirls shrieked and clung to the trunk, and leaves and apples flew inall directions; and Jessica, between clutching at her ropes, andletting go to ward off the cannonade of fruit, gasped in a tumult oflaughter and indignation. 

Jessica: Have you gone mad, Master Pippin? have you gone mad?

Martin: Mad, Mistress Jessica, stark staring mad! March hares are petrabbits to me!

Jessica: Sit down this instant! do you hear? this instant! That'sbetter. What fun it was! Aha, you thought you could shake me off, butyou didn't. Are you still mad?

Martin: Melancholy mad, since you will not let me rave. 

Jessica: You are the less dangerous. But I hate you to be melancholy. 

Martin: It is no one's fault but yours. How can I be jolly when mystory upsets you?

Jessica: How do you know it upsets me?

Martin: You put out your tongue at me. 

Jessica: Did I?

Martin: Yes, without reason. So what could I do but whistle mine to thewinds?

Jessica: You were too hasty, for I had my reason. 

Martin: If it was a good one I'll whistle mine back again. 

Jessica: It was this. That no man in a love-tale should be wiser orbraver or more beautiful or more happy than the hero; or how can he bethe hero? Yet I am sure Hobb is the hero and none of the others, because he is the only one old enough to be married. 

Martin: Ambrose in nineteen, and will very soon be twenty. 

Jessica: What's nineteen, or even twenty, in a man? Fie! a man's not aman till he comes of age, and the hero's not Ambrose for all hiswisdom, though wisdom becomes a hero. Nor Heriot for all his beauty, though a hero should be beautiful. Nor Hugh, who will one day be braveenough for any hero, though now he's but a boy. Nor the happy Lionel, who is only a child--yet I love a gay hero. It's none of these, fullthough they be of the qualities of heroes. And here is your Hobb withnothing to show but a fondness for roses. 

Martin: You deserve to be stood in a corner for that nothing, MistressJessica. Your reason was such a bad one that I see I must return tosense if only to teach you a little of it. Did I not say Hobb had aloving heart?

Jessica: But he was plain and simple and patient and contented. Arethese things for a hero?

Martin: Mistress Jessica, I will ask you a riddle. What is it--? Oh, but first, I take it you love apple-trees?

Jessica: Who doesn't?

Martin: What is it, then, you love in an apple-tree? Is it the dancingof the leaves in the wind? Is it the boldness of the boughs? Or perhapsthe loveliness of the flower in spring? Or again the fruit that ripensof the flower amongst the leaves on the boughs? What is it you love inan apple-tree?

Jessica: All riddles are traps. I must consider before I answer. 

Martin: You shall consider until the conclusion of my story, and nottill you are satisfied that many things can be contained in one, will Irequire your solution. And as for traps, it is always the solver ofriddles who lays his own trap, by looking all round the question andnever straight at it. Put on your thinking-cap, I beg, while I go onbabbling. )

On the March day following the brothers' talk (continued Martin) Lionelwas missing. It was some time before his absence was noticed, for Hobbwas in his distant garden, and Ambrose among his books, and Heriot hadridden north to the market-town to buy stuff for a jerkin, and Hugh hadrun south to the sea to watch the ships. So Lionel was left to his owndevices, and what they were none tried to guess till evening, when thebrothers met again and he was not there. Then there was hue and cryamong the hills, but to no purpose. The child had vanished like acloud. And the month wore by, and their hearts grew heavier day by day. 

It was in the last week of March that Hugh one morning came red-eyed tohis brothers and said, "I am going away, and I will not come back untilI have found Lionel. For I can't rest. "

"None of us can do that, " said Ambrose, "and we have searched and sentmessengers everywhere. You are too young to go alone. "

"I am nearly fourteen, " said Hugh, "and stronger than Heriot, and eventhan you, Ambrose, and I can take care of myself and Lionel too. Thereare more ways than one to seek, and I'll go my way while you go yours. But I will find him or die. " And he looked with defiance at Ambrose, and then turned to Hobb and said doggedly, "I'm going, Hobb. "

Hobb, who himself sought the hills unwearingly day after day, and thensat up three parts of the night attending to the duties of the Burgh, said, "Go, and God bless you. "

And Hugh's mouth grew less set, and he kissed his brothers, and put hisknife in his belt, and took food in his wallet, and walked out of theBurgh. He followed the grass-track to the north, and had walked lessthan half-an-hour when the wind took his cap and blew it into themiddle of a pond, where it lay soddening out of reach. So he took offhis shoes and walked into the pond to fetch it out, stirring up theyellow mud in thick soft clouds. But as he stooped to grab his cap, something else stirred the mud in the middle, and a body heaved itselfsluggishly into view. At first Hugh thought it must be the body of asheep that had tumbled into the water, but to his amazement the sulkyhead of an old man appeared. He was barely distinguishable from the mudout of which he had risen. 

"Drat the boys!" said the muddy man. "Will they never be done withdisturbing the newts and me? Drat em, I say!"

"Who are you?" demanded Hugh, staring with all his might. 

"Jerry I am, and this is my pond. Why can't you leave me in peace?"

"The wind took my cap, " said Hugh. 

"Finding's keepings, " said the muddy man, taking the cap himself, "andwindfalls on this water is mine. So I'll keep your cap, and it's thesecond wind's brought me this March. And if you're in want of anotheryou'd best go to where Wind lives and ask him for it, like t'other one. But he said he'd ask for a toy farm instead. "

"A toy farm?" shouted Hugh. 

"Go away and don't deafen a body, " said Jerry, and prepared to sinkagain. But Hugh caught him by the hair and said fiercely, "Keep my capif you like, but I won't let you go until you tell me where my brotherwent. "

"Your brother was it?" growled the muddy man. "He went to High andOver, dancing like a sunbeam. "

"What's High and Over?"

"Where Wind lives. "

"Where's that?"

"Find out, " mumbled the muddy man; and he wriggled himself out ofHugh's clutch and buried himself like a monstrous newt in the mud. Andthough Hugh groped and fumbled shoulder-deep he could not feel a traceof him. 

"But, " said he, "there's at least a name to go on. " And he got out ofthe pond and went in search of High and Over. And his brothers waitedin vain for his return. And the heaviness of four hearts was nowdivided between three, and doubled because of another brother lost. 

But on the first of April, which was Lionel's birthday, Lionel cameback. Or rather, Hobb found him in a valley north of his garden hill, when he was wandering on one of his forlorn searches. And when he foundhim Hobb could not believe his eyes. For the child was sitting in themiddle of the prettiest plaything in the world. It was a tiny farm, covering perhaps a quarter of an acre, with minute barns and yards andstables, and pigmy livestock in the little pastures, and hand-highcrops in the little meadows; and smoke came from the tiny chimney ofthe farmhouse, and Lionel was drawing water from a well in a bucket thesize of a thimble. And all the colors were so bright and painted thatthe little farmstead seemed to have been conceived of the gayest mindon earth. But through his amazement Hobb had no thought except for thechild, and he ran calling him by his name, but Lionel never looked up. And then Hobb lifted him in his arms, and embraced him closely, but thechild did not respond. 

Then Hobb looked at him anxiously, and was so shocked that he forgotthe strange blithe little farm entirely. For Lionel was as wan andwasted as though he had been through a fever, and his rosy face waswhite, and his merry eyes were melancholy. And suddenly, as Hobbclasped him, he flung his arms round his big brother's neck and buriedhis face in his bosom and wept bitterly. 

Then Hobb tried to soothe and comfort him, asking him little questionsin a coaxing voice--"Where has the child been? Why did he run away andleave us? Where did he get this pretty, wonderful toy? Is he hurt, orhungry? Does he remember it is his birthday? There will be presents forhim at the Burgh, and a cake for tea. Did Hugh bring him home? Has heseen Hugh? Lal, Lal, where is Hugh?"

But Lionel answered none of these questions, he only sobbed and sobbed, and suddenly slipped out of Hobb's arms, and began to play once morewith his farm, while the tears ran down his thin cheeks. Presently helet Hobb take him home, and there Heriot and Ambrose rejoiced andsorrowed over him. For he would scarcely speak or eat, and only shookhis head at their questions. At Hugh's name his tears flowed twice asfast, but he would tell them nothing of him. Very soon Hobb carried himto bed, and in undressing him noticed that he had no shirt. This tooLionel would not explain, and Hobb ceased troubling him with talk, andknelt and prayed by him, and laid him down to sleep, hoping that in themorning he would be better. But morning brought no change. Lionel fromthat day was given up to grief. Each morning he went dejectedly to playwith his marvelous toy in the valley, but how he came by it he wouldnot say. 

Towards the end of April Heriot came to Hobb and Ambrose and said, "Icannot bear this; Lionel is home and we are none the better for it, andHugh is gone and we are all the worse. Hugh is capable of looking afterhimself, yet perhaps danger has befallen him; and even if not, he willroam the country fruitlessly for months, and it may be years; sinceLionel is restored and he does not know it. The Burgh can spare mebetter than it can you, and I will ride abroad and see if I can findhim, and return in seven days, whether or no. "

So they embraced him, and he departed. But at the end of seven days hedid not appear. And Ambrose and Hobb were dismayed at his vanishinglike the others, and so heavy a gloom descended on the Burgh that eachcould scarcely have endured it without the other. And every day theywent forth in search of Hugh and Heriot, or of traces of them, butfound none. 

Then it happened that on the first of May, which was Hugh's birthday, Hobb, wandering further north than usual, to the brow of the greatridge east of the Ouse, heard a wild roaring and bellowing on theDowns; or rather, it was two separate roarings, as you may sometimeshear two separate storms thundering at once over two ranges of hills. And in astonishment he went first to Beddingham, and there, bound by aniron chain to a stake beside a pond, he found a mighty lion, as whiteas a young lamb. But he had not a lamb's meekness, for he ramped andraved in a great circle around the stake, and his open throat set inhis shaggy mane looked like the red sun seen upon white mist. Hobbrubbed his eyes and turned towards Ilford, where the second roaringsought to outdo the first. And there beside another pond he foundanother stake and chain, and a lion exactly similar, except that he wasas red as a rose. But he had not a rose's sweetness, for he snarled andleaped with fury at the end of his chain, and his flashing teeth underhis red muzzle looked like the blossom of the scarlet runner. 

And then, turning about for an explanation of these wonders, Hobb sawwhat drove them from his mind--the figure of Hugh crouched in a littlehollow, and shaking like a leaf. Hobb ran towards him with a shout, andat the shout Hugh leaped to his feet, with the eyes of a hunted hare, and looked on all sides as though seeking where to hide. But Hobb wassoon beside him, with his arm round the boy's shoulder, and gazingearnestly into his face. 

"Why, lad, " said he, "do you not know me again?"

Hugh stole a glance at him, and suddenly smiled and nodded, and triedto answer, but could not for the chattering of his teeth. And he clunghard to his brother's side, and shuddered from head to foot. 

"Are you ill, Hugh?" Hobb asked him, bewildered at the boy's unlikenessto himself. 

"No, Hobb, " said Hugh, "but need we stay here now?"

"Why, no, " said Hobb gently, "we will go when you like. Where do thesebeasts come from?"

Hugh set his lips and began to move away. 

Hobb went beside him and said, "Lionel is home, but Heriot is lost. Have you seen Heriot?"

Hugh hesitated, and then stammered, "No, I have not seen him. "

And Hobb knew that he had lied, Hugh who had always been as fearless ofthe truth as of anything else. So after that he asked no more, fearingto get another lie for an answer; and he led Hugh home, supporting himwith his arm, for he was full of fits and starts and shiverings. If alump of chalk rolled under his shoe he blanched and cried, "What'sthat?" and once when a field-mouse ran across the path he swooned. ThenHobb, opening his tunic at the neck, saw that nothing was between itand his body; for he, like Lionel, was without his shirt. 

They got back to the Burgh, and Hobb found Ambrose and told him how itwas. And Ambrose came to Hugh and talked with him, and turned away withknitted brows. For here was a puzzle not dealt with in his books. AndMay went by in miserable fashion, with Lionel spending the days inplaying mournfully beside his farm, and Hugh in cowering abjectlybetween his lions. And sometimes Ambrose and Hobb, after searching forHeriot or news of him, or spending their spirits in endeavoring tohearten their two brothers, or to elicit from them something thatshould give them the key to the mystery, would meet in Hobb'shill-garden, where seemed to be the only peace and loveliness left uponearth. And Hobb would weed and tend his neglected flowers, and theybloomed for him as though they knew he loved them--as indeed they did. Only his golden rose-tree would not flourish, but this small sorrow wasunguessed by Ambrose. 

One evening as they sat in the garden in the last week of May, Ambrosesaid to his brother, "I have been thinking, Hobb, that at all costsHeriot must be found, and not for his own sake only. He is younger thanwe, and nearer in spirit to the boys; and he may be able to help themas we cannot. For if this goes on, Hugh will die of his fears andLionel of his melancholy. You must stay and administer our affairs asusual, and look after the boys; and I will go further afield in searchof Heriot. "

Hobb was silent for a moment, and then he sighed and said, "No good hascome of these seekings. Our lads returned of themselves, as Heriot may. And their return was worse than anything we feared of their absence, as, if he come back, I pray Heriot's will not be. And for you, Ambrose--" But then he paused, not saying what was in his mind. AndAmbrose said, "Do not be afraid for me. These boys are young, and I amolder than my years. And though I cannot face danger with a stouterheart than our brothers, I can perhaps see into it a little furtherthan they. And foresight is sometimes a still better tool than courage. "

Then he took Hobb's hand in his, and they gripped with the grip of menwho love each other; and Ambrose went out of the garden, and Hobb wasleft alone. For Hugh and Lionel were companions to none but themselves. 

But on the first of June Hobb, coming to the gate of his garden, sawwith surprise a peacock strutting on the hillbrow, his fan spread inthe sun, a luster of green and blue and gold, and behind him wasanother, and further south three more. So Hobb went out to look atthem, and found not five but fifty peacocks sweeping the Downs withtheir heavy trains, or opening and shutting them like gigantic magicalflowers. Following the throng of birds, he came shortly to a barnalready known to him, but he had never seen it as he saw it now. Forthe roof was crowded with peacocks, and peacocks strayed in flockswithin and without; and sitting in the doorway was Heriot, the sight ofwhom so overjoyed his brother that Hobb forgot the thousand peacocks inthe one man. And he made speed to greet him, but within a few yardshalted full of doubt. For was this Heriot? He had Heriot's air andattitude, yet the grace was gone from his body; and Heriot's features, surely, but the beauty had melted away like morning dew. And his dress, which had always been orderly and beautiful, was neglected; so thatunder the half-laced jerkin Hobb saw that he was shirtless. Yet afterthe first moment's shock, he knew this gaunt and ugly youth was Heriot. And Heriot seeing his coming hung his head, and made a shamed movementof retreat into the shadow of the barn. But Hobb hurried to him, andtook him by the shoulders, and beheld him with the eyes of love whichalways find its object beautiful. Then the flush faded from Heriot'shaggard cheeks, and he looked as full at Hobb as Hobb at him. And as atthe steadfast meeting of eyes men see no longer the physicalappearance, but for an eternal instance the appearance of the soul, these brothers knew that they were to each other what they had alwaysbeen. And Heriot saw that Hobb was full of questions, and he laid hishand over Hobb's mouth and said, "Hobb, do not ask me anything, for Ican tell you nothing. "

"Neither of yourself nor of Ambrose?" said Hobb. 

"Nothing, " repeated Heriot. 

So Hobb left his questions unspoken, and as they went home togethertold Heriot of Hugh's return, and what had happened to him. And Heriotheard it without comment. And in the evening, when Lionel and Hughreturned, they had nothing to say to Heriot, nor he to them; and itseemed to Hobb that this was because these three everything wasunderstood. 

It was a lonely June for Hobb, with his eldest brother away, and thethree others spending all their days beside their strange possessions, which brought them no tittle of joy; and had it not been for his gardenhe would have felt utterly bereft. Yet here too failure sat heavily onhis heart; for an many a night he saw upon his bush a bud that promisedperfection to come, and in the morning it hung dead and rotten on itsstem. 

So the month wore on, and Hobb began to feel that the Burgh, where nowhis brothers only came to sleep, was a dead shell, too desolate toinhabit if Ambrose did not soon return. And he was impelled to go insearch of him, yet decided to remain until Ambrose's birthday haddawned, for had not their birthdays brought his three youngest brothershome? And it might be so with Ambrose. And so it was. 

For on the first of July, before going to his garden, he stayed atHeriot's barn to try to induce him to leave his peacocks for once, andspend the day with him in search of Ambrose; but Heriot, who wasfeeding his fowl, never looked up, and said sadly, "What need to seekAmbrose to-day? Ambrose has returned. "

"Have you seen him?" cried Hobb joyfully. 

"Early this morning, " said Heriot. 

"Where?"

"Down yonder in Poverty Bottom, " said Heriot, pointing south of hisbarn to a hollow that went by that name. For there was a dismalhabitation that had fallen into decay, a skeleton of a hut with onlytwo rotting walls, and a riddled thatch for a roof. And it was worsethan no habitation at all, for what might have been a green and lovelyvale was made desolate and rank with disused things, rusting among thelumber of bricks and nettles. It was enough to have been there oncenever to go again. And Hobb had been there once. 

But now, at Heriot's tidings, he ran down the hill a second time asthough it led to Paradise, calling Ambrose as he went. And getting noanswer he began to fear that either Heriot was mistaken, or Ambrose hadgone away. His fears were unfounded, for coming to the Bottom he foundAmbrose; yet he had to look twice to make sure it was he. For he wasdressed only in rags, and less in rags than nakedness; and his skin wasdirty and his hair unkempt. He was stooping about the ground gatheringflints dropped through, and a small trail of them marked his passageover the rank grass. 

Hobb strode towards him with dread in his bosom, and laid his hand onAmbrose's wild head, saying his name again. And at this his brotherlooked up and eyed him childishly, and said "Who is Ambrose?" And thenthe dread in Hobb took a definite shape, and he saw with horror thatAmbrose had lost his wits. At that knowledge, and the sight of hisneglected body and pitiful foolish smile, Hobb turned away and sobbed. But Ambrose with a little random laugh continued to drop flints in hisbottomless bucket. And no word of Hobb's could win him from that place. 

Then Hobb went back to the Burgh alone, and buried his face in hishands, and thought. He thought of the evil which had fallen upon hishouse, the nature of which was past his brothers' telling, and farbeyond his guessing. And he said to himself, "I have done the best Icould in governing the affairs of the Burgh and of our people, sincethe others were younger than I; but I see I have been selfish, keepingsafety for my portion while they went into danger. And now there isnone to set this evil right but I, and if I can I must follow the waythey went, and do better than they at the end of it. And if I fail--ashow should I succeed where they have not?--and if like them I too mustsuffer the dreadful loss of a part of myself, let it be so, and I shallat least fare as they have fared, and we will share an equal fate. Though what I have to lose I know not, to match their bright and noblequalities. "

Then he called his steward, and gave all the affairs of the Burgh intohis hands, and bade him have an eye to his brothers as far as possible, and to consult Heriot in any need, since he was the only one who couldin the least be relied on. And then he walked out of the Burgh as hewas, and went where his feet took him. He had not been walkinghalf-an-hour when a sudden blast of wind tore the cap from his head, and blew it into the very middle of a pond. 

Now the pond was exceedingly muddy, and as it seemed to Hobb ratherdeep, and he was wondering whether his old cap were worth wading for, and had almost decided to abandon it, when he saw a skinny yellow arm, like a frog's leg, stretch up through the water, and a hand thatdripped with slime grope for his cap. With three strides he was in thepond, and he caught the cap and the hand together in his fist. The handwrithed in his, but Hobb was too strong for it; and with a mighty tughe dragged first the shoulder and then the head belonging to the handinto view. They were the shoulder and head of the muddy man whom you, dear maidens, have seen once before in this tale, but whom Hobb hadnever seen till then. And Jerry said, "Drat these losers of caps! willthey NEVER be done with disturbing the newts and me? Tis the fifth ina summer. And first there's one with a step like a wagtail, and nextthere's one as bold as a hawk, and after him one as comely as a wildswan, and last was one as wise as an owl. And now there's this one withnothing particular to him, but he grips as hard as all the rest rolledinto one. Drat these cap-losers!"

Then Hobb who, for all his surprise to begin with, and his increase ofexcitement as the muddy creature spoke, had never slackened his grasp, said, "Old man, you are welcome to my cap if you will tell me whathappened to the wearers of the four other caps after they left you. "

"How do I know what happened to em?" growled the muddy man. "For theyall went to High and Over, and after that twas nobody's business butWind's, who lives there. "

"Where's High and Over?" said Hobb. 

"Find out, " said the muddy man, and gave a wriggle that did him no good. 

"I will, " said Hobb, "for you shall tell me. " And he looked so sternlyat the muddy man that Jerry cringed, moaning:

"I thought by his voice twas a turtle, but I see by his eye tis aneagle. If you must know you must. And south of Cradle Hill that's southof Pinchem that's south of Hobb's Hawth that's south of the Burghthat's south of this pond is where High and Over is. And I'll thank youto let me go. "

Nevertheless, when Hobb released him Jerry forgot the thanks anddisappeared into the mud taking the cap with him. But Hobb did not carefor his thanks. He hurried south as fast as his feet would carry him, going by the places he knew and then by those he did not, till he cameat nightfall to High and Over. 

And on High and Over a great wind was blowing from all the fourquarters of heaven at once. And Hobb was caught up in the crossways ofthe wind, and turned about and about till he was dizzy, and all histhoughts were churning in his brain, so that he could not tell one fromthe other. And at the very crisis of the churning a voice in the windfrom the north roared in his ear:

"What do you want that you lack?"

And a voice from the south murmured, "What is the wish of your heart?"

And a voice from the west sighed, "What is it that life has not givenyou?"

And a voice from the east shrieked, "What will you have, and loseyourself to have?"

And Hobb forgot his brothers and why he was there, he forgot everythingbut the dream of his soul which had been churned uppermost in thatturmoil, and he cried aloud, "A golden rose!"

Then the four voices together roared and murmured and sighed andshrieked, "Open Winkins! Open Winkins! Open Winkins! Open Winkins!" Andthe tumult ceased with a shock, and the shock of silence overwhelmedHobb with sickness and darkness, and his senses deserted him. As hebecame unconscious he seemed to be, not falling to earth, but rising inthe air. 

When he opened his eyes he was lying on his back in a strange world, aworld of trees, whose noble trunks rose up as though they were columnsof the sky, but their heaven was a green one, shutting out daylight, yet enclosing a luminous haunted air of its own. Such forests wereunknown in Hobb's open barren land, and this alone would have made hiscoming to his senses appear rather to be a coming away from them. Buthe scarcely noticed his surroundings, he was only vaguely aware of themas the strange and beautiful setting of the strangest and mostbeautiful thing he had ever seen. For he was looking into the eyes ofthe loveliest woman in the world. She was bending above him, tall andslim and supple, her perfect body clad in a deep black gown, the hemand bosom of which were embroidered with celandines, and it had agolden belt and was lined with gold, as he could see when the loosesleeves fell open on her round and slender arms; and the bodice of thegown hung a little away from her stooping body, and was embroideredinside, as well as outside, with celandines, which made reflections onher white neck, as they will on a pure pool where they lean to watchtheir April loveliness. Her skin was as creamy as the petals of aburnet rose, and her eyes were the color of peat-smoke, and her hairwas as soft as spun silk and fell in two great shining waves of thepurest gold over her bosom as she bent above him, and lay on the earthlike golden grass on green water. A tress of the hair had flowed acrosshis hand. And about her small fine head it was bound with a blackfillet, a narrow coil so sleek and glossy that it was touched withsilver lights, and this intense blackness made the gold of her headmore dazzling. And Hobb lay there bewildered under the spell of herloveliness, asking nothing but to lie and gaze at it for ever. 

But presently as he did not move she did, sinking upon her knees andstooping closer so that her breast nearly rested on his own, and sheput her white hand softly on his forehead, and the smoke of her eyeswas washed with tears that did not fall, and she said in a tremulousvoice that fell on his ears like music heard in a dream, "Oh, stranger, if you are not dying, speak and move. "

Then Hobb raised himself slowly on his elbow, and as she did not stirtheir faces were brought very close together; and not for an instanthad they taken their eyes from each other. And he said in a low voice, not knowing either his voice or his own words, "I am not dying, but Ithink I must be dead. " And suddenly the woman broke into a rain oftears, and she sank into his arms with her own about his neck, and shewept upon his heart as though her own were breaking. After a fewmoments she lifted her head and Hobb bent his to meet her quiveringmouth. But before his lips touched hers she tore herself from his holdand fled away through the trees. 

Hobb leaped to his feet, and scarcely knowing what he said cried, "Love! don't be afraid!" and he made no attempt to follow her, butstood where he was. He saw her halt in the distance, and turn, andhesitate, and struggle with herself as to her coming or going. At lastshe decided for the former, and came slowly between the pillars of thetrees until she stood but a few paces from him with lowered lids. Andshe said sweetly, "Forgive me, stranger. But I found you here like onedead, and when you opened your eyes the fear was still on me, and whenyou moved and spoke the relief was too great, and I forgot myself anddid what I did. "

Then Hobb said gently, but with his heart beating on his ribs as fastas a swallow's wings beat the air, "I thought you did what you didbecause at that moment you knew, and I knew also, that it was yourright for ever to weep and to laugh on my heart, and mine to bear forever your laughing and weeping. But if it was not with you as with me, say so, and I will go away and not trouble you or your strange woodsagain. "

Then the woman came quickly to him, and seized his hands saying, halfagitated, half commanding, "It was with me as with you. And you shallstay with me for ever in these woods, and I will give you the desire ofyour life. "

"And what shall I give you?" said Hobb. 

"Whatever is nearest to yourself, " she whispered, "the dearest treasureof your soul. " And she looked at him with eyes full of passions whichhe could not fathom, but among them he saw terror. And with greattenderness he drew her once more to his heart, putting his strong andsteady arms around her like a shield, and he said:

"Love whose name I do not know, what is nearer to myself than you, whatdearer treasure has my soul than you? If I am to give you this, it isyourself I must give you; and I will restore to you whatever it is thatyou have lost through the agony of your soul. Be at peace, my lovewhose name I do not know. " And holding her closely to him he bent hishead and kissed her lips; and a great shudder passed through her, andthen she lay still in his arms, with her strange eyes half-closed, andslow tears welling between the lids and hanging on her cheeks like therain on the rose. And she let him quiet her with his big hands thatwere so used to care for flowers. Presently she lifted his right handto her mouth, and kissed it before he could prevent her. Next she drewherself a little away from him, hanging back in his arms and gazinginto his face as though her soul were all a question and his was theanswer that she could not wholly read. And last she broke away from himwith a strange laugh that ended on a sob. 

Hobb said, "Will you not tell me what makes you unhappy?"

"I have no unhappiness, " she answered, and quenched her sob with asmile as strange as her laugh. "My foolish lover, are you amazed thatwhen her hour comes a woman knows not whether she is happy or unhappy?Oh, when joy is so great that it has come full circle with pain, whatwonder that laughter and weeping are one?"

And Hobb believed her, for ever since he had opened his eyes upon her, he had felt in his own heart more joy than he could bear; and he knewthat for this there is no remedy except to find a second heart to helpin the bearing. And he knew it was the same with her. But now he sawthat she was free for awhile from the excess of joy; and indeed theserespites must happen even to lovers for their own sakes, lest they sinkbeneath the heavenly burden of their hearts. And her smile was like thediver's rise from his enchanted deeps to take again the common breathof man; and Hobb also smiled and said, "Come now, and tell me yourname. For though love needs none for its object, I think the nameitself is eager to be made known and loved beyond all other names forlove's sake. As I love yours, whatever it be. "

"My name, " she said, "is Margaret. "

"It is an easy name to love, " said Hobb, "for its own sake. "

"And what is yours?" asked she. 

And Hobb's smile broadened as he answered, "Try to love it, for mysake. For it is Hobb. Yet it is as fitting to me, who am as plain as myname, as your lovely name is fitting to you. "

She cast a quick sly look at him and said, "If love knows not how todistinguish between joy and pain, since all that comes from the heartof love is joy, neither can it tell the plain from the beautiful, sinceall that comes under the eye of love is beauty. And I will find allthings beautiful in my lover, from his name to the mole on his cheek. "

For I know now, dear maidens, whether in describing him I had mentionedthis peculiarity of Hobb's. 

(Jessica: You hadn't described him at all. 

Martin: Well, now the omission is remedied. 

Jessica: Oh fie! as though it were enough to say the man had a mole onhis left cheek!

Martin: Dear Mistress Jessica, did I say it was his left cheek?

Jessica: Why--why!--where else would it be?

Martin: Nowhere else, on my honor. It WAS his left cheek. )

Then Hobb said to Margaret, "What place is this?"

"It is called Open Winkins, " said she, and at the name he started tohis feet, remembering much that he had forgotten. She looked at himanxiously and cajolingly and said, "You are not going away?" But hehardly heard her question. "Margaret, " he said, "I have come from aplace that may be far or near, for I do not know how I came; but Ithink it must be far, since I never saw this forest, or even heard ofit, till a moment before my coming. But I am seeking a clue to atrouble that has come upon me this year, and I think the clue may behere. And now tell me, have you in these last four months seen in thesewoods anything of your people that are my brothers?--a child that oncewas merry, and a boy that once was brave, and a youth that once wasbeautiful, and a young man that once was wise? Have these ever been toOpen Winkins?"

Margaret looked at him thoughtfully and said, "If they have, I have notseen them here. And I think they could not have been here without myknowledge. For no one lives here but I, and I live nowhere else. "

Hobb sighed and said, "I had hoped otherwise. For, dear, I cannot restuntil I have helped them. " Then he told her as much as he knew of hisfour brothers; and her face clouded as he spoke, and her eyes lookedhurt and angry by turns, and her beautiful mouth turned sulky. So thenHobb put his arm round her and said, "Do not be too troubled, for Iknow I shall presently find the cause and cure of these boys' ills. "But Margaret pushed his arm away and rose restlessly to her feet, andpaced up and down, muttering, "What do I care for these boys? It is notfor them I am troubled, but for myself and you. "

"For us?" said Hobb. "How can trouble touch us who love each other?"

At this Margaret threw herself on the grass beside him, and laid herhead against his knee, and drew his hands to her, pressing them againsther eyes and lips and throat and bosom as though she would never letthem go; and through her kisses she whispered passionately, "Do youlove me? do you truly love me? Oh, if you love me do not go awayimmediately. For I have only just found you, but your brothers have hadyou all their lives. And presently you shall go where you please fortheir sakes, but now stay a little in this wood for mine. Stay a monthwith me, only a month! oh, my heart, is a month much to ask when youand I found each other but an hour ago? For this time of love willnever come again, and whatever other times there are to follow, if yougo now you will be shutting your eyes upon the lovely dawn just as thesun is rising through the colors. And when you return, you will returnperhaps to love's high-noon, but you will have missed the dawn forever. " And then she lifted her prone body a little higher until itrested once more in the curve of his arm against his heart, and she laywith her white face upturned to his, and her dark soft eyes full ofpassion and pleading, and she put up her fingers to caress his cheek, and whispered, "Give me my little month, oh, my heart, and at the endof it I will give you your soul's desire. "

And not Hobb or any man could have resisted her. 

So he promised to remain with her in Open Winkins, and not to gofurther on his quest till the next moon. And indeed, with all timebefore and behind him it did not seem much to promise, nor did he thinkit could hurt his brothers' case. But the kernel of it was that helonged to make the promise, and could not do otherwise than make thepromise, and so, in short, he made the promise. 

Then Margaret led him to two small lodges on the skirts of the forest;they were made of round logs, with moss and lichen still upon them, andthey were overgrown with the loveliest growths of summer--withblackberry blossoms, a wonderful ghostly white, spread over the busheslike fairies' linen out to dry, and wild roses more than were in anyother lovers' forest on earth, and the maddest sweetest confusion ofhoneysuckle you ever saw. Within, the rooms were strewn with greenrushes, and hung with green cloths on which Margaret had embroideredall the flowers and berries in their seasons, from the first smallviolets blue and white to the last spindle-berries with their orangehearts splitting their rosy rinds. And there was nothing else undereach roof but a round beech-stump for a stool, and a coffer of carvedoak with metal locks, and a low mattress stuffed with lamb's-fleecepicked from the thorns, and pillows filled with thistledown; and eachcouch had a green covering worked with waterlily leaves and white andgolden lilies. "These are the Pilleygreen Lodges, " said she, "and oneis mine and one is yours; and when we want cover we will find it here, but when we do not we will eat and sleep in the open. "

And so the whole of that July Hobb dwelt in the Pilleygreen Lodges inOpen Winkins with his love Margaret. And by the month's end they hadnot done their talking. For did not a young lifetime lie behind them, and did they not foresee a longer life ahead, and between lovers mustnot all be told and dreamed upon? and beyond these lives in time, whichwere theirs in any case, had not love opened to them a timeless life ofwhich inexhaustible dreams were to be exchanged, not always by words, though indeed by their mouths, and by the speech of their hands andarms and eyes? Hobb told her all there was to tell of the Burgh and hislife with his brothers, both before and after their tragedies, but hedid not often speak of them for it was a tale she hated to hear, andsometimes she wept so bitterly that he had ado to comfort her, andsometimes was so angry that he could hardly conciliate her. But suchwas his own gentleness that her caprices could withstand it no morethan the shifting clouds the sun. And Margaret told him of herself, buther tale was short and simple--that her parents had died in the forestwhen she was young, and that she had lived there all her life workingwith her needle, twice yearly taking her work to the Cathedral Town tosell; and with the proceeds buying what she needed, and other clothsand silk and gold with which to work. She opened the coffer in Hobb'slodge and showed him what she did: veils that she had embroidered withcobwebs hung with dew, so that you feared to touch them lest you shoulddestroy the cobweb and disperse the dew; and girdles thick-set withflowers, so that you thought Spring's self on a warm day had loosed thegirdle from her middle, and lost it; and gowns worked like the feathersof a bird, some like the plumage on the wood-dove's breast, and otherslike a jay's wing; and there was a pair of blue skippers so embroideredthat they appeared and disappeared beneath a flowing skirt with reedsand sallows rising from a hem of water, you thought you had seenkingfishers; and there were tunics overlaid with dragonflies' wings andtheir delicate jointed bodies of green and black-and-yellow andChalk-Hill blue; and caps all gay with autumn berries, scarletrose-hips and wine-red haws, and the bright briony, and spindle withits twofold gayety, and one cap was all of wild clematis, with the vineof the Traveler's Joy twined round the brim and the cloud of the OldMan's Beard upon the crown. And Hobb said, "It is magic. Who taught youto do this?" And Margaret said, "Open Winkins. "

Early in their talks he told her of his garden, and of the golden rosehe tried to grow there, and of his failures; and Margaret knew by hisvoice and his eyes more than by his words that this was the wish of hisheart. And she smiled and said, "Now I know with what I must redeem mypromise. Yet I think I shall be jealous of your golden rose. " And Hobb, lifting a wave of her glittering hair and making a rose of it betweenhis fingers, asked, "How can you be jealous of yourself?" "Yet I thinkI am, " said she again, "for it was something of myself you promised togive me presently, and I would rather have something of you. " "They arethe same thing, " said Hobb, and he twisted up the great rose of herhair till it lay beside her temple under the ebony fillet. And as hishand touched the fillet he looked puzzled, and he ran his finger roundits shining blackness and exclaimed, "But this too is hair!" Margaretlaughed her strange laugh and said, "Yes, my own hair, you discovererof open secrets!" And putting up her hands she unbound the fillet, andit fell, a slender coil of black amongst the golden flood of her head, like a serpent gliding down the sunglade on a river. 

"Why is it like that?" said Hobb simply. 

With one of her quick changes Margaret frowned and answered, "Why isthe black yew set with little lamps? Why does a black cloud have anedge of light? Why does a blackbird have white feathers in his body?Must things be ALL dark or ALL light?" And she stamped her foot andturned hastily away, and began to do up her hair with trembling hands. And Hobb came behind her and kissed the top of her head. She turned onhim half angrily, half smiling, saying, "No! for you do not like myblack lock. " And Hobb said very gravely, "I will find all thingsbeautiful in my beloved, from her black lock to her blacker temper. "Margaret shot a swift look at him and saw that he was laughing at herwith an echo of her own words; and she flung her arms about him, laughing too. "Oh, Hobb!" said she, "you pluck out my black temper bythe roots!"

So with teasing and talking and quarreling and kissing, andever-growing love, July came near its close; and as love discovers orcreates all miracles in what it loves, Hobb for pure joy grew light ofspirit, and laughed and played with his beloved till she knew notwhether she had given her heart to a child or a man; and again when thehappiness that was in his soul shone through his eyes, he was sotransfigured that, gazing on his beauty, she knew not whether she hadreceived the heart of a man or a god. And the truth was that at thistime Hobb was all three, since love, dear maidens, commands a regionthat extends beyond birth and death, and includes all that is mortal inall that is eternal. And as for Margaret, she was all things by turns, sometimes as gay as sunbeams so that Hobb could scarcely follow herdancing spirit, but could only sun himself in the delight of it; andsometimes she was full of folly and daring, and made him climb with herthe highest trees, and drop great distances from bough to bough, mocking at all his fears for her though he had none for himself; andsometimes when he was downcast, as happened now and then for thinkingon his brothers, she forgot her jealousy in tenderness of his sorrow, and made him lean his head upon her breast, and talked to him low as amother to her baby, words that perhaps were only words of comfort, yetseemed to him infinite wisdom, as the child believes of its mother'stender speech. And at all times she was lovelier than his dreams ofher. Not once in this month did Hobb go out of the forest, which wasconfined on the north and north-west by big roads running to the world, and on all other sides by sloped of Downland. But whenever in theirwanderings they arrived at any of these boundaries, Margaret turned himback and said, "I do not love the open; come away. "

But on the last day of the month they came upon a very narrow neck ofthe treeless down, a green ride carved between their wood and a darkplantation that lay beyond, so close as to be almost a part of OpenWinkins, but for that one little channel of space; and Hobb pointed toit and said, "That's a strange place, let us go there. "

"No, " said Margaret. 

"But is it not our own wood?"

"How can you think so?" she said petulantly. "Do you not see how blackit is in there? How can you want to go there? Come away. "

"What is it called?" asked Hobb. 

"The Red Copse, " said she. 

"Why?" asked Hobb. 

"I don't know, " said she. 

"Have you never been there?" asked Hobb. 

"No, never. I don't like it. It frightens me. " And she clung to himlike a child. "Oh, come away!"

She was trembling so that he turned instantly, and they went back tothe Pilleygreen Lodges, getting wild raspberries for supper on the way. And after supper they sang songs, one against the other, each sweeterthan the last, and told stories by turns, outdoing each other in fancyand invention; and at last went happily to bed. 

But Hobb could not sleep. For in the night a wind came up and blew fourtimes round his lodge, shaking it once on every wall. And it stirred inhim the memory of High and Over, and with the memory misgivings that hecould not name. And he rose restlessly from his couch and went outunder the troubled moon, for a windy rack of clouds was blowing overthe sky. But through it she often poured her amber light, and by itHobb saw that Margaret's door was blowing on its hinges. He called hersoftly, but he got no answer; and then he called more loudly, but stillshe did not answer. 

"She cannot be sleeping through this, " said Hobb to himself; and withan uneasy heart he stood beside the door and looked into the lodge. Andshe was not there, and the couch had not been slept on. But on it layher empty dress, its gold and black all tumbled in a heap, and on topof it was an embroidered smock. And something in the smock attractedhim, so that he went quickly forward to examine it; and he saw that itwas Heriot's shirt, that had been cut and changed and worked all overwith peacocks' feathers. And he stood staring at it, astounded andaghast. Recovering himself, he turned to leave the lodge, but stumbledon the open coffer, hanging out of which was a second smock; and thisone had two lions worked on the back and front, and one was red and theother white, and the smock had been Hugh's shirt. Then Hobb fell on thecoffer and searched its contents till he had found Lionel's littleshirt fashioned into a linen vest, with a tiny border of fantasticanimals dancing round it, pink pigs, and black cocks, and whitedonkeys, and chestnut horses. And last of all he found the shirt ofAmbrose, tattered and frayed, and every tatter was worked at the edgewith a different hue, and here and there small mocking patches of colorhad been stitched above the holes. 

And at each discovery the light in Hobb's eyes grew calmer, and thebeat of his heart more steady. And he walked out of the PilleygreenLodge and as straight as his feet would carry him across Open Winkinsand the green ride, and into the Red Copse. As he went he shut down thedread in his heart of what he should find there, "For, " said Hobb tohimself, "I shall need more courage now than I have ever had. " It wasblack in the Red Copse, with a blackness blacker than night, and thewild races of moonlight that splashed the floors of Open Winkins werehere unseen. But a line of ruddy fireflies made a track on theblackness, and Hobb, going as softly as he might, followed in theirwake. Just before the middle of the Copse they stopped and flew away, and one by one, as each reached the point deserted by its leader, darted back as though unable to penetrate with its tiny fire thefearful shadows that lay just ahead. But Hobb went where the firefliescould not go. And he found a dark silent hollow in the wood, whereneither moon nor sun could ever come; and at the bottom of it a longstraggling pool, with a surface as black as ebony, and mud and slimebelow. Here toads and bats and owls and nightjars had come to drink, with rats and stoats who left their footprints in the mud. And on theground and bushes Hobb saw slugs and snails, woodlice, beetles andspiders, and creeping things without number. The gloom of the place wasawful, and turned the rank foliage of trees and shrubs black inperpetual twilight. But what Hobb saw he saw by a light that had noplace in heaven. For kneeling beside the pool was his love Margaret, her naked body crouched and bowed among the creatures of the mud; andher two waves of gold were flung behind her like a smooth mantle, butthe one black lock was drawn forward over her head, and she was dippingand dipping it into the dank waters. And every time she drew thedripping lock from its stagnant bath, it glimmered with an unearthlyphosphorescence, that shed a ghostly light upon the hollow, and allthat it contained. And at each dipping the lock of hair came outblacker than before. 

At last she was done, and she slowly squeezed the water from herunnatural tress, and laid it back in its place among the gold. And thenshe stretched her arms and sighed so heavily that the crawlingcreatures by the pool were startled. But less started than she, whenlifting her head she saw the eyes of Hobb looking down on her. And suchterror came into her own eyes that the look rang on his heart as thoughit had been a cry. Yet not a sound issued between her lips. And he saidto himself, "Now I need more wisdom than I have ever had. " And hecontinued to look steadily at her with eyes that she could not read. And presently he spoke. 

"We have some promises to redeem to-night, " he said, "and we willredeem them now. You promised me my perfect golden rose, and this nightI am going out of Open Winkins and back to my own Burgh. And to-morrow, since I now know something of your power of gifts, I shall find therose upon my hill, and in exchange for it I will keep my word and giveyou back yourself. But there is something more than this. " And he wenta little apart, and soon came back to her with his jerkin undone andhis shirt in his hand. "You have my brothers' shirts and here is mine, "he said. "To-night when I am gone you shall return to Open Winkins, andspend the hours in taking out the work you have put into their shirts. And in the morning when I meet them at the Burgh I shall know if youhave done this. But in exchange for theirs I give you mine to do withas you will. And the only other thing I ask of you is this; that whenyou have taken out the work in their shirts, you will spend the day inmaking a white garment for the lady who will one day be my wife. Andwhatever other embroidery you put upon it, let it bear on the leftbreast a golden rose. And to-morrow night, if all is well at the Burgh, I will come here for the last time and fetch it from you. "

Then Hobb laid his shirt beside her on the ground, and turned and wentaway. And she had not even tried to speak to him. 

When Hobb got out of the Red Copse he presently found a road andfollowed it, hoping for the best. After awhile he saw a tramp asleep ina ditch, and woke him and asked him the way to the Burgh of the FiveLords. But the tramp had never heard of it. So then Hobb asked the wayto Firle, and the tramp said "That's another matter, " for Sussex trampsknow all the beacons of the Downs, and he told him to go east. WhichHobb did, walking without rest through the night and dawn and day, hereand there getting a lift that helped him forward. And in his heart hecarried hope like a lovely flower, but under it a quick pain like areptile's sting that felt to him like death. And he would not give wayto the pain, but went as fast and as steadily as he could; and at last, with strained eyes and aching feet, and limbs he could scarcely dragfor weariness, and the dust of many miles upon his shoes and clothes, he came to his own bare country and the Burgh. He rested heavily on thegate, and the first thing he saw was Lionel on the steps, laughing andplaying with a litter of young puppies. And the next was Hugh climbingthe castle wall to get an arrow that had lodged in a high chink. Andout of a window leaned Heriot in all his young beauty, picking sweetclusters of the seven-sisters roses that climbed to his room. And inthe doorway sat Ambrose, with a book on his knee, but his eyes fixed onthe gate. And when he saw Hobb standing there he came quickly down thesteps, calling to the others, "Lionel! Hugh! Heriot! our brother hascome home. " And Lionel rushed through the puppies, and Hugh droppedbodily from the wall, and Heriot leaped through the window. And thefour boys clung to Hobb and kissed him and wrung his hands, and seemedas they would fight for very possession of him. And Hobb, with his armsabout the younger boys, and Heriot's hand in his, leaned his foreheadon Ambrose's cheek, and Ambrose felt his face grow wet with Hobb'stears. Then Ambrose looked at him with apprehension, and said in a lowvoice, "Hobb, what have you lost?" And Hobb understood him. And heanswered in a voice as low, "My heart. But I have found my fourbrothers. " They took him in and prepared a bath and fresh clothes forhim, and a meal was ready when he was refreshed. He came among themsteady and calm again, and the three youngest had nothing but rejoicingfor him. And he saw that all memory of what had happened had beenwashed from them. But with Ambrose it was different, for he who had hadhis very mind effaced, in recovering his mind remembered all. And afterthe meal he took Hobb aside and said, "Tell me what has happened toyou. "

Then Hobb said, "Some things happen which are between two people only, and they can never be told. And what has passed in this last month, dear Ambrose, is only for her knowledge and mine. But as to what isgoing to happen, I do not yet know. "

After a moment's silence Ambrose said, "Tell me this at least. Has shegiven you a gift?"

"She has given me you again, " said Hobb. 

"That is different, " said Ambrose. "She has given us ourselves again, and our power to pursue the destiny of our natures. But no man isanother man's destiny. And it was our error to barter our own powers toanother in exchange for the small goals our natures desired. And so welost a treasure for a trifle. For every man's power is greater than thething he achieves by it. But what has she given you in exchange forwhat she has taken from you?" And as he spoke he looked into Hobb'sgentle eyes, and thought that if he had lost his heart it was a lossthat had somehow multiplied his possession of it. "What has she givenyou?" he said again. 

"I shall not know, " said Hobb, "until I have been to my garden. And Imust go alone. And afterwards, Ambrose, I must ride away for anothernight and day, but then I will return to the Burgh for ever. "

So he got his horse, and went to the Gardener's Hill, and his gardenwas blazing with flowers like a joyous welcome. But when he approachedthe bush on which his heart was set, he saw a great gold bloom upon itthat startled him with its beauty; until coming closer he perceivedthat all the petals were rotten at the heart, and coiled in the centerwas a small black snake. 

He plucked the rose from its stem, and as he looked at it his face grewbright, and he suddenly laughed aloud for joy; and he ran out of thegarden and got on his horse, and rode with all his speed to OpenWinkins. When he got there the moon had risen over the PilleygreenLodges. 

And Margaret sat at the door of her lodge in the moonlight, putting thelast stitches into her work. 

But when she saw him coming she broke her thread, and rose and avertedher head. Then Hobb dismounted and came and stood beside her, and sawthat in some way she was changed from the woman he knew. Margaret, still not turning to him, muttered, "Do not look at me, please. For Iam ugly and unhappy and afraid and nearly mad. And here are yourbrothers' shirts. " She gave him the four shirts, restored tothemselves. He took them silently. "And here, " continued Margaret, "isher wedding-smock. "

And Hobb took it from her, and saw that out of his own shirt, washedand bleached, she had made a lovely garment. And round it, from the hemupward, ran a climbing briar of exquisite delicacy, and with abeautiful design of spines and leaves; but the only flower upon it wasa golden rose, worked on the heart of the smock in her own gold hair. And Hobb took it from her and again said nothing. 

Then Margaret with a great cry, as though her heart were breaking, gasped, "Go! go quickly! I have done what you wanted. Go!"

"Yes, dear, " said Hobb, "but you must come with me. "

She turned then, whispering, "How can I go with you? What do you mean?"And she looked in his eyes and saw in them such infinite compassion andtenderness that she was overwhelmed, and swayed where she stood. Andthen his arms, which she had never expected to feel again, closed roundher body, and she lay helplessly against him, and heard him say, "LoveMargaret, you are my only love, and you worked the wedding-smock foryourself. Oh, Margaret, did you think I had another love?"

She looked at him blankly as though she could not understand, and herface was full of wonder and joy and fright. And she hung away from himsobbing, "No, no, no! I cannot. I must not. I am not good enough. "

"Which of us is good enough?" said Hobb. "So then we must all come tolove for help. "

And she cried again in an agony, "No, no, no! There is evil in me. AndI lived alone and had nothing, nothing that ever lasted, for I was bornon High and Over in the crossways of the winds, and they were thegodfathers of my birth. And all my life they have blown things to andfrom me. And I tried to keep what they blew me; and I gave theirhearts' desire to all comers, and took in exchange the best they couldgive me; for I thought that if it was fair for them to take, it wasfair for me to take too. But nothing that I took mattered longer than aweek or a day or an hour, neither laughter nor courage nor beauty norwisdom--all, all were unstable till the winds blew me you. And as Ilooked at you lying there unconscious, something, I knew not what, seemed different from anything I had ever known, but when you openedyour eyes I knew what it was, and my heart seemed to fly from my body. And I longed, as I had never longed with the others, to give you yoursoul's desire, and I have tried and tried, and I could not. I could notgive you anything at all, but every hour of the day and night I seemedto be taking from you. And yet what you had to give me was neverexhausted. And the evil in me often fought against you, when I dreadedyour knowing the truth about me, and would have lied my soul away tokeep you from knowing it; and when I was jealous of your love for yourbrothers. So again and again I failed, when I should have thought ofnothing but that you loved me as I loved you. For did I not know of myown love that it could never give you cause to be jealous, nor wouldever shrink from any truth it might know of you?--but now--butnow!--oh, my heart, had I known, when you spoke last night of yourbride, that I was she! I will never be she! I was not good enough. Ifought myself in vain. " And she drooped in his arms, nearly fainting. 

"Love Margaret!" said Hobb, and the tears ran down his face, "I willfight for you, yes, and you will fight for me. And if you havesacrificed joy and courage and beauty and wisdom for my sake, I willgive them all to you again; and yet you must also give them to me, forthey are things in which without you I am wanting. But together we canmake them. And when I went to my garden this morning, I thanked Godthat my rose was not perfect, and that you had not taken my heart, asyou had taken joy and courage and beauty and wisdom, as a penalty for agift. Their desires you could give them, and take their best inpayment, but mine you could not give me in the same way. For in lovethere are no penalties and no payments, and what is given isindistinguishable from what is received. " And he bent his head andkissed her long and deeply, and in that kiss neither knew themselves, or even each other, but something beyond all consciousness that wasboth of them. 

Presently Hobb said, "Now let us go away from Open Winkins together, and I will take you to the Burgh. But you must go as my bride. "

And Margaret, pale as death from that long kiss, withdrew herself veryslowly from his arms. And her dark eyes looked strange in the moonlightas he had never seen them, and more beautiful, with a beauty beyondbeauty; and deep joy too was in them, and an infinite wisdom, and astrength of courage, that seemed more than courage, wisdom and joy, forthey had come from the very fountain of all these things. And veryslowly, with that unfading look, she took off her black gown and put onthe white bridal-smock she had made; and as soon as she had put it onshe fell dead at his feet. 

("I think, " said Martin Pippin, "that you have now had plenty of time, Mistress Jessica, to ponder my riddle. "

"Your riddle?" exclaimed Jessica. "But--good heavens! bother yourriddle! get on with the story. "

"How can I get on with it?" said Martin. "It's got there. "

Joscelyn: No, no, no! oh, it's impossible! oh, I can't bear it! oh, howangry I am with you!

Martin: Dear Mistress Joscelyn, why are you so agitated?

Joscelyn: I? I am not at all agitated. I am quite collected. I onlywish you were as collected, for I think you must be out of your wits. How DARE you leave this story where it is? How dare you!

Martin: Dear, dear Mistress Joscelyn, what more is there to be told?

Joscelyn: I do not care what more is to be told. Only some of it mustbe re-told. You must bring that girl instantly to life!

Joyce: Of course you must! And explain why she died, though she mustn'tdie. 

Jennifer: No, indeed! and if it had to do with her black hair, you mustpluck it out by the roots. 

Jessica: Yes, indeed! and you must do something about the horrible poolin the Red Copse, for perhaps that is what killed her. 

Jane: Oh, it is too dreadful not to have a story with a wedding in it!

And little Joan leaned out of her branch and took Martin's hand inhers, and looked at him pleadingly, and said nothing. 

"Will women NEVER let a man make a thing in his own way?" said Martin. "Will they ALWAYS be adding and changing this detail and that? For whata detail is death once lovers have kissed. However--!")

Not less than yourselves, my silly dears, was Hobb overwhelmed by thatdown-sinking of his love Margaret. And he fell on his knees beside her, and took her in his arms, and put his hand over the rose on her heart, that had ceased to beat. Suddenly it seemed to him that his hand hadbeen stung, and he drew it away quickly, his eyes on the golden rose. And where she had left it just incomplete at his coming, he saw ajet-black speck. A light broke over him swiftly, and one by one hebroke the strands at the rose's heart, and under it revealed a smallblack snake; and as the rose had been done from her own gold locks, sothe snake had been done from the one black lock in the gold. Then atlast Hobb understood why she had cried she was not good enough to behis bride, for she had fought in vain her last dark impulse to preparedeath for the woman who should wear the bridal-smock. And he understoodtoo the meaning of her last wonderful look, as she took the death uponherself. And he loved her, both for her fault and her redemption of it, more than he had ever thought that he could love her; for he hadbelieved that in their kiss love had reached its uttermost. But lovehas no uttermost, as the stars have no number and the sea no rest. 

Now at first Hobb thought to pluck the serpent from her breast, butthen he said, "Of what use to destroy the children of evil? It is evilitself we must destroy at the roots. " And very carefully he undid herbeautiful hair, and laid its two gold waves on either side; but theslim black tress he gathered up in his hand until he held every hair ofit, and one by one he plucked them from her head. And every time heplucked a hair the pain that had been under his heart stabbed him witha sting that seemed like death, and with each sting the mortal agonygrew more acute, till it was as though the powers of evil were spittingburning venom on that steadfast heart, to wither it before it couldfrustrate them. But he did not falter once; and as he plucked the lasthair out, Margaret opened her eyes. Then all pain leapt like a wingedsnake from his heart, and he forgot everything but the joy and wonderin her eyes as she lay looking up at him, and said, "What has happenedto me? and what have you done?" And she saw the tress in his hand andunderstood, and she kissed the hand that had plucked the evil from her. Then, her smoky eyes shining with tears, but a smile on her pale lips, she said, "Come, and we will drown that hair for ever. " So hand-in-handthey went across Open Winkins and over the way that led to the RedCopse. And as they pushed and scrambled through the bushes, what do youthink they saw? First a shimmering light round the edge of the pool, and then a sheet of moon-daisies, the largest, whitest, purest bloomsthat ever were. And they stood there on their tall straight stems oftender green in hundreds and hundreds, guarding and sanctifying theplace. It was like a dark cathedral with white lilies on the highaltar. And they saw a cock blackbird wetting his whistle at the pool, and heard two others and a green woodpecker chuckling in the treesclose by. And they had no eyes for slimy goblin things, even if therewere any. And I don't believe there were. 

They bound the black tress about a stone, and it sank among thereflections of the daisies in the water, there to be purified for ever. And the next day he put her behind him on his horse, and they rode tothe garden on the eastern hills, and found on his bush a single perfectrose. And as she had given it to him, Hobb straightway plucked and gaveit to her. For that is the only way to possess a gift. 

And then they went together to the Burgh, and very soon after there wasa wedding. 

I am now all impatience, Mistress Jessica, to hear you solve my riddle. 

FOURTH INTERLUDE

Like contented mice, the milkmaids began once more to nibble at theirhalf-finished apples, and simultaneously nibbled at the just-finishedstory. 

Jessica: Do, pray, Jane, let us hear what conclusions you draw from allthis. 

Jane: I confess, Jessica, I am all at sea. The good and the evil wereso confused in this tale that even now I can scarcely distinguishbetween black and gold. For had Margaret not done ill, who would havediscovered how well Hobb could do? Yet who would wish her, or anywoman, to do ill? even for the proof of his, or any man's, good?

Martin: True, Mistress Jane. Yet women are so strangely constructedthat they have in them darkness as well as light, though it be but alittle curtain hung across the sun. And love is the hand that takes thecurtain down, a stronger hand than fear, which hung it up. For all theill that is in us comes from fear, and all the good from love. Andwhere there is fear to combat, love is life's warrior; but where thereis no fear he is life's priest. And his prayer is even stronger thanhis sword. But men, always less aware of prayers than of blows, recognize him chiefly when he is in arms, and so are deluded intothinking that love depends on fear to prove his force. But this is afallacy; love's force is independent. For how can what is immortaldepend on what is mortal? Yet human beings must, by the very fact ofbeing alive at all, partake of both qualities. And strongly opposed aswe shall find the complexing elements of light and darkness in a woman, still more strongly opposed shall we discover them in a man. As Ipresume I have no need to tell you. 

Joscelyn: You presume too much. The elements that go to make a man arenot to our taste. 

Martin: My story I hope was so. 

Joscelyn: To some extent. And this pool in the Red Copse, is it hard tofind?

Martin: Neither harder nor easier than all fairies' secrets. And atcertain times in summer, when the wood is altogether lovely withcentaury and purple loosestrife, you can hardly miss the pool for thefairies that flock there. 

Joyce: What dresses do they wear?

Martin: The most beautiful in the world. The dresses of White Admiralsand Red, and Silver-Washed Fritillaries and Pearl-BorderedFritillaries, and Large Whites and Small Whites and Marbled Whites andGreen-Veined Whites, and Ringlets, and Azure Blues, and Painted Ladies, and Meadow Browns. And they go there for a Feast Day in honor of someSaint of the Fairies' Church. Which Hobb and Margaret also attendedonce yearly on each first of August, bringing a golden rose to lay uponthe altars of the pool. And the year in which they brought it no more, two Sulphurs, with dresses like sunlight on a charlock-field, came withthe rest to the moon-daisies' Feast; because not once in all theiryears of marriage had the perfect rose been lacking. 

Jessica: It relieves me to hear that. For I had dreaded lest their rosewas blighted for ever. 

Jane: And I too, Jessica. Especially when she died at his feet. 

Joan: And yet, Jane, she did not really die, and somehow I was sure shewould live. 

Joyce: Yes, I was confident that Hobb would be as happy as he deservedto be. 

Jennifer: I do not know why, but even at the worst I could not imaginea love-story ending in tears. 

Martin: Neither could I. Since love's spear is for woe and his shieldfor joy. Why, I know of but one thing that could have lost him thatbattle. 

Three of the Milkmaids: What thing?

Martin: Had the elements that go to make a man not been to Margaret'staste. 

Conversation ceased in the Apple-Orchard. 

Joscelyn: Her taste would have been the more commendable, singer. Andyour tale might have been the better worth listening to. But sincetales have nothing in common with truth, it's a matter of indifferenceto me whether Hobb's rose suffered perpetual blight or not. 

Jane: And to me. 

Martin: Then let the tale wilt, since indifference is a blight no storycan suffer and live. And see! overhead the moon hangs undecided under acloud, one half of her lovely body unveiled, the other half draped in aghostly garment lit from within by the beauties she still keepsconcealed; like a maid half-ready for her pillow, turned motionless onthe brink of her couch by the oncoming dreams to which she so soon willwholly yield herself. Let us not linger, for her chamber is sacred, andwe too have dreams that await our up-yielding. 

Like a flock of clouds at sundown, the milkmaids made a golden groupupon the grass, and soon, by their breathing, had sunk into theirslumbers. All but Jessica, who instead of following their example, pushed the ground with her foot to keep herself in motion; and as sheswung she bit a strand of her hair and knitted her brows. And Martinamused himself watching her. And presently as she swung she plucked aleaf from the apple-tree and looked at it, and let it go. And then shesnapped off a twig, and flung it after the leaf. And next she caught atan apple, and tossed it after the twig. 

"Well?" said Martin Pippin. 

"Don't be in such a hurry, " said Jessica. She got off the swing andwalked round the tree, touching it here and there. And all of a suddenshe threw an arm up into the branches and leaned the whole weight ofher body against the trunk, and began to whistle. 

"Give it up?" said Martin Pippin. 

"Stupid!" said Jessica. "I've guessed it. "

"Impossible!" said Martin. "Nobody ever guesses riddles. Riddles wereonly invented to be given up. Because the pleasure of not being guessedis so much greater than the pleasure of having guessed. Do give it upand let me tell you the answer. Even if you know the answer, please, please give it up, for I am dying to tell it you. "

"I shall never have saved a young man's life easier, " said Jessica, "and as you saved mine before the story, I suppose I ought to saveyours after it. How often, by the way, have you saved a lady's life?"

"As often as she thought herself in danger of losing it, " said Martin. "It happens every other minute with ladies, who are always dying tohave, or to do, or to know--this thing or that. "

"I hope, " said Jessica, "I shall not die before I know everything thereis to know. "

"What a small wish, " said Martin. 

"Have you a bigger one?"

"Yes, " said he; "to know everything, there is not to know. "

Jessica: Oh, but those are the only things I do know. 

Martin: It is a knowledge common to women. 

Jessica: How do YOU know?

Martin: I'm sure I don't know. 

Jessica: I don't think, Master Pippin, that you know a great deal aboutwomen. 

And she put out her tongue at him. 

Martin: (Take care!) I know nothing at all about women. 

Jessica: (Why?) Yet you pretend to tell love-stories. 

Martin: (Because if you do that I can't answer for the consequences. )It is only by women's help that I tell them at all. 

Jessica: (I'm not afraid of consequences. I'm not afraid of anything. )Who helped you tell this one?

Martin: (Your courage will have to be tested. ) You did. 

Jessica: Did I? How?

Martin: Because what you love in an apple-tree is not the leaf or theflower or the bough or the fruit--it is the apple-tree. Which is all ofthe things and everything besides; for it is the roots and the rind andthe sap, it is motion and rest and color and shape and scent, and theshadows on the earth and the lights in the air--and still I have notsaid what the tree is that you love, for thought I should recapitulateit through the four seasons I should only be telling you those parts, none of which is what you love in an apple-tree. For no one can lovethe part more than the whole till love can be measured in pint-pots. And who can measure fountains? That's the answer, Mistress Jessica. Iknew you'd have to give it up. (Take care, child, take care!)

Jessica: (I won't take care!). I knew the answer all the time. 

Martin: Then you know what your apple-tree has to do with my story. 

Jessica: Yes, I suppose so. 

Martin: Please tell me. 

Jessica: No. 

Martin: But I give it up. 

Jessica: No. 

Martin: That's not fair. People who give it up must always be told, intriumph if not in pity. 

Jessica: I sha'n't tell. 

Martin: You don't know. 

Jessica: I'll box your ears. 

Martin: If you do--!

Jessica: Quarreling's silly. 

Martin: Who began it?

Jessica: You did. Men always do. 

Martin: Always. What was the beginning of your quarrel with men?

Jessica: They say girls can't throw straight. 

Martin: Silly asses! I'd like to see them throw as straight as girls. Did you ever watch them at it? Men can throw straight in one directiononly--but watch a girl! she'll throw straight all round the compass. Why, a man will throw straight at the moon and miss it by the eighth ofan inch; but a girl will throw at the sun and hit the moon as straightas a die. I never saw a girl throw yet without straightway finding somemark or other. 

Jessica: Yes, but you can't convince a man till he's hit. 

Martin: Hit him then. 

Jessica: It didn't convince him. He said I'd missed. And he said he hadhi--he wasn't convinced. 

Martin: Did he really say that? These men can no more talk straightthan throw straight. Can you talk straight, Jessica?

Jessica: Yes, Martin. 

Martin: Then tell me what your apple-tree has to do with my story. 

Jessica: Bother. All right. Because wisdom and beauty and courage andlaughter can all be measured in pint-pots. And any or all of thesethings can be dipped out of a fountain. You thought I didn't know, butI do know. 

Martin: (Take care!) Where did you get all this knowledge?

Jessica: And that was why Margaret could take what she took from Lioneland Hugh and Heriot and Ambrose, because it was something measurable. Yes, because even a gay spirit can be sad at times, and a strong nerveweak, and a beautiful face ugly, and a clever brain dull. But when itcame to taking what Hobb had, she could take and take withoutexhausting it, and give and give and always have something left togive, because that wasn't measurable. And the tree is the tree, andlove is never anything else but love. 

Martin: Oh, Jessica! who has been your schoolmaster?

Jessica: And so when she threw away her four pints what did it matter, any more than when the tree loses its leaves, or its flowers, or snapsa twig, or drops its apples? For though nobody else thought them lovelyor clever or witty or splendid, she and Hobb were so to each other forever and ever; because--

Martin: Because?

Jessica: It doesn't matter. I've told you enough, and you thought Icouldn't tell you anything, and I simply hated saying it, but youthought I couldn't throw straight and I can, and your riddle was assimple as pie. 

Martin: (Look out, I tell you!) You have thrown as straight as a die. And now I will ask you a straight question. Will you give me your keyto Gillian's prison?

Jessica: Yes. 

Martin: Because you dreaded lest Hobb's rose was blighted for ever?

Jessica: No. Because it's a shame she should be there at all. 

And she gave him the key. 

Martin: You honest dear. 

Jessica: You thought I was going to beg the question--didn't you, Martin?

Martin: Put in your tongue, or--

Jessica: Or what?

Martin: You know what. 

Jessica: I don't know what. 

Martin: Then you must take the consequences. 

And she took the consequences on both cheeks. 

Jessica: Oh! Oh, if I had guessed you meant that, do you suppose for amoment that I would have--?

Martin: You dishonest dear. 

Jessica: I don't know what you mean. 

Martin: How crooked girls throw!

She boxed his ears heartily and ran to her comrades. When she wasperfectly safe she turned round and put out her tongue at him. 

Then they both lay down and went to sleep. 

Martin was wakened by water squeezed on his eyelids. He looked up andsaw Joscelyn wringing out her little handkerchief in the pannikin. 

"Let us have no nonsense this morning, " said she. 

"I like that!" mumbled Martin. "What's this but nonsense?" He sat up, drying his face on his sleeve. "What a silly trick, " he said. 

"Rubbish, " said Joscelyn. "Our master is due, and yesterday youoverslept yourself and were troublesome. Go to your tree this instant. "

"I shall go when I choose, " said Martin. 

"Maids! maids! maids!"

"This instant!" said Joscelyn, and dipped her handkerchief in thepannikin. 

Martin crawled into the tree. 

"Is a dog got into the orchard, maids?" said Old Gillman, lookingthrough the hedge. 

"What an idea, master, " said Joscelyn. 

"I thought I seed one wagging his tail in the grass. "

The girls burst out laughing; they laughed till the apples shook, andOld Gillman laughed too, because laughter is catching. And then hestopped laughing and said, "Is an echo got into the orchard?"

And the startled girls laughed louder than ever, and they grew red inthe face, and tears stood in their eyes, and Joscelyn had to go andlean against the russet tree, where she stood frowning like astepmother. 

"Tis well to be laughing, " said Old Gillman, "but have ye heard mydaughter laughing yet?"

"No, master, " said Jessica, "but I shouldn't wonder if it happened anyday. "

"Any day may be no day, " groaned Gillman, "and though it were some day, as like as not I'd not be here to see the day. For I'm drinking myselfinto my grave, as Parson warned me yesternight, coming for my receiptfor mulled beer. Gillian!" he implored, "when will ye think better ofit, and save an old man's life?"

But for all the notice she took of him, he might have been the dogbarking in his kennel. 

"Bitter bread for me, maids, and sweet bread for you, " said the farmer, passing the loaves through the gap. "Tis plain fare for all these days. May the morrow bring cake. "

"Oh, master, please!" called Jessica. "I would like to know how Clover, the Aberdeen, gets on without me. "

"Gets on as best she can with Oliver, " said Gillman, "though thatfretty at times tis as well for him she's polled. Yet all he says isPatience. ' But I say, will patience keep us all from rack and ruin?"

And he went away shaking his head. 

"Why did you laugh?" stormed Joscelyn, as soon as he was out of earshot. 

"How could I help it?" pleaded Martin. "When the old man laughedbecause you laughed, and you laughed for another reason--hadn't I athird reason to laugh? But how you glared at me! I am sorry I laughed. Let us have breakfast. "

"You think of nothing but mealtimes, " said Joscelyn crossly; and shecarried Gillian's bread to the Well-House, where she discovered onlythe little round top of yesterday's loaf. For every crumb of the biggerhalf had been eaten. So Joscelyn came away all smiles, tossing the ballof bread in the air, and saying as she caught it, "I do believe Gillianis forgetting her sorrow. "

"I am certain of it, " agreed Martin, clapping his hands. And she flungthe top of the loaf to his right, and he made a great leap to the leftand caught it. And then he threw it to Jessica, who tossed it to Joan, who sent it to Joyce, who whirled it to Jennifer, who spun it to Jane, who missed it. And all the girls ran to pick it up first, but Martinwith a dexterous kick landed it in the duckpond, where the drake gotit. And he and the ducks squabbled over it during the next hour, whileMartin and the milkmaids breakfasted on bread and apples with nosquabbling and great good spirits. 

And after breakfast Martin lay on his back, chewing a grassblade andcounting the florets on another, whispering to himself as he pluckedthem one by one. And the girls watched him. He did it several timeswith several blades of grass, and always looked disappointed at the end. 

"Won't it come right?" asked little Joan. 

"Won't what come right?" said Martin. 

"Oh, I know what you're doing, " said little Joan; and she too plucked ablade and began to count--

 "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor"--

"I'm sure I wasn't, " said Martin. "Tailor indeed!"

"Well, something like that, " said Joan. 

"Nothing at all like that. Oh, Mistress Joan! a tailor. Why, even if Iwere a maid like yourselves, do you think I'd give fate the chance toset me on my husband's cross-knees for the rest of my life?"

"What would you do then if you were a maid?" asked Joyce. 

"If I were a town-maid, " said Martin, "I should choose the mostdelightful husbands in the city streets. " And plucking a fresh blade hecounted aloud, Ballad- singer, Churchbell- ringer, Chimneysweep, Muffin-man, Lamplighter, King! Ballad- singer, Churchbell- ringer, Chimneysweep"--

"There, Mistress Joyce, " said Martin Pippin, "I should marry a Sweepand sit in the tall chimneys and see stars by daylight. "

"Oh, let me try!" cried Joyce. 

And--"Let me!" cried five other voices at once. 

So he chose each girl a blade, and she counted her fate on it, withMartin to prompt her. And Jessica got the Chimney-sweep, and vowed shesaw Orion's belt round the sun, and Jennifer got the Lamplighter andlooked sorrowful, for she too wished to see stars in the morning; butMartin consoled her by saying that she would make the dark to shine, and set whispering lights in the fog, when men had none other to seeby. And Joyce got the Muffin-man, and Martin told her that wherever shewent men, women, and children would run to their snowy doorsteps, forshe would be as welcome as swallows in spring. And Jane got theBell-Ringer, and Martin said an angel must have blessed her birth, since she was to live and die with the peals of heaven in her ears. AndJoscelyn got the Ballad-Singer. 

"What about Ballad-Singers, Master Pippin?" asked Joscelyn. 

"Nothing at all about Ballad-Singers, " said Martin. "They're a poorlot. I'm sorry for you. "

And Joscelyn threw her stripped blade away saying, "It's only a sillygame. "

But little Joan got the King. And she looked at Martin, and he smiledat her, and had no need to say anything, because a king is a king. Andsuddenly every girl must needs grow out of sorts with her fate, andfind other blades to count, until each one had achieved a king to hersatisfaction. All but Joscelyn, who said she didn't care. 

"You are quite right, " said Martin, "because none of this applies toany of you. These are town-fortunes, and you are country-maids. "

And he plucked a new blade, reciting, Mower, Reaper, Poacher, Keeper, Cowman, Thatcher, Plowman, Herd. "

"How dull!" said Jessica. "These are men for every day. "

"So is a husband, " said Martin. "And to your town-girls, who no longersee romance in a Chimneysweep, your Poacher's a Pirate and yourShepherd a Poet. Could you not find it in your heart, Mistress Jessica, to put up with a Thatcher?"

"That's enough of husbands, " said Jessica. 

"Then what of houses?" said Martin. "Where shall we live when we'rewed?--

 'Under a thatch, In a ship's hatch, An inn, a castle, A brown paper parcel'--

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Joscelyn. 

"For the sake of the rime, " begged Martin. But the girls were notinterested in houses. Yet the rest of the morning they went searchingthe orchard for the grass of fortune, and not telling. But once Martin, coming behind Jessica, distinctly heard her murmur "Thatcher!" andsmile. And at another time he saw Joyce deliberately count her bladebefore beginning, and nip off a floret, and then begin; and the end was"Plowman. " And presently little Joan came and knelt beside him where hesat counting on his own behalf, and said timidly, "Martin. "

"Yes, dear?" said Martin absentmindedly. 

"Oh. Martin, is it very wicked to poach?"

"The best men all do it, " said Martin. 

"Oh. Please, what are you counting?"

"You swear you won't tell?" said Martin, with a side-glance at her. 

She shook her head, and he pulled at his grass whispering--

 Jennifer, Jessica, Jane, Joan, Joyce, Joscelyn, Gillian--"

"And the last one?" said little Joan, with a rosy face; for he hadpaused at the eighth. 

"Sh!" said Martin, and stuck his blade behind his ear and called"Dinner!"

So they came to dinner. 

"Have you not found, " said Martin, "that after thinking all the morningit is necessary to jump all the afternoon?" And he got the ropes of theswing and began to skip with great clumsiness, always failing beforeten, and catching the cord round his ankles. At which the girls pliedhim with derision, and said they would show him how. And Jane showedhim how to skip forwards, and Jessica how to skip backwards, andJennifer how to skip with both feet and stay in one spot, and Joyce howto skip on either foot, on a run. And Joscelyn showed him how to skipwith the rope crossed and uncrossed by turns. But little Joan showedhim how to skip so high and so lightly that she could whirl the ropetwice under her feet before they came down to earth like birds. Andthen the girls took the ropes by turns, ringing the changes on allthese ways of skipping; or two of them would turn a rope for theothers, while they skipped the games of their grandmothers: "Cross theBible, " "All in together, " "Lady, lady, drop your purse!" and"Cinderella lost her shoe;" or they turned two ropes at once for theDouble Dutch; and Martin took his run with the rest. And at first hedid very badly, but as the day wore on improved, until by evening hewas whirling the rope three times under his feet that glanced againsteach other in mid-air like the knife and the steel. And the girlsclapped their hands because they couldn't help it, and Joan saidbreathlessly:

"How quick you are! it took me ten days to do that. "

And Martin answered breathlessly, "How quick you were! it took me tenyears. "

"Are you ever honest about anything, Master Pippin?" said Joscelynpetulantly. 

"Three times a day, " said Martin, "I am honestly hungry. "

So they had supper. 

Supper done, they clustered as usual about the story-telling tree, andMartin looked inquiringly from Jane to Joscelyn and from Joscelyn toJane. And Joscelyn's expression was one of uncontrolled indifference, and Jane's expression was one of bridled excitement. So Martin ignoredJoscelyn and asked Jane what she was thinking about. 

"A great number of things, Master Pippin, " said she. "There is alwaysso much to think about. "

"Is there?" said Martin. 

"Oh, surely you know there is. How could you tell stories else?"

"I never think when I tell stories, " said Martin. "I give them a pushand let them swing. "

"Oh but, " said Jane, "it is very dangerous to speak without thinking. One might say anything. "

"One does, " agreed Martin, "and then anything happens. But people whothink before speaking often end by saying nothing. And so nothinghappens. "

"Perhaps it's as well, " said Joyce slyly. 

"Yet the world must go round, Mistress Joyce. And swings were made toswing. Do you think, Mistress Jane, if you sat in the swing I shouldthink twice, or even once, before giving it a push?"

Jane considered this, and then said gravely, "I think, Master Pippin, you would have to think at least once before pushing the swingto-night; because it isn't there. "

"What a wise little milkmaid you are, " said Martin, looking about forthe skipping-ropes. 

"Yes, " said Jessica, "Jane is wiser than any of us. She is extremelywise. I wonder you hadn't noticed it. "

"Oh, but I had, " said Martin earnestly, fixing the swinging ropes totheir places. "There, Mistress Jane, let me help you in, and I willgive you a push. "

He offered her his hand respectfully, and Jane took it saying, "I don'tlike swinging very high. "

"I will think before I push, " said Martin. And when she was settled, with her skirts in order and her little feet tucked back, he rocked theswing so gently that not an apple fell nor a milkmaid slipped, clambering to her place. And Martin leaned back in his and shut hiseyes. 

"We are waiting, " observed Joscelyn overhead. 

"So am I, " sighed Martin. 

"For what?"

"For a push. "

"But you're not swinging. "

"Neither's my story. And it will take seven pair of arms to set itgoing. " And he fixed his eyes on Gillian in her sorrow, but she did notlift her face. 

"Here's six to start the motion of themselves, " said Joscelyn, "and itonly remains to you to attract the seventh willy-nilly. "

"It were easier, " said Martin, "to unlock Saint Peter's Gates withcowslips. "

"I was not talking of impossibilities, Master Pippin, " said Joscelyn. 

"Why, neither was I, " said Martin; "for did you never hear thatcowslips, among all the golden flowers of spring, are the Keys ofHeaven?"

And sending a little chime from his lute across the Well-House he sang--

 She lost the keys of heaven Walking in a shadow, Sighing for her lad O She lost her keys of heaven. She saw the boys and girls who flocked Beyond the gates all barred and locked-- And oh! sighed she, the locks are seven Betwixt me and my lad O, And I have lost my keys of heaven Walking in a shadow. She found the keys of heaven All in a May meadow, Singing for her lad O She found her keys of heaven. She found them made of cowslip gold Springing seven-thousandfold-- And oh! sang she, ere fall of even Shall I not be wed O? For I have found my keys of heaven All in a May meadow. 

By the end of the song Gillian was kneeling upright among the mallows, and with her hands clasped under her chin was gazing across theduckpond. 

"Well, well!" exclaimed Joscelyn, "cowslips may, or may not, have thepower to unlock the heavenly gates. But there's no denying that a verysilly song has unlocked our Mistress's lethargy. So I advise you toseize the occasion to swing your tale on its way. "

"Then here goes, " said Martin, "and I only pray you to set yoursympathies also in motion while I endeavor to keep them going with thestory of Proud Rosalind and the Hart-Royal. "

PROUD ROSALIND AND THE HART-ROYAL

There was once, dear maidens, a man-of-all-trades who lived by theFerry at Bury. And nobody knew where he came from. For the chief of histrades he was an armorer, for it was in the far-away times when menthought danger could only be faced and honor won in a case of steel;not having learned that either against danger or for honor the nakedheart is the fittest wear. So this man, whose name was Harding, kepthis fires going for men's needs, and women's too; for besides makingand mending swords and knives and greaves for the one, he would alsomake brooches and buckles and chains for the other; and tools for thepeasants. They sometimes called him the Red Smith. In person Hardingwas ruddy, though his fairness differed from the fairness of thenatives, and his speech was not wholly their speech. He was a man ofmighty brawn and stature, his eyes gleamed like blue ice seen under afierce sun, the hair of his head and his beard glittered like red gold, and the finer hair on his great arms and breast overlaid with an ambersheen the red-bronze of his skin. He seemed a man made to move themountains of the world; yet truth to tell, he was a most indifferentsmith. 

(Martin: Are you not quite comfortable, Mistress Jane?

Jane: I am perfectly comfortable, thank you, Master Pippin. 

Martin: I fancied you were a trifle unsettled. 

Jane: No, indeed. What would unsettle me?

Martin: I haven't the ghost of a notion. )

I have heard gossips tell, but it has since been forgotten ordiscredited, that this part of the river was then known as Wayland'sFerry; for this, it was said, was one of the several places in Englandwhere the spirit lurked of Wayland the Smith, who was the cunningestworker in metal ever told of in song or story, and he had come overseasfrom the North where men worshiped him as a god. No one in Bury hadever seen the shape of Wayland, but all believed in him devoutly, forthis was told of him, and truly: that any one coming to the ferry withan unshod steed had only to lay a penny on the ground and cry aloud, "Wayland Smith, shoe me my horse!" and so withdraw. And on coming againhe would find his horse shod with a craft unknown to human hands, andhis penny gone. And nobody thought of attributing to Harding the workof Wayland, partly because no human smith would have worked for so meana fee as was accepted by the god, and chiefly because the quality ofthe workmanship of the man and the god was as dissimilar as that ofclay and gold. 

Besides his trade in metal, Harding also plied the ferry; and then menwould speak of him as the Red Boatman. But he could not be depended on, for he was often absent. His boat was of a curious shape, not like anyother boat seen on the Arun. Its prow was curved like a bird's beak. And when folk wished to go across to the Amberley flats that lie underthe splendid shell which was once a castle, Harding would carry them, if he was there and neither too busy nor too surly. And when they askedthe fee he always said, "When I work in metal I take metal. But forthat which flows I take only that which flows. So give me whatever youhave heart to give, as long as it is not coin. " And they gave himwillingly anything they had: a flower, or an egg, or a bird's feather. A child once gave him her curl, and a man his hand. 

And when he was neither in his workshop or his boat, he hunted on thehills. But this was a trade he put to no man's service. Harding huntedonly for himself. And because he served his own pleasure morepassionately than he served others', and was oftener seen with his bowthan with hammer or oar, he was chiefly known as the Red Hunter. Oftenin the late of the year he would be away on the great hills of Bury andBignor and Houghton and Rewell, with their beech-woods burning on theirsides and in their hollows, and their rolling shoulders lifted out ofthose autumn fires to meet in freedom the freedom of the clouds. 

It was on one of his huntings he came on the Wishing-Pool. This poolhad for long been a legend in the neighborhood, and it was said thatwhoever had courage to seek it in the hour before midnight on MidsummerEve, and thrice utter her wish aloud, would surely have that wishgranted within the year. But with time it had become a lost secret, perhaps because its ancient reputation as the haunt of goblin thingshad long since sapped the courage of the maidens of those parts; andonly great-grandmothers remembered how that once their grandmothers hadtried their fortunes there. And its whereabouts had been forgotten. 

But one September Harding saw a calf-stag on Great Down. There werewild deer on the hills then, but such a calf he had never seen before. So he stalked it over Madehurst and Rewell, and followed it into thethick of Rewell Wood. And when it led him to its drinking-place, heknew that he had discovered one more secret of the hills, and that thissomber mere wherein strange waters bubbled in whispers could be noother than the lost Wishing-Pool. The young calf might have been itsmagic guard. To Harding it was a discovery more precious than the mere. For all that it was of the first year, with its prickets only showingwhere its antlers would branch in time, it was of a breed so fine and abuild so noble that its matchless noon could already be foretold fromits matchless dawn; and added to all its strength and grace and beautywas this last marvel, that though it was of the tribe of the Red Deer, its skin was as white and speckless as falling snow. Watching it, theRed Smith said to himself, "Not yet my quarry. You are of king's stock, and if after the sixth year you show twelve points, you shall be forme. But first, my hart-royal, you shall get your growth. " And he cameaway and told no man of the calf or of the pool. 

And in the second year he watched for it by the mere, and saw it cometo drink, no longer a calf, but a lovely brocket, with its brow antlersmaking its first two points. And in the third year he watched for itagain, no brocket now but a splendid spayade, which to its brows hadadded its shooting bays; and in the fourth year the spayade had becomea proud young staggarde, with its trays above its bays. And in thefifth year the staggarde was a full-named stag, crowned with theexquisite twin crowns of its crockets, surmounting tray and bay andbrow. And Harding lying hidden gloried in it, thinking, "All yourpoints now but two, my quarry. And next year you shall add the beam tothe crown, and I will hunt my hart. "

Now at the time when Harding first saw the calf, and the ruin of thecastle across the ferry was only a ruin, not fit for habitation, it wasnevertheless inhabited by the Proud Rosalind, who dwelt there withoutkith or kin. And if time had crumbled the castle to its last nobility, so that all that was strong and beautiful in it was preserved and, asit were, exposed in nakedness to the eyes of men: so in her, who wasthe ruins of her family, was preserved and exposed all that had beenmost noble, strong and beautiful in her race. She was as poor as shewas friendless, but her pride outmatched both these things. So greatwas her pride that she learned to endure shame for the sake of it. Shehad a tall straight figure that was both strong and graceful, and shecarried herself like a tree. Her hair was neither bronze nor gold norcopper, yet seemed to be an alloy of all the precious mines of theturning year--the vigorous dusky gold of November elms, the rust ofdead bracken made living by heavy rains, the color of beechmastdrenched with sunlight after frost, and all the layers of glory on theboughs before it fell, when it needed neither sun nor dew to make itglow. All these could be seen in different lights upon her heavy hair, which when unbound hung as low as her knees. Her thick brows were darkgold, and her fearless eyes dark gray with gold gleams in them. Theymay have been reflections from her lashes, or even from her skin, whichhad upon it the bloom of a golden plum. Dim ages since her fathers hadbeen kings in Sussex; gradually their estate had diminished, but withthe lessening of their worldly possessions they burnished the brighterthe possession of their honor, and bred the care of it in theirchildren jealously. So it came to pass that Rosalind, who possessedless than any serf or yeoman in the countryside, trod among these asthough she were a queen, dreaming of a degree which she had neverknown, ignored or shrugged at by those whom she accounted her equals, insulted or gibed at by those she thought her inferiors. For thedwellers in the neighboring hamlets, to whom the story of her fathers'fathers was only a legend, saw in her just a shabby girl, less worthythan themselves because much poorer, whose pride and very beautyaroused their mockery and wrath. They did not dispute her possession ofthe castle. For what to them were four vast roofless walls, enclosing asquare of greensward underfoot and another of blue air overhead, andpierced with doorless doorways and windowless casements that let in allthe lights of all the quarters of the sky? What to them were thesetraces of old chambers etched on the surface of the old gray stone, these fragments of lovely arches that were but channels for the winds?In the thick of the great towered gateway one little room remainedabove the arch, and here the maiden slept. And all her company was theghosts of her race. She saw them feasting in the halls of the air, andmoving on the courtyard of the grass. At night in the galleries of thestars she heard their singing; and often, looking through the emptywindows over the flats to which the great west wall dropped down, shesaw them ride in cavalcade out of the sunset, from battle or hunt ortourney. But the peasants, who did not know what she saw and heard, preferred their snug squalor to this shivering nobility, and despisedthe girl who, in a fallen fortress, defended her life from theirs. 

At first she had kept her distance with a kind of graciousness, but oneday in her sixteenth year a certain boor met her under the castle wallas she was returning with sticks for kindling, and was struck by herfree and noble carriage; for though she was little more than a child, through all her rags she shone with the grace and splendor not only ofher race, but of the wild life she lived on the hills when she was notin her ruins. She was as strong and fine as a young hind, and could runlike any deer upon the Downs, and climb like any squirrel. And thedull-sighted peasant, seeing as though for the first time her untamedbeauty, on an impulse offered to kiss her and make her his woman. 

Rosalind stared at him like one aroused from sleep with a rude blow. The color flamed in her cheek. "YOU to accost so one of my blood?" shecried. "Mongrel, go back to your kennel!"

The lout gaped between rage and mortification, and, muttering, made astep towards her; but suddenly seeming to think better of it, stumbledaway. 

Then Rosalind, lifting her glowing face, as beautiful as sunset withits double flush, rose under gold, saw Harding the Red Hunter gazing ather. Some business had brought him over the ferry, and on his road hehad lit upon the suit and its rejection. Rosalind, her spirit chafedwith what had passed, returned his gaze haughtily. But he maintainedhis steadfast look as though he had been hewn out of stone; andpresently, impatient and disdainful, she turned away. Then, andinstantly, Harding pursued his way in silence. And Rosalind grewsomehow aware that he had determined to stand at gaze until her eyeswere lowered. Thereupon she classed his presumption with that of theother who had dared address her, and hated him for taking part againsther. Near as their dwellings were, divided only by the river and abreadth of water-meadow, their intercourse had always been of theslightest, for Harding possessed a reserve as great as her own. Butfrom this hour their intercourse ceased entirely. 

The boor mis-spread the tale of her overweening pride through thehamlet, and when next she appeared there she was greeted with derision. 

"This is she that holds herself unfit to mate with an honest man!"cried some. And others, "Nay, do but see the silken gown of the greatlady Rosalind, see the fine jewels of her!" "She thinks she outshinesthe Queen of Bramber's self!" scoffed a woman. And a man demanded, "What blood's good enough to mix with hers, if ours be not?"

"A king's!" flashed Rosalind. And even as she spoke the jeering throngparted to let one by that elbowed his way among them; and a second timeshe saw the Red Hunter come to halt and fix her before all the people. Now this time, she vowed silently, you may gaze till night fall and dayrise again, Red Man, if you think to lower my eyes in the presence ofthese! So she stood and looked him in the face like a queen, all herspirit nerving her, and the people knew it to be battle between them. Harding's great arms were folded across his breast, and on hiscountenance was no expressiveness at all; but a strange light grew andbrightened in his eyes, till little by little all else was blurred andhazy in the girl's sight, and blue fire seemed to lap her from hertawny hair to her bare feet. Then she knew nothing except that she mustlook away or burn. And her eyes fell. Harding walked past her as he haddone before, and not till he was out of hearing did the bystandersbegin their cruelty. 

"A king's blood for the lady that droops to a common smith!" cried they. 

"She shall swing his hammer for a scepter!" cried they. 

"Shall sit on's anvil for a throne!" cried they. 

"Shall queen it in a leathern apron o' Sundays!" cried they. 

Rosalind fled amid their howls of laughter. She hated them all, and farbeyond them all she hated him who had lowered her head in their sight. 

It was after this that the Proud Rosalind--

(But here, without even trouble to finish his sentence, Martin Pippinsuddenly thrust with his foot at the seat of the swing, nearlydislodging Jane with the action; who screamed and clutched first at theropes, and next at the branches as she went up, and last of all atMartin as she came down. She clutched him so piteously that in purepity he clutched her, and lifting her bodily out of her peril set heron his knee. 

Martin: (with great concern): Are you better, Mistress Jane?

Jane: Where are your manners, Master Pippin?

Martin: My mother mislaid them before I was born. But are you betternow?

Jane: I am not sure. I was very much upset. 

Martin: So was I. 

Jane: It was all your doing. 

Martin: I could have sworn it was half yours. 

Jane: Who disturbed the swing, pray?

Martin: Every effect proceeds from its cause. The swing was disturbedbecause I was disturbed. 

Jane: Every cause once had its effect. What effected your disturbance, Master Pippin?

Martin: Yours, Mistress Jane. 

Jane: Mine?

Martin: Confess that you were disturbed. 

Jane: Yes, and with good cause. 

Martin: I can't doubt it. Yet that was the mischief. I could find nological cause for your disturbance. And an illogical world proceedsfrom confusion to chaos. For want of a little logic my foot and yourswing passed out of control. 

Jane: The logic had only to be asked for, and it would have beenforthcoming. 

Martin: Is it too late to ask?

Jane: It is never too late to be reasonable. But why am I sitting on--Why am I sitting here?

Martin: For the best of reasons. You are sitting where you are sittingbecause the swing is so disturbed. Please teach me to be reasonable, dear Mistress Jane. Why were you disturbed?

Jane: Very well. I was naturally greatly disturbed to learn that yourheroine hated your hero. Because it is your errand to relatelove-stories; and I cannot see the connection between love and hate. Could two things more antagonistic conclude in union?

Martin: Yes. 

Jane: What?

Martin: A button and buttonhole. For one is something and the othernothing, and what in the very nature of things could be moreantagonistic than these?

So saying, he tore a button from his shirt and put it into her hand. "Don't drop it, " said Martin, "because I haven't another; and besides, every button-hole prefers its own button. Yet I will never ask you tore-unite them until my tale proves to your satisfaction that out ofantagonisms unions can spring. "

"Very well, " said Jane; and she took out of her pocket a neat littlehousewife and put the button carefully inside it. Then she said, "Theswing is quite still now. "

"But are you sure you feel better?" said Martin. 

"Yes, thank you, " said Jane. )

It was after this (said Martin) that the Proud Rosalind became known byher title. It was fastened on her in derision, and when she heard itshe set her lips and thought: "What they speak in mockery shall be thetruth. " And the more men sought to shame her, the prouder she boreherself. She ceased all commerce with them from this time. So for fiveyears she lived in great loneliness and want. 

But gradually she came to know that even this existence of friendlesswant was not to be life, but a continual struggle-with-death. For shehad no resources, and was put to bitter shifts if she would live. Hunger nosed at her door, and she had need of her pride to clothe her. For the more she went wan and naked, the more men mocked her to see herhold herself so high; and out of their hearts she shut that charitywhich she would never have endured of them. If she had gone kneeling totheir doors with pitiful hands, saying, "I starve, not havingwherewithal to eat; I perish, not having wherewithal to cover me"--theywould perhaps have fed and clothed her, aglow with self-content. Butthey were not prompt with the charity which warms the object only andnot the donor; and she on her part tried to appear as though she needednothing at their hands. 

One evening when the woods were in full leaf, and summer on the edge ofits zenith, Proud Rosalind walked among the trees seeking green herbsfor soup. She had wandered far afield, because there were no woods nearthe castle, standing on its high ground above the open flats and theriver beyond. But gazing over the water she could see the groves andcrests upon the hills where some sustenance was. The swift way was overthe river, but there was no boat to serve her except Harding's; andthis was a service she had never asked of old, and lately would ratherhave died than ask. So she took daily to the winding roads that led toa distant bridge and the hills with their forests. This day her needwas at its sorest. When she had gathered a meager crop she sat downunder a tree, and began to sort out the herbs upon her knees. Onetender leaf she could not resist taking between her teeth, that had hadso little else of late to bite on; and as she did so coarse laughterbroke upon her. It was her rude suitor who had chanced across her path, and he mocked at her, crying, "This is the Proud Rosalind that will noteat at an honest man's board, choosing rather to dine after the highfashion of the kine and asses!" Then from his pouch he snatched a crustof bread and flung it to her, and said, "Proud Rosalind, will you stoopfor your supper?"

She rose, letting the precious herbs drop from her lap, and she trodthem into the earth as weeds gathered at hazard, so that the putting ofthe leaf between her lips might wear an idle aspect; and then shewalked away, with her head very high. But she was nearly desperate atleaving them there, and when she was alone her pain of hunger increasedbeyond all bounds. And she sat down on the limb of a great beech andleaned her brow against his mighty body, and shut her eyes, while thelight changed in the sky. And presently the leaves of the forest werelit by the moon instead of the sun, and the spaces in the top boughswere dark blue instead of saffron, and the small clouds were no longerfragments of amber, but bits of mottled pearl seen through sea-water. But Rosalind witnessed none of these slow changes, and when after agreat while she lifted her faint head, she saw only that the day waschanged to night. And on the other side of the beech-tree, touched withmoonlight, a motionless white stag stood watching her. It was a hart ofthe sixth year, and stood already higher than any hart of the twelfth;full five foot high it stood, and its grand soft shining flanks seemedto be molded of marble for their grandeur, and silk for theirsmoothness, and moonlight for their sheen. Its new antlers werebranching towards their yearly strength, and the triple-pointed crownsrose proudly from the beam that was their last perfection. The eyes ofthe girl and the beast met full, and neither wavered. The hart came toher noiselessly, and laid its muzzle on her hair, and when she put herhand on its pure side it arched its noble neck and licked her cheek. Then, stepping as proudly and as delicately as Rosalind's self, itmoved on through the trees; and she followed it. 

The forest changed from beech to pine and fir. It deepened and grewstrange to her. She did not know it. And the light of the sky turnedhere from silver to gray, and she felt about her the stir of unseenthings. But she looked neither to the right nor the left, but followedthe snow-white hart that went before her. It brought her at last to itsown drinking-place, and as soon as she saw it old rumors gatheredthemselves into a truth, and she knew that this was the lostWishing-Pool. And she remembered that this night was Midsummer Eve, andby the position of the ghostly moon she saw it was close on midnight. So she knelt down by the edge of the mere, and stretched her handsabove it, the palms to the stars, and in a low clear voice she made herprayer. 

"Whatever spirit dwells under these waters, " said she, "I know notwhether you are a power for good or ill. But if it is true that youwill answer in this hour the need of any that calls on you--oh, Spirit, my need is very great to-night. Hunger is bitter in my body, and mystrength is nearly wasted. A hind cast me his crust to-day, and fivehours I have battled with myself not to creep back to the place whereit still lies and eat of that vile bread. I do not fear to die, but Ifear to die of my hunger lest they sneer at the last of my race broughtlow to so mean a death. Neither will I die by my own act, lest theythink my courage broken by these breaking days. On my knees, " said she, "I beseech you to send me in some wise a little money, if it be but ahandful of pennies now and then throughout the year, so that I may keepmy head unbowed. Or if this is too much to ask, and even of you theasking is not easy, then send some high and sudden accident of death toblot me out before I grow too humble, and the lofty spirits of myfathers deny one whose spirit ends as lowly as their dust. Death orlife I beg of you, and I care not which you send. "

Then clasping her hands tightly, she called twice more her plea acrossthe mere: "Spirit of these waters, grant me life or death! Oh, Spirit, grant me life or death!"

There was a stir in the forest as she made an end, and she remainedstock still, waiting and wondering. But though she knelt there till themoon had crossed the bar of midnight, nothing happened. 

Then the white hart, which had lain beside the water while she prayed, rose silently and drank; and when it was satisfied, laid once more itsmuzzle on her hair and licked her cheek again and moved away. Not atwig snapped under its slender stepping. Its whiteness was soon coveredby the blackness. 

Faint and exhausted, Rosalind arose. She dragged herself through thewood and presently found the broad road that curled down the desertedhill and over the bridge, and at last by a branching lane to her ruineddwelling. The door of her tower creaked desolately to and fro a little, open as she had left it. She pushed it further ajar and stumbled in andup the narrow stair. But the pale moonlight entered her chamber withher, silvering the oaken stump that was her table; and there, wherethere had been nothing, she beheld two little heaps of copper coins. 

The gold year waned, and the next passed from white to green; and inthe gold Harding began to hunt his hart, and by the green had notsucceeded in bringing it to bay. Twice he had seen it at a distance onthe hills, and once had started it from cover in Coombe Wood andfollowed it through the Denture and Stammers, Great Bottom and Gumber, Earthem Wood and Long Down, Nore Hill and Little Down; and at PunchbowlGreen he lost it. He did not care. A long chase had whetted him, and hehad waited so long that he was willing to wait another year, and ifneed were two or three, for his royal quarry. He knew it must be his atlast, and he loved it the more for the speed and strength and cunningwith which it defied him. It had a secret lair he could never discover;but one day that secret too should be his own. Meanwhile his blood washeated, and the Red Hunter dreamed of the hart and of one other thing. 

And while he dreamed Proud Rosalind grew glad and strong on hermiraculous dole of money, that was always to her hand when she had needof it. Fear went out of her life, for she knew certainly now that shewas in the keeping of unseen powers, and would not lack again. Andlittle by little she too began to build a dream out of her pride; forshe thought, I am all my fathers' house, and there will be no honor toit more except that which can come through me. And whenever tales wentabout of the fame of the fair young Queen of Bramber Castle, and thecrowning of her name in this tourney and in that, or of the great lordsand princes that would have died for one smile of her (yet her smilescame easily, and her kisses too, men said), Rosalind knit her brows, and her longing grew a little stronger, and she thought: If arrows andsteel might once flash lightnings about my father's daughter, andcleave the shadows that have hung their webs about my fathers' hearth!

She now began to put by a little hoard of pennies, for she meant to buyflax to spin the finest of linen for her body, and purple for sleevesfor her arms, and scarlet leather for shoes for her feet, and gold fora fillet for her head; and so, attired at last as became her birth, oneday to attend a tourney where perhaps some knight would fight hisbattle in her name. And she had no other thought in this than glory toher dead race. But her precious store mounted slowly; and she had laidby nothing but the money for the fine linen for her robe, when a thinghappened that shattered her last foothold among men. 

For suddenly all the countryside was alive with a strange rumor. Someone had seen a hart upon the hills, a hart of twelve points, fit forroyal hunting. Kings will hunt no lesser game than this. But this ofall harts was surely born to be hunted only by a maiden queen, for, said the rumor, it was as white as snow. Such a hart had never beforebeen heard of, and at first the tale of it was not believed. But thetale was repeated from mouth to mouth until at last all men swore to itand all winds carried it; and amongst others some wind of the Downsbore it across the land from Arun to Adur, and so it reached the earsof Queen Maudlin of Bramber. Then she, a creature of quick whims, whowas sated with the easy conquests of her beauty, yet eager always fortriumphs to cap triumphs, devised a journey from Adur to Arun, and agreat summer season of revelry to end in an autumn chase. "And, " saidshe, "we will have joustings and dancings in beauty's honor, but shewhose knight at the end of all brings her the antlers of the snow-whitehart shall be known for ever in Sussex as the queen of beauty; since, once I have hunted it, the hart will be hart-royal. " For this, asperhaps you know, dear maidens, is the degree of any hart that has beenchased by royalty. 

However, before the festival was undertaken, the Queen of Bramber mustneeds know if the Arun could show any habitation worthy of her; and hermessengers went and came with a tale of a noble castle fallen intoruins, but with its four-square walls intact, and a sward within sosmooth and fair that it seemed only to await the coming of archers anddancers. So the Queen called a legion of workmen and bade them go thereand build a dwelling in one part of the green court for her to stay inwith her company. "And see it be done by midsummer, " said she. "Castles, madam, " said the head workman, "are not built in a month, oreven in two. " "Then for a frolic we'll be commoners, " said the Queen, "and you shall build on the sward not a castle, but a farm. " So theworkmen hurried away, and set to work; and by June they had raisedwithin the castle walls the most beautiful farmhouse in Sussex; andover the door made a room fit for a queen. 

But alas for Proud Rosalind!

When the men first came she confronted them angrily and commanded themto depart from her fathers' halls. And the head workman looked at theruin and her rags and said, "What halls, girl? and where are thesefathers? and who are you?"--and bade his men get about the Queen'swork. And Rosalind was helpless. The men from the Adur asked the peopleof the Arun about her, and what rights she had to be where she was. Andthey, being unfriendly to her, said, "None. She is a beggar with a beein her bonnet, and thinks she was once a queen because her housing wasonce a castle. She has been suffered to stay as long as it wasunwanted; but since your Queen wants it, now let her go. " And they camein a body to drive her forth. But they got there too late. The ProudRosalind had abandoned her conquered stronghold, and where she livedfrom this time nobody knew. She was still seen on the roads and hillsnow and again, and once as she passed through Bury on washing-day thewomen by the river called to her, "Where do you live now, ProudRosalind, instead of in a castle?" And Rosalind glanced down at thekneeling women and said in her clear voice, "I live in a castle noblerthan Bramber's, or even than Amberley's; I live in the mightiest castlein Sussex, and Queen Maudlin herself could not build such another tolive in. "

"Then you'll doubtless be making her a great entertainment there, ProudRosalind, " scoffed the washers. 

"I entertain none but the kings of the earth there, " said Rosalind. Andshe made to walk on. 

"Why then, " mocked they, "you'd best seek one out to hunt the whitehart in your name this autumn, and crown you queen over young Maudlin, Proud Rosalind. "

And Rosalind stopped and looked at them, longing to say, "The whitehart? What do you mean?" Yet for all her longing to know, she could notbring herself to ask anything of them. But as though her thoughts hadtaken voice of themselves, she heard the sharp questions uttered aloud, "What white hart, chatterers? Of what hunt are you talking?" And therein mid-stream stood Harding in his boat, keeping it steady with thegreat pole of the oar. 

"Why, Red Boatman, " said they, "did you not know that the Queen ofBramber was coming to make merry at Amberley?"

"Ay, " said Harding. 

"And that our proud lady Rosalind, having, it seems, found a grandercastle to live in, has given hers up to young Maudlin?"

Harding glanced to and from the scornful tawny girl and said, "Well?"

"Well, Red Boatman! On Midsummer Eve the Queen comes with her court, and on Midsummer Day there will be a great tourney to open the revelsthat will last, so they say, all through summer. But the end of it allis to be a great chase, for a white hart of twelve points has been seenon the hills, and the Queen will hunt it in autumn till some lucky lordkneels at her feet with its antlers; and him, they say, she'll marry. "

Then Harding once more looked at Rosalind over the water, and she flungback a look at him, and each was surprised to see dismay on the other'sbrow. And Harding thought, "Is she angry because SHE is not the Queenof the chase?" And Rosalind, "Would HE be the lord who kneels to QueenMaudlin?" But neither knew that the trouble in each was really becausetheir precious secret was now public, and the white hart endangered. And Rosalind's thought was, "It shall be no Queen's quarry!" AndHarding's, "It shall be no man's but mine!" Then Harding plied his wayto the ferry, and Rosalind went hers to none knew where; though somehad tried vainly to track her. 

In due course June passed its middle, and the Queen rode under theDowns from Bramber to Amberley. And early on Midsummer Eve, while herservants made busy about the coming festival, Queen Maudlin went overthe fields to the waterside and lay in the grass looking to Bury, andteased some seven of her court, each of whom had sworn to bring her theCrown of Beauty at his sword's point on the morrow. Her four maidenswere with her, all maids of great loveliness. There was Linoret who waslike morning dew on grass in spring, and Clarimond queenly as day atits noon, and Damarel like a rose grown languorous of its own grace, and Amelys, mysterious as the spirit of dusk with dreams in its hair. But Maudlin was the pale gold wonder of the dawn, a creature ofethereal light, a vision of melting stars and wakening flowers. And shedelighted in making seem cheap the palpable prettiness of this, or toorobust the fuller beauty of that, or dim and dull the elusive charm ofsuch-an-one. She would have scorned to set her beauty to compete withthose who were not beautiful, even as a proved knight would scorn tojoust with an unskilled boor. So now amongst her beautiful attendants, knowing that in their midst her greater beauty shone forth a diamondamong crystals, she laughed at her seven lovers; and her four friendslaughed with her. 

"You do well, Queen Maudlin, to make merry, " said one of the knights, "for I know none that gains so much service for so little portion. Whatwill you give to-morrow's victor?"

"What will to-morrow's victor think his due?" said she. 

The seven said in a breath, "A kiss!" and the five laughed louder thanever. 

Then Maudlin said, "For so great an honor as victory, I should feelashamed to bestow a thing of such little worth. "

"Do you call that thing a little worth, " said one, "which to us weremore than a star plucked out of heaven?"

"The thing, it is true, " said Maudlin, "has two values. Those who areover-eager make it a thing of naught, those from whom it is hard-wonrender it priceless. But, sirs, you are all too eager, I could scatteryou baubles by the hour and leave you still desiring. But if ever Iwooed reluctance to receive at last my solitary favor, I should know Iwas bestowing a jewel. "

"When did Maudlin ever meet reluctance?" sighed one, the youngest. 

A long shadow fell upon her where she lay in the grass, and she lookedup to see the great form of Harding passing at a little distance. 

"Who is that?" said she. 

"It must be he they call the Red Smith, " said Damarel idly. 

"He looks a rough, silent creature, " remarked Amelys. And Clarimondadded in loud and insolent tones, "He knows little enough of kissings, I would wager this clasp. "

"It's one I've a fancy for, " said young Queen Maudlin. "Red Smith!"called she. 

Harding turned at the sweet sound of her voice, and came and stoodbeside her among the group of girls and knights. 

"Have you come from my castle?" said she, smiling up at him with herdawn-blue eyes. 

"Ay, " he answered. 

"What drew you there, big man? My serving-wench?"

The Red Smith stared down at her light alluring loveliness. "Serving-wenches do not draw me. "

"What metal then? Gold?" Maudlin tossed him a yellow disc from herpurse. He let it fall and lie. 

"No, nor gold. " His eyes traveled over her gleaming locks. "The thingsyou name are too cheap, " said he. 

Maudlin smiled a little and raised herself, till she stood, fair andslender, as high as his shoulder. 

"What thing draws you, Red Smith?"

"Steel. " And he showed her a fine sword-blade, lacking its hilt. "I wassent for to mend this against the morrow. "

"I know that blade, " said Maudlin, "it was snapped in my cause. Haveyou the hilt too?"

"In my pouch, " said Harding, his hand upon it. 

Hers touched his fingers delicately. "I will see it. "

He brushed her hand aside and unbuttoned his pouch; but as he drew outthe hilt of the broken sword, she caught a glimpse of that within whichheld her startled gaze. 

"What jewels are those?" she asked quickly. 

"Old relics, " Harding said with sudden gruffness. 

"Show them to me!"

Reluctantly he obeyed, and brought forth a ring, a circlet, and agirdle of surpassing workmanship, wrought in gold thick-crusted withemeralds. A cry of wonder went up from all the maidens. 

"There's something else, " said Maudlin; and without waiting thrust herhand into the bottom of the pouch and drew out a mesh of silver. It wasso fine that it could be held and hidden in her two hands; yet when itfell apart it was a garment, as supple as rich silk. The four maidstouched it softly and looked their longings. 

"Are these your handicraft?" said Maudlin. 

"Mine?" Harding uttered a short laugh. "Not I or any man can make suchthings. "

"You are right, " said Maudlin. "Wayland's self might acknowledge them. Smith, I will buy them of you. "

"You cannot give me my price. "

"Gold I know does not tempt you. " She smiled and came close beside him. 

"Then do not offer it. "

"Shall it be steel?"

Harding's eyes swept her flower-like beauty. "Not from Queen Maudlin. "

"True. My bid is costlier. "

"Name it. "

"A kiss from my mouth. "

At the sound of his laughter the rose flowed into her cheek. 

"What, a bauble for my jewel, too-eager lady?" he said harshly. "Do thewomen of this land hold themselves so light? In mine men carve theirkisses with the sword. Hark ye, young Queen! set a better value on thatred mouth if you'd continue to have it valued. "

"I could have you whipped for this, " said Maudlin. 

"I do not think so, " Harding answered, and stepped down the river-bankinto his waiting boat. 

"I keep my clasp, " said Clarimond. 

Seven men sprang hotly to their feet. "What's your will, Queen?"

"Nothing, " said Maudlin slowly, as she watched him row over the water. "Let the smith go. This test was between him and me and no man'sbusiness else. Well, he is of a temper to come through fire unmelted. "She flashed a smile upon the seven that made them tremble. "But he is amannerless churl, we will not think of him. Which among YOU would spurnmy kiss?" She offered her mouth in turn, and seven flames passed overits scarlet. Maudlin laughed a little and beckoned her watching maids. "Well!" she said, taking the path to the castle, "He that had hadstrength to refuse me might have worn my favor to-morrow and for ever. "

And meanwhile by the further river-bank came Rosalind, with mushroomsin her skirt. And as she walked by the water in the evening she lookedacross to her lost castle-walls, and touched the pennies in her pouchand dreamed, while the sun dressed the running flood in his royalestcolors. 

"Linen and purple and scarlet and gold, " mused she; "and so I might sitthere to-morrow among the rest. But linen and purple!" she said inscorn, "what should they profit my fathers' house? It is no silkendaughter we lack, but a son of steel. "

And as she pondered a shadow crossed her, and out of his boat steppedHarding, new from his encounter with the Queen. He did not glance ather nor she at him; but the gleam of the broken weapon he carried cutfor a single instant across her sight, and her hands hungered for it. 

"A sword!" thought she. "Ay, but an arm to wield the sword. Nay, if Ihad the sword it may be I could find an arm to wield it. " She droppedher chin on her breast, and brooded on the vanishing shape of the RedSmith. "If I had been my fathers' son--oh!" cried she, shaken with newdreams, "what would I not give to the man who would strike a blow forour house?"

Then she recalled what day it was. A year of miracles and changes hadsped over her life; if she desired new miracles, this was the night toask them. 

So close on midnight Proud Rosalind once more crept up to Rewell Wood;and on its beechen skirts the white hart came to her. It came now as toa friend, not to a stranger. And she threw her arm over its neck, andthey walked together. As they walked it lowered its noble antlers socunningly that not a twig snapped from the boughs; and its antlers wereas beautiful as the boughs with their branches and twigs, and to eachcrown it had added not one, but two more crockets, so that now itspoints were sixteen. Safe under its guard the maiden ventured into themysteries of the hour, and when they came to the mere the hart lay downand she knelt beside it with her brow on its soft panting neck, andthought awhile how she would shape her wish. And feeling the strengthof its sinews she said aloud, "Oh, champion among stags! were there achampion among men to match you, I think even I could love him. Yetlove is not my prayer. I do not pray for myself. " And then she stoodupright and stretched her hands towards the water and said again, lessin supplication than command:

"Spirit, you hear--I do not pray for myself. Of old it may be maidensoften came in sport or fear, to make a mid-summer pastime of theirlove-dreams. Oh, Spirit! of love I ask nothing for myself. But if youwill send me a man to strike one blow in my name that is my fathers'name, he may have of me what he will!"

Never so proudly yet had the Proud Rosalind held herself as when shelifted her radiant face to the moon and sent her low clear call thriceover the mystic waters. Gloriously she stood with arms extended, asthough she would give welcome to any hero stepping through the night toconsummate her wish. But none came. Only the subdued rustling that hadstirred the woods a year ago whispered out of the dark and died tosilence. 

The arms of the Proud Rosalind dropped to her sides. 

"Is the time not yet?" said she, "and will it never be? Why, then, letme belong for ever to the champion that strikes for me to-morrow in thelists. A sorry champion, " said she a wan smile, "yet I will hold mebound to him according to my vow. But first I must win him a sword. "

Then she kissed the white hart between the eyes and said, "Go where youwill. I shall be gone till daylight. " And it rose up to run the moonlithills, and she went down through the trees, and left the Wishing-Poolto its unruffled peace. 

Straight down towards sleeping Bury Rosalind went, full of her purpose;and after an hour passed through the silent village. 

Her errand was not wholly easy to her, but she thought, "I do not go toask favors, but plain dealings; and it must be done secretly or not atall. " As she came near the ferry a red glow broke on her vision. 

"Does the water burn?" she said, and quickened her steps. To hersurprise she saw that Harding's forge was busy; the light she had seensprang from it. She had expected to find it locked and silent, but nowthe little space it held in the night was lit with fire and resoundedwith the stroke of the Red Smith's hammer. Proud Rosalind stood fast asthough he were fashioning a spell to chain her eyes. And so he was, forhe hammered on a sword. 

He did not turn his head at her approach; but when at last she stoodbeside his door, and did not move away, he spoke to her. 

"You walk late, " said he. 

"May not people walk late, " said she, "as well as work late?"

Without answering he set himself to his task again and heeded her nomore. "Smith!" she cried imperiously. 

"What then?"

"I came to speak with you. "

"Even so?" She barely heard the words for the din of his great hammer. 

"You are unmannerly, Smith. "

"Speak then, " said he, dropping his tools, "and never forget, maid, that it is not I invited this encounter. "

At that she cried out hotly, "Does not your shop invite trade?"

"Ay; but what's that to you?"

"My only purpose in talking with you, " she said in a flame of wrath. "Irequire what you have, but I would rather buy it of any man than you. "

"What do you require?"

"That!" She pointed to the sword. 

"I cannot sell it. It is a young knight's blade I am mending againstthe jousting. "

"Have you no other?"

"You cannot give me my price, " said the Red Smith. 

She took from her girdle the little purse containing all her store. "Doyou think I am here to bargain? There's more than your price. "

"However much it be, " said Harding, "it is too little. "

"Then say no more that I cannot buy of you, but rather that you willnot sell to me. "

"And yet that is as the Proud Rosalind shall please. "

She flushed deeply, and as though in shame of seeming ashamed saidfirmly, "No, Smith, it is not in my hands. For I have offered you everypenny I possess. "

"I do not ask for pence. " Harding left his anvil and stepped outsideand stood close, gazing hard upon her face. "You have a thing I willtake in exchange for my sword, a very simple thing. Women part with itmost lightly, I have learned. The loveliest hold it cheap at the priceof a golden gawd. How easily then will you barter it for an inch or soof steel!"

"What need of so many words?" she said with a scornful lip, thatquivered in her own despite at his nearness. "Name the thing you want. "

"A kiss from your mouth, Proud Rosalind. "

It was as though the request had turned her into ice. When she couldspeak she said, "Smith, for your inch of steel you have asked what Iwould not part with to ransom my soul. "

She turned and left him and Harding went back to his work and laughedsoftly in his beard. "Dream on, my gold queen up yonder, " said he, andblew on his waning fires. "You are not the metal I work in, " said he, and the river rang again to his hammer on the steel. 

But Rosalind went rapidly down to the waterside saying in her heart, "Now I will see whether I cannot get me a lordlier weapon of a bettercraftsman than you, and at my own price, Red Smith. " And when she hadcome to the ferry she laid her full purse on the bank and cried softlyinto the night:

"Wayland Smith, give me a sword!"

And then she went away for awhile, and paced the fields till the firstlight glimmered on the east; and not daring to wait longer for fear ofencountering early risers, she turned back to the ferry. And there, shining in the dawn, she found such a blade as made the father in hersoul exult. In all its glorious fashioning and splendid temper the handof the god was manifest. And in the grass beside it lay her purse, ofits full store lightened by one penny-piece. 

Now to this tale of legends revived and then forgotten, gossips' talesof Wishing-Pools and Snow-white Harts and a God who worked in the dark, we must begin to add the legend of the Rusty Knight. It lasted littlelonger than the three months of that strange summer of sports withinthe castle-walls of Amberley. It was at the jousting on Midsummer Daythat he first was seen. The lists were open and the roll of knights hadanswered to their names, and cried in all men's ears their ladies'praises; and nine in ten cried Maudlin. And as the last knight spoke, there suddenly stood in the great gateway an unknown man with hisvizard closed, and his coming was greeted with a roar of laughter. Forhe was clothed from head to foot in antique arms, battered and rustedlike old pots and pans that have seen a twelvemonths' weather in aditch. Out of the merriment occasioned by his appearance, certain ofthe spectators began to cry, "A champion! a champion!" And othersnudged with their elbows, chuckling, "It is the Queen's jester. "

But the newcomer stood his ground unflinchingly, and when he could beheard cried fiercely, "They who call me jester shall find they jestbefore their time. I claim by my kingly birth to take part in thisday's fray; and men shall meet me to their rue!"

"By what name shall we know you?" he was asked. 

"You shall call me the Knight of the Royal Heart, " he said. 

"And whose cause do you serve?"

"Hers whose beauty outshines the five-fold beauty in the Queen'sGallery, " said he, "hers who was mistress here and wrongly ousted--themost peerless lady of Sussex, Proud Rosalind. "

With that the stranger drew forth and flourished a blade of sosurpassing a kind that the knights, in whom scorn had vanquished mirth, found envy vanquishing scorn. As for the ladies, they had ceased tosmile at the mention of Rosalind, whom none had seen, though all hadheard of the girl who had been turned from her ruin at Maudlin's whim;and that this ragged lady should be vaunted over their heads was aninsult only equaled by the presence among their shining champions ofthe Rusty Knight. For by this name only was he spoken thereafter. 

Now you may think that the imperious stranger who warned his opponentsagainst laughing before their time, might well have been warned againstcrowing before his. And alas! it transpired that he crowed not as thecock crows, who knows the sun will rise; for at the first clash hefell, almost unnoticed. And when the combatants disengaged, he haddisappeared. He was a subject for much mirth that evening; though themen rankled for his sword and the women for a sight of his lady. 

But from this day there was not a jousting held in Maudlin's revels atwhich the Rusty Knight did not appear; and none from which he bore awaythe crown. The procedure was always the same: at the last instant heappeared in his ignominious arms, and stung the mockers to silence bythe glory of his sword and his undaunted proclamation of his lady. Soardent was his manner that it was difficult not to believe him aconqueror among men and her the loveliest of women, until the fraybegan; when he was instantly overcome, and in the confusion managed toescape. He was so cunning in this that though traps were laid to catchhim he was never traced. By degrees he became, instead of a joke, athorn in the flesh. It was the women now who itched to see his face, and the men who desired to find out the Proud Rosalind; for by hisrepeated assertion her beauty came to be believed in, and if the ladiesstill spoke slightingly of her, the lords in their thoughts did not. But the summer drew to its close without unraveling the mystery. TheRusty Knight was never followed nor the Proud Rosalind found. And nowthey were on the eve of a different hunting. 

For now all the days were to be given up to the pursuit of the rumoredhart, whom none had yet beheld; and Queen Maudlin said, "For a month wewill hunt by day and dance by night, and if by that time no man canboast of bringing the hart to bay and no woman of owning his antlers, we will acknowledge ourselves outwitted; and so go back to Adur. And itmay prove that we have been brought to Arun by an idle tale, to hunt amyth; but be that as it may, see to your bowstrings, for to-morrow weride forth. "

And the men laid by their swords and filled their quivers. 

And in the midnight Rosalind came once more from her secret lair toBury, and laying her purse by the ferry called softly:

"Wayland Smith, give me a bow!"

And in the dawn, before people were astir, she found a bow the unlikeof any fashioned by mortal craft, and a quiverful of true arrows; andfor these the god had taken his penny fee. 

On a lovely day of autumn the chase began. And the red deer and the redfox started from their covers; and the small rabbits stopped theirkitten-play on the steep warrens of the Downs, and fled into theirburrows; and birds whirred up in screaming coveys, and the kestrelhovered high and motionless on the watch. There was game in plenty, andmany men were tempted and forgot the prize they sought. The huntseparated, some going this way and some that. And in the evening allmet again in Amberley. And some had game to show and some had none. Andone had seen the hart. 

When he said so a cry went up from the company, and they pressed roundto hear his tale, and it was a strange one. 

"For, " said he, "where Great Down clothes itself with the North Wood Isaw a flash against the dark of the trees, and out of them bounded thevery hart, taller than any hart I ever dreamed of, and, as the tale hastold, as pure as snow; and the crockets spring from its crowns likerays from a summer cloud. I could not count them, but its points aremore than twelve. When it saw me it stood motionless, and tremblingwith joy I fitted my arrow to the string; but even as I did so out ofthe trees ran another creature, as strange as the white hart. It wasnone other than the Rusty Knight; I knew him by his battered vizard, which was closed. But for the rest he wore now, not rust, but rags--atattered jerkin in place of battered mail. Yet in his hands was a bowwhich among weapons could only be matched by his sword. He took hisstand beside the snow-white hart, and cried in that angry voice we haveall heard, These crowns grow only to the glory of the Proud Rosalind, the most peerless daughter of Sussex, and no woman but she shall everboast of them!' And before I could move or answer for surprise, he hadset his arrow to his bow, and drawn the string back to his shoulder, and let fly. It was well I did not start aside, or it might have hitme; for I never saw an arrow fly so wild of its mark. But the wholecircumstance amazed me too much for quick action, and before I couldcome up and chastise this unskillful archer, or even aim at the prizewhich stood beside him, he and the hart had plunged through the woodagain, the man running swiftfoot as the beast; and when I followed Icould not find them, and unhappily my dogs were astray. "

The strange tale stung the tempers of all listeners, both men and women. 

"Well, now, " laughed Maudlin, "it has at least been seen that the hartis the whitest of harts. "

"But it has not yet been seen, " fumed Clarimond, "that this Rosalind isthe most beautiful of women. "

"Nor have we seen, " said the knight who told the tale, "who it is thatinsults our manhood with valiant words and no deeds to prove them. Yetwith such a sword and such a bow a man might prove anything. "

The next day all rode forth on fire with eagerness. And at the end ofit another knight brought back the selfsame tale. He sword that in thetattered archer was no harm at all but his arrogance, since he wasclearly incapable of hitting where he aimed. But his very presence andhis swift escape, running beside the hart, made failure seem double;for the derision he excited recoiled on the deriders, who could notbring this contemptible foe to book. After that day many saw him, sometimes at a great distance, sometimes near enough to be lashed byhis insolent tongue. He always kept beside the coveted quarry, asthough to guard it, and ran when it ran, with incredible speed; butonce when he flagged after a longer chase than usual, he had been seento leap on its back, and so they escaped together. From dawn to duskthrough that bright month of autumn the man and the hart were hunted invain; and in all that while their lair was never discovered. It was nowtaken for granted that where one would be the other would be; and inall likelihood Proud Rosalind also. 

At last the final day of the month and the chase arrived, and Maudlinspoke to her mortified company. Among them all she was the only one wholaughed now, for her nature was like that of running water, reflectingall things, retaining none; she could never retain her disappointmentslonger than a day, or her affections either. 

"Sirs and dames, " said she, "I see by your clouded faces it is time wedeparted, but we will depart as we came in the sun. If this day bringno more fruit than its fellows, neither victory to a lord norsovereignty to his lady, we will to-morrow hold the mightiest tourneyof the year, and he who wins the crown shall give it to his love, andshe shall be called for ever the fairest of Sussex; but for that, ifher lord desire it, she shall wed him--yes, though it be myself sheshall!"

And at this the hearts of nine men in ten leapt in their breasts forlonging of her, and in the tenth for longing of Linoret or Clarimond orDamarel or Amelys; and all went to the chase thinking as much of themorrow as of the day. 

It was the day when the forests burned their brightest. The earth wasfuller of color than in the painted spring; the hedgerows were hungwith brilliant berries in wreaths and clusters, luminous briony andhoneysuckle, and the ebony gloss of the privet making more vivid thebright red of the hips and the dark red of the haws. The smooth flatmeadows and smooth round sides of the Downs were not greener in June;nor in that crystal air did the river ever run bluer than under thatblue sky. The elms were getting already their dusky gold and thebeeches their brighter reds and golds and coppers; where they wereyoung and in thin leaf the sun-flood watered them to transparent pinksand lemons, as bright, though not as burning, as the massed colors ofthe older trees. That day there was magic on the western hills, forthose who could see it, and trees that were not trees. 

So Rosalind who, like all the world, was early abroad, though not withall the world, saw a silver cloud pretending to be white flowers upon ahawthorn; never in spring sunlight had the bush shone whiter. But whenMaudlin rode by later she saw, not a cloud in flower, but a flowerlesstree, dressed with the new-puffed whiteness of wild clematis, itssilver-green tendrils shining through their own mist. 

Then Rosalind saw a sunset pretending to be a spindle-tree, scatteringflecks of red and yellow light upon the ground, till the grass threw upa reflection of the tree, as a cloud in the east will reflect anotherin the west. But when Maudlin came riding the spots of light upon theground were little pointed leaves, and the sunset a little tree asround as a clipped yew, mottled like an artist's palette with everyshade from primrose to orange and from rose to crimson. 

And last, in a green glade under a steep hollow overhung with ash, Rosalind saw a fairy pretending to be a silver birch turned golden. Forher leaves hung like the shaking water of a sunlit fountain, and shestood alone in the very middle of the glade as though on tip-toe for adance; and all the green trees that had retreated from herdancing-floor seemed ready to break into music, so that Rosalind heldher breath lest she should shatter the moment and the magic, and stayedspell-bound where she was. But an hour afterwards Maudlin, riding thechalky ledge on the ash-grown height, looked down on that same sightand uttered a sharp cry; for she saw, no fairy, but a little yellowingbirch, and under it the snow-white hart with the Rusty Knight besidehim. Then all the company with her echoed the cry, and the forest wasfilled with the round sounds of horns and belling hounds. And while ingreat excitement men sought a way down into the steep glen, the hartand his ragged guard had started up, and vanished through theunderworld of trees. 

The hue and cry was taken up. Not one or two, but fifty had now seenthe quarry, and panted for the glory of the prize. And so, near thevery beginning of the day, the chase began. 

The scent was found and lost and found again. The stag swam the rivertwice, once at South Stoke, and once at Houghton Bridge, and the manswam with it; and then, keeping over the fields they ran up Coombe andwent west and north, over Bignor Hill and Farm Hill, through theKennels and Tegleaze. They were sighted on Lamb Lea and lost inCharlton. They were seen again on Heyshott and vanished in HerringdeanCopse. They crossed the last high-road in Sussex and ran over LinchDown and Treyford nearly into Hampshire; and there the quarry turnedand tried to double home by Winden Wood and Cotworth Down. The marvelwas that the Rusty Knight was always with it, sometimes beside it, often on its back; and even when he bestrode it, it flew over the greenhills like a white sail driven by a wind at sea, or a cloud flying theskies. When it doubled it had shaken off the greater part of the hunt. But through Wellhanger and over Levin some followed it still. In thewoods of Malecomb only the seven knights who most loved Maudlinremained staunch; and they were spurred by hope, because when they nowsighted it it seemed as though the hart began to tire, and its riderdrooped. Their own steeds panted, and their dogs' tongues lolled; butover the dells and rises, woods and fields, they still pressed on, exulting that they of all the hunt remained to bring the weary gallantthing to bay. 

Once more they were in the home country, and the day was drawing to aglorious close. In the great woods of Rewell the hart tried to confusethe scent and conceal itself with its spent comrade, but it was toolate; for it too was nearly spent. Yet it plunged forward to the ridgeof Arundel with its high fret of trees like harp-strings, filled withthe music of the evening sky. And here again among the dipping valleys, the quarry sought to shake off the pursuit; but as vainly as before. Inthat exhausted close for hunters and hunted, the first had triumph tospur the last of their strength, and the second despair to eke outtheirs. At Whiteways the hart struck down through a secret dip, intothe loveliest hidden valley of all the Downs; and descending after itthe knights saw suddenly before them a great curve of the steely river, lying under the sunset like a scimitar dyed with blood. And in a lastdesperate effort the hart swerved round a narrow footway by the river, and disappeared. 

The knights followed shouting with their baying dogs, and the nextinstant were struck mute with astonishment. For the narrow wooded pathby the water suddenly swung open into a towering semi-circle ofdazzling cliffs, uprising like the loftiest castle upon earth: suchcastles as heaven builds of gigantic clouds, to scatter their solidpiles with a wind again. But only the hurricanes of the first day orthe last could bring this mighty pile to dissolution. The forefront ofthe vast theater was a perfect sward, lying above the water like agreen half-moon; beyond and around it small hills and dells rose andfell in waves until they reached the brink of the great cliffs. At thefurther point of the semi-circle the narrow way by the river beganagain, and steep woods came down to the water cutting off the north. 

And somewhere hidden in the hemisphere of little hills the hart washidden, without a path of escape. 

The men sprang from their horses, and followed the barking dogs acrossthe sward. At the end of it they turned up a neck of grass that coiledabout a hollow like the rim of a cup. It led to a little plateau ringedwith bushes, and smelling sweet of thyme. At first it seemed as thoughthere were no other ingress; but the dogs nosed on and pointed to anopening through the thick growth on the left, and disappeared withhoarse wild barks and yelps; and their masters made to follow. 

But at the same instant they heard a voice come from the bushes, avoice well known to them; but now it was exhausted of its power, thoughnot of its anger. 

"This quarry and this place, " it cried, "are sacred to the ProudRosalind and in her name I warn you, trespassers, that you proceed atyour peril!"

At this the seven knights burst into laughter, and one cried, "Why, then, it seems we have brought the lady to bay with the hart--a doublequarry, friends. Come, for the dogs are full of music now, and we mustsee the kill. "

As they moved forward an arrow sped far above their heads. 

Then a second man cried, "We could shoot into the dark more surely thanthis clumsy marksman out of it. Let us shoot among the trees and givehim his deserts. And after that let nothing hold us from the dogs, fortheir voices turn the blood in me to fire. "

So each man plucked an arrow from his quiver. 

And as he fitted it, lo! with incredible swiftness seven arrows shotthrough the air, and one by one each arrow split in two a knight'syew-bow. The men looked at their broken bows amazed. And as they lookedat each other the dogs stopped baying, one by one. 

One of the knights said, breathing heavily, "This must be seen to. Theman who could shoot like this has been playing with us since midsummer. Let us come in and call him to account, and make him show us his ProudRosalind. "

They made a single movement towards the opening; at the same momentthere was a great movement behind it, and they came face to face withthe hart-royal. It stood at bay, its terrible antlers lowered; its eyeswere danger-lights, as red as rubies. And the seven weaponless menstood rooted there, and one said, "Where are the dogs?"

But they knew the dogs were dead. 

So they turned and went out of that place, and found their horses androde away. 

And when they had gone the hart too turned again, and went slowly downa little slipping path through the bushes and came to the very inmostchamber of its castle, a round and roofless shrine, walled half by thebird-haunted cliffs and half by woods. Within on the grass lay the deadhounds, each pierced by an arrow; and on a bowlder near them sat theRusty Knight, with drooping head and body, regarding them through thevizard he was too weary to raise. He was exhausted past bearinghimself. The hart lay down beside him, as exhausted as he. 

But a sound in the forest that thickly clothed the cliff made both lookup. And down between the trees, almost from the height of the cliff, climbed Harding the Red Hunter, bow in hand. He strode across thelittle space that divided them still, and stood over the Rusty Knightand the white Hart-Royal. And both might have been petrified, forneither stirred. 

After a little Harding began to speak. "Are you satisfied, RustyKnight, " said he, "with what you have done in Proud Rosalind's honor?"

The Rusty Knight did not answer. 

"Did ever lady have a sorrier champion?" Harding laughed roughly. "Shewould have beggared herself to get you a sword. And she got you a swordthe like of which no knight ever had before. And how have you used it?All through a summer you have brought laughter upon her. She would havebeggared herself again to get you a bow that only a god was worthy todraw. And how have you drawn it? For a month you have drawn it to men'sscorn of her and of you. You have cried her praises only to forfeitthem. You have vaunted her beauty and never crowned it. And what haveyou got for it?" The Rusty Knight was as dumb as the dead. Hardingstepped closer. "Shall I tell you, Rusty Knight, what you have got forit? Last Midsummer Eve by the Wishing-Well the Proud Rosalind forsworelove if heaven would send her a man to strike a blow in her name forher fathers' sake. She did not say what sort of man or what sort ofblow. She asked in her simplicity only that a blow should be struck. And like a woman she was ready to find it enough, and in gratituderepay it with that which could only in honor be exchanged for whathonored her. Yet I myself heard her swear to hold herself bound to thesorry champion who should strike for her in the tourney. And you struckand fell. Did you tell her you fell when you came to her, crownless?And how did she crown you for your fall, Rusty Knight?"

The Knight sprang to his feet and stood quivering. 

"That moves you, " said Harding, "but I will move you more. The ProudRosalind is not your woman. She is mine. She was mine from the momenther eyes fell. She was only a child then, but I knew she was mine assurely as I knew this hart was mine and no other's, when first I saw itas a calf drink at its pool. But I was patient and waited till he, mycalf, should become a king, and she, my heifer, a queen. And I am herman because I am of king's stock in my own land, and she of king'sstock in hers. And I am her man because for a year I have kept her, without her knowledge, with the pence I earned by my sweat, that wereearned for a different purpose. And I am her man because the hart youhave defended so ill, and hampered for a month, was saved to-day by myarrows, not yours. It was my arrows slew the hounds from the top of thecliff. It was my arrows split the bows of the seven knights. And it ismy arrow now that will kill the White Hart that in all men's sight Imay give her the antlers to-morrow, and hear my Proud Rosalind calledqueen among women. "

And as he spoke Harding drew back suddenly, and fitted a shaft to hisstring as though he would shoot the hart where it lay. 

But the Rusty Knight sprang forward and caught his hands crying, "Notmy Hart! you shall not shoot my Hart!" And he tore off his casque, andthe great tawny mantle of Rosalind's hair fell over her rags, and herface was on fire and her bosom heaving; and she sank down murmuring, "Ibeg you to spare my Hart. "

But Harding, uttering a great laugh of pride and joy, caught her upbefore she could kneel, saying, "Not even to me, my Proud Rosalind!"And without even kissing her lips, he put her from him and knelt beforeher, and kissed her feet. 

("Will you be so good, Mistress Jane, " said Martin, "as to sew on mybutton?"

"I will not knot my thread, Master Pippin, " said Jane, "till you havesnapped yours. "

"It is snapped, " said Martin. "The story is done. "

Joscelyn: It is too much! it is TOO much! You do it on purpose!

Martin: Oh, Mistress Joscelyn! I never do anything on purpose. Andtherefore I am always doing either too much or too little. But in whathave I exceeded? My story? I am sorry if it is too long. 

Joscelyn: It was too short--and you are quibbling. 

Martin: I?--But never mind. What more can I say? It is a fault, I know;but as soon as my lovers understand each other I can see no further. 

Joscelyn: There are a thousand things more you can say. Who thisHarding was, for one. 

Joyce: And what he meant by saying his pennies had kept her, foranother. 

Jennifer: And for what other purpose he had intended them. 

Jessica: And you must describe all that happened at the last tourney. 

Jane: And what about the ring and the girdle and the circlet and thesilver gown?

"I would so like to know, " said little Joan, "if Harding and Rosalindlived happily ever after. Please won't you tell us how it all ended?"

"Will women NEVER see what lies under their noses?" groaned Martin. "Will they ALWAYS stare over a wall, and if they're not tall enough totry to stare through it? Will they ONLY know that a thing has come toits end when they see it making a new beginning? Why, after the firstkiss all tales start afresh, though they start on the second, which isas different from the first as a garden rose from a wild one. Here haveI galloped you to a conclusion, and now you would set me ambling again. "

"Then make up your mind to it, " said Joscelyn, "and amble. "

"Dear heaven!" went on Martin, "I begin to believe that when a woman isbeing kissed she doesn't even notice it for thinking, How sweet it willbe when he kisses me next Tuesday fortnight!"

"Then get on to Tuesday fortnight, " scolded Joscelyn, "if that be theend. "

"The end indeed!" said Martin. "On Tuesday fortnight, at the veryinstant, the slippery creature is thinking, How delicious it was whenhe kissed me two weeks ago last Saturday! There's no end with a woman, either backwards or forwards!"

"For goodness' sake, " cried Joscelyn, "stop grumbling and get on withit!"

"There's no end to a man's grumbling either, " said Martin; "but I'llget on with it. ")

The tale that Harding had to tell Proud Rosalind was a long one, but Iwill make as short of it as I can. He told her how in his own countryhe was sprung of the race of Volundr, who was a God and a King and aSmith all in one; but he had been ill-used and banished, and had sincehaunted England where men knew him as Wayland, and he did miracles. Butin his own northern land his strain continued, until Harding's father, a king himself, was like his ancestor defeated and banished, andcrossed the water with his young son and a chest of relics of OldWayland's work--a ring, a girdle, a crown, and a silver robe; a swordand bow which Rosalind knew already; and other things as well. And theboy grew up filled with the ancient wrongs of his ancestor, and he wentabout the country seeking Wayland's haunts; and wherever he found themhe found a mossy legend, neglected and unproved, of how the god worked, or had worked, for any man's pence, and put his divine craft tolaborers' service. And as in Rosalind the dream had grown of buildingup her fathers' honor again, so Harding had from boyhood nursed hisdream of establishing that of the half-forgotten god. And he, who hadinherited his ancestor's craft in metal, coming at last through Sussexsettled at Bury, where the legend lay on its sick-bed; and he set uphis shop by the ferry so that he might doctor it. And there he did hiswork in two ways; for as the Red Smith he did such work as might bedone better by a hundred men, but as Wayland he did what could onlyhave been done better by the god. And the toll he collected for thatwork he saved, year-in-year-out, till he should have enough to buildthe god a shrine. And, leaving this visible evidence behind him, hemeant to depart to his own land, and let the faith in Wayland wax ofitself. And then Harding told Rosalind how he had first seen the hartwhen it was a calf six years before at midsummer, and how it had ledhim to the Wishing-Well; and he had marked it for his own. And how inthe same year he had first noticed Rosalind, a girl not yet sixteen, and, for the fire of kings in her that all her poverty could notextinguish, chosen her for his mate. 

"And year by year, " said Harding, "I watched to see whether the direstwant could bring you to humbleness, and saw you only grow in nobleness;and year by year I lay in wait for my four-footed quarry each MidsummerEve beside the Wishing-Pool, and saw it grow in kingliness. And lastyear, as you know, I saw you come to the Pool beside the hart, andheard you make your high prayer for life or death. And if I had notbeen able to give you the life, I would have given you the death youprayed for. But I went before you, and going by the ferry put my oldgod's money in your room before you could be there. And from time totime I robbed his store to keep you. But when in spring they drove youfrom the castle I did not know where to find you; and I hunted for yourlair as I hunted for the hart's, and never knew they were the same. Then this year came the wishing-time again, and lying hidden I heardyou cry for a man to strike for you. And I was tempted then to revealmyself and make you know to what man you were committed. But I decidedthat I would wait and strike for you in the tourney, and come to youfor the first time with a crown. And so I went back to the ferry andset to work; and to my amazement you followed me, and for the firsttime of your own will addressed me. I wondered whether you had come tobe humble before your time, and if you had been I would have let you gofor ever; but when you spoke with scorn as to a servant who had onceforgotten himself so far as to play the man to you, I laughed in myheart and prized your scorn more dearly than your favor; and said tomyself, To-morrow she shall know me for her man. But when you went downto the water and made your demand of Wayland, for his sake and yours Iwas ready to give you a weapon worthy of your steel. So I gave you thegod's own sword and waited to see what use you would make of it. Andyou made as ill an use as after you made of the god's bow. And whilemen spoke betwixt wrath and mockery of the Rusty Knight, I loved moredearly that champion who was doing so ill so bravely for a championlesslady. " Then Harding looked her steadily in the eyes, and though herface was all on fire again as he alone had power to make it, she didnot flinch from his gaze, and he took her hand and said, "No man hasever struck a blow for you yet, Proud Rosalind, but the Rusty Knightwill strike for you to-morrow; and as to-day there was no marksman, soto-morrow there shall be no swordsman who can match him. And when hehas won the crown of Sussex for you, you shall redeem your pledge ofthe Wishing-Well and give him what he will. Till then, be free. " And hedropped her hand again and let her go. 

She turned and went quickly into the bushes and soon she came outbearing the miserable arms of the Rusty Knight and the glorious sword. 

"These are all that were in my fathers' castle for many years, " shesaid, "and I took them when I went away and the white hart brought meto his own castle. But though these are big for me, they will be smallfor you. "

And Harding looked at them and laughed his short laugh. "The casquealone will serve, " he said. "By that and the sword men shall know me. Ihave my own arms else; and I will take on myself the shame of thisludicrous casque, and redeem it in your name. And you shall have thesein exchange. " And he handed her his pouch and bade her what to do inthe morning, and went away. He still had not kissed her mouth, nor hadshe offered it. 

Now there is very little left to tell. On the morrow, when the roll ofknights had been called, all eyes instinctively turned to the greatgateway, by which the Rusty Knight had always come at the last moment. And as they looked they saw whom they expected, but not what theyexpected. For though his head was hidden in the rusty casque, andthough he held the sword which all men covet, he was clad from neck tofoot in arms and mail so marvelously chased and inwrought with red goldthat his whole body shone ruddy in the sunshaft. And men and women, dazzled and confused, wondered what trick of light made him appear moretall and broad than they remembered him; so that he seemed to dwarf allother men. The murmur and the doubt went round, "Is it the RustyKnight?"

Then in a voice of thunder he replied, "Ay, if you will, it is theRusty Knight; or the Red Knight, or the Knight of the Royal Heart, orof the Hart-Royal; but by any name, the knight of the Proud Rosalind, who is the proudest and most peerless of all the maids of Sussex, asthis day's work shall prove. "

And none laughed. 

The joust began; and before the Rusty Knight the rest went down likecorn beaten by hail. And all men marveled at him, and all womenlikewise. And the young Queen Maudlin of Bramber, a prey to her whims, loved him as long as the tourney lasted. And when it was ended, and healone stood upright, she rose in her seat and held out to him the crownof gold and flowers upon a silken pillow, crying, "You have won this, you unknown, unseen champion, and it is your right to give it where youwill; and none will dispute her supremacy in beauty for ever. " And ashe strode and knelt to receive the crown she added quickly, "And I knownot whether the promise has reached your ears which yesterday wasmade--that she who accepts the crown is to wed the victor, although hechoose the Queen herself to wear it. "

And she smiled down at him like morning smiling out of the sky; and herbeauty was such as to make a man forget all other beauty and allresolutions. But Harding took the crown from her and touched her handwith the rusty brow of his casque and said, "A Queen will wear it, formy lady's fathers were once Kings of Amberley. "

Then Maudlin stamped her foot as a butterfly might, and cried, "Whereis this lady whom you keep as hidden as your face?"

And Harding rose and turned towards the gateway, and all turned withhim; and into the arch rode Rosalind on the white hart. And she wasclothed from her neck to the soles of her naked feet in a sheath ofsilver that seemed molded to her lovely body; and about her waist agolden girdle hung, set with green stones, and from her finger a greatemerald shot green fire, and on her head a golden fillet lay in thelikeness of close-set leaves with clusters of gleaming green berriesthat were other emeralds; and under it her glory of hair fell likeliquid metal down her back and over the hart's neck, as low as hersilver hem. And the hart with its splendid antlers stood motionless andproud as though it knew it carried a young Queen. But indeed menwondered whether it were not a young goddess. And so for a very fewmoments this carven vision of gold and silver and ivory and moltenbronze and copper and green jewels stood in their gaze. And thenHarding bore the crown to her and knelt, and stood up again and crownedher before them all; and laying his hand upon the white hart's neck, moved away with it and its beautiful rider through the gateway. And noone moved or spoke or tried to stop them. But by the footway over thewater-meadows they went, and at the river's edge found Harding's broadflat boat with the bird's beak. And Harding said, "Will you come overthe ferry with me, Proud Rosalind?"

And Rosalind answered, "What is your fee, Red Boatman?"

Then Harding answered, "For that which flows I take only that whichflows. "

And Rosalind, stooping of her own accord from the white hart's back, kissed him. 

I shall be very uncomfortable, Mistress Jane, till you have sewed on mybutton. 

FIFTH INTERLUDE

The milkmaids had not thought of their apples for the last hour, butnow, remembering them, they fell to refreshing their tongues with thesweet flavors of fruit and talk. 

Jessica: I cannot rest, Jane, till you have pronounced upon this story. 

Jane: I never found pronouncement harder, Jessica. For who canpronounce upon anything but a plain truth or a plain falsehood? and Iam too confused to extricate either from such a hotch-potch of magic ascame to pass without the help of any real magician. 

Martin: Oh, Mistress Jane! are you sure of that? Did not Rosalind'swishes come true, and can there be magic without a magician?

Jane: Her wishes came true, I know, both by the pool and by the ferry;but that the pool and the ferry were supernatural remains unproved. Because in both cases her wishes were brought about by a man. And ifthere was any other magician at all, you never showed him to us. 

Martin: Dear Mistress Jane, where were your eyes? I showed you thegreatest of all the magicians that give ear to the wishes of women; andwhen it is necessary to bring them about, he puts his power on a manand the man makes them come true. Which is a magic you must often havenoticed in men, though you may never have known the magician's name. 

Joscelyn: We have never noticed any magic whatever in men. And we don'twant to know the magician's name. We don't believe in anything so sillyas magic. 

Martin: I hope, Mistress Joscelyn, there were moments in my story nottoo silly to be believed in. 

Joscelyn: Silliness in stories is more or less excusable, since theyare not even supposed to be believed. And is there still a Wishing-Poolon Rewell and a ferry at Bury?

Martin: The ferry is there, but Harding's hammer is silent. And wherehis shop stood is a little cottage where children live, who dabble insummer on the ferry-step. And their mother will run from her washing orcooking to take you over the water for the same fee that Wayland askedfor shoeing a poor man's donkey or making a rich man's sword. And thisis the only miracle men call for from those banks to-day; and if everyou tried to take a boat across the Bury currents, you would not onlybelieve in miracles but pray for one, while your boat turned inmid-stream like a merry-go-round. So there's no doubt that theferry-wife is a witch. But as for the Wishing-Pool, it is as lost as itwas before the white hart led two lovers to discover it at separatetimes, and having brought them together passed with them and its secretout of men's knowledge. For neither it nor Harding nor Rosalind wasseen again in Sussex after that day. And yet I can tell you this muchof their fortunes: that whatever befell them wherever they wandered, hewas a king and she a queen in the sight of the whole world, which toall lovers consists of one woman and one man; and their lives werecrowned lives, and they carried their crown with them even when theycame in the same hour to exchange one life for another. But this wasonly a long and cloudless reign on earth. 

Jane: Well, it is a satisfaction to know that. For at certain timesyour story seemed so overshadowed with clouds that I was filled withdoubts. 

Joan: Oh, but Jane! even when we walk in the thickest clouds on theDowns, we are certain that presently some light will melt them, or somewind blow them away. 

Joyce: Yes, it never once occurred to me to doubt the end of the story. 

Jennifer: Nor to me. And so the clouds only kept one in a deliciouspalpitation, at which one could secretly smile, without having to stoptrembling. 

Jessica: Was it possible, Jane, that YOU could be deceived as to theconclusion of this love-story? Why, even I saw joy coming as plain as apikestaff. 

Martin: And I, with love for its bearer. For that magician, who touchesthe plainest things with a radiance, makes plain girls and boys lookqueens and kings, and plain staves flowering branches of joy. And inthis case I can think of only one catastrophe that could have obscuredor distorted that vision. 

Two of the Milkmaids: What catastrophe, pray?

Martin: If Rosalind had refused to believe in anything so silly asmagic. 

The silence of the Seven Sleepers hung over the Apple-Orchard. 

Joscelyn: Then she would have proved herself a girl of sense, singer, and your tale would have gained in virtue. As it stands, I should nothave grieved though the clouds had never been dispersed from so foolisha medley of magic and make-believe. 

Martin: So be it, if it must be so. We will push back our lovers intotheir obscurities, and praise night for the round moon above us, whohas pushed three parts of her circle clear of all obstacles, and awaitsonly some movement of heaven to blow the last remnant of cloud from herhappy soul. And because more of her is now in the light than in thedark, she knows it is only a question of time. But the last hours ofwaiting are always the longest, and we like herself can do no betterthan spend them in dreams, where if we are lucky we shall catch aglimpse of the angels of truth. 

Like the last five leaves blown from an autumn branch, the milkmaidsfluttered from the apple-tree and couched their sleepy heads on theirtired arms, and went each by herself into her particular dream; whereif she found company or not she never told. But Jane sat prim andthoughtful with her elbow in her hand and her finger making a dimple inher cheek, considering deeply. And presently Martin began to cough alittle, and then a little more, and finally so troublesomely that shewas obliged to lay her profound thoughts aside, to attend to him with alittle frown. Was even Euclid impervious to midges?

"Have you taken cold, Master Pippin?" said Jane. 

"I'm afraid so, " he confessed humbly; "for we all know that when wecatch cold the grievance is not ours, but our nurse's. "

"How did it happen?" demanded Jane, rightly affronted. "Have you beengetting your feet wet in the duckpond again?"

"The trouble lies higher, " murmured Martin, and held his shirt togetherat the throat. 

Jane looked at him and colored and said, "That is the merest pretense. It was only one button and it is a very warm night. I think you must bemistaken about your cold. "

"Perhaps I am, " said Martin hopefully. 

"And you only coughed and coughed and kept on coughing, " continuedJane, "because I had forgotten all about you and was thinking ofsomething quite different. "

"It is almost impossible to deceive you, " said Martin. 

"Oh, Master Pippin, " said Jane earnestly, "since I turned seventeen Ihave seen into people's motives so clearly that I often wish I did not;but I cannot help it. "

Martin: You poor darling!

Jane: You must not say that word to me, Master Pippin. 

Martin: It was very wrong of me. The word slipped out by mistake. Imeant to say clever, not poor. 

Jane: Did you? I see. Oh, but--

Martin: Please don't be modest. We must always stand by the truth, don't you think?

Jane: Above all things. 

Martin: How long did it take you to discover my paltry ruse? How longdid you hear me coughing?

Jane: From the very beginning. 

Martin: And can you think of two things at once?

Jane: Of course not. 

Martin: No? I wish two was the least number of things I ever think ofat once. Mine's an untidy way of thinking. Still, now we know where weare. What were you thinking about me so earnestly when I was coughingand you had forgotten all about me?

Jane: I--I--I wasn't thinking about you at all. 

And she got down from the swing and walked away. 

Martin: Now we DON'T know where we are. 

And he got down from the branch and walked after her. 

Martin: Please, Mistress Jane, are you in a temper?

Jane: I am never in a temper. 

Martin: Hurrah. 

Jane: Being in a temper is silly. It isn't normal. And it cloudspeople's judgments. 

Martin: So do lots of things, don't they? Like leapfrog, and mad bulls, and rum punch, and very full moons, and love--

Jane: All these things are, as you say, abnormal. And I have no moreuse for them than I have for tempers. But being disheartened isn'tbeing in a temper; and I am always disheartened when people arguebadly. And above all, men, who, I find, can never keep to the point. Although they say--

Martin: What do they say?

Jane: That girls can't. 

Martin began to cough again, and Jane looked at him closely, and Martinapologized and said it was that tickle in his throat, and Jane saidgravely, "Do you think I can't see through you? Come along, do!" andopened her housewife, and put on her thimble, and threaded her needle, and got out the button, and made Martin stand in a patch of moonlight, and stood herself in front of him, and took the neck of his shirtdeftly between her left finger and thumb, and began to stitch. AndMartin looking down on the top of her smooth little head, which was allhe could see of her, said anxiously, "You won't prick me, will you?"and Jane answered, "I'll try not to, but it is very awkward. " Becauseto get behind the button she had to lean her right elbow on hisshoulder and stand a little on tiptoe. So that Martin had good cause tobe frightened; but after several stitches he realized that he was insafe hands, and drew a big breath of relief which made Jane look uprather too hastily, and down more hastily still; so that her handshook, and the needle slipped, and Martin said "Ow!" and clutched thehand with the needle and held it tightly just where it was. And Janegot flustered and said, "I'm so sorry. "

Martin: Why should you be? You've proved your point. If I knew any manthat could stick to his so well and drive it home so truly, I wouldexcuse him for ever from politics and the law, and bid him sit at homewith his work-basket minding the world's business in its cradle. It isonly because men cannot stick to the point that life puts them off withthe little jobs which shift and change color with every generation. Butthe great point of life which never changes was given from the firstinto woman's keeping because, as all the divine powers of reason knew, only she could be trusted to stick to it. I should be glad to have youropinion, Jane, as to whether this is true or not. 

Jane: Yes, Martin, I am convinced it is true. 

Martin: Then let the men shilly-shally as much as they like. And so, aslong as the cradle is there to be minded, we shall have proved that outof two differences unions can spring. My buttonhole feels empty. Whatabout my button?

Jane: I was just about to break off the thread when you--

Martin: When I what?

Jane: Sighed. 

Martin: Was it a sigh? Did I sigh? How unreasonable of me. What was Isighing for? Do you know?

Jane: Of course I know. 

Martin: Will you tell me?

Jane: That's enough. (And she tried to break off the thread. )

Martin: Ah, but you mustn't keep your wisdom to yourself. Give me thekey, dear Jane. 

Jane: The key?

Martin: Because how else can the clouds which overshadow our stories becleared away? How else can we allay our doubts and our confusions andour sorrows if you who are wise, and see motives so clearly, will notgive us the key? Why did I sigh, Jane? And why does Gillian sigh? And, oh, Jane, why are you sighing? Do you know?

Jane: Of course I know. 

Martin: And won't you give me the key?

Jane: That's quite enough. 

And this time she broke off the thread. And she put the needle in andout of the pinked flannel in her housewife, and she tucked the thimblein its place. And then she felt in a little pocket where somethingclinked against her scissors, and Martin watched her. And she took itout and put it in his hand. And his hand tightened again over hers andhe said gravely, "Is it a needle?"

"No, it is not, " said Jane primly, "but it's very much to the point. "

"Oh, you wise woman!" whispered Martin (and Jane colored withsatisfaction, because she was turned seventeen). "What would poor mendo without your help?"

Then he kissed very respectfully the hand that had pricked him: on theback and on the palm and on the four fingers and thumb and on thewrist. And then he began looking for a new place, but before he couldmake up his mind Jane had taken her hand and herself away, saying "Goodnight" very politely as she went. So he lay down to dream that for thefirst time in his life he had made up his mind. But Jane, whose mindwas always made up, for the first time in her life dreamed otherwise. 

It happened that by some imprudence Martin had laid himself downexactly under the gap in the hedge, and when Old Gillman came along theother side crying "Maids!" in the morning, the careless fellow had notime to retreat across the open to safe cover; so there was nothing forit but to conceal himself under the very nose of danger and roll intothe ditch. Which he hurriedly did, while the milkmaids ran here andthere like yellow chickens frightened by a hawk. Not knowing what elseto do, they at last clustered above him about the gap, filling it sowith their pretty faces that the farmer found room for not so much asan eyelash when he arrived with his bread. And it was for all the worldas though the hedge, forgetting it was autumn, had broken out at thatparticular spot into pink-and-white may. So that even Old Gillman hadno fault to find with the arrangement. 

"All astir, my maids?" said he. 

"Yes, master, yes!" they answered breathlessly; all but Joscelyn, whocried, "Oh! oh! oh!" and bit her lip hard, and stood suddenly on onefoot. 

"What's amiss with ye?" asked Gillman. 

"Nothing, master, " said she, very red in the face. "A nettle stung myankle. "

"Well, I'd not weep for t, " said Gillman. 

"Indeed I'm not weeping!" cried Joscelyn loudly. 

"Then it did but tickle ye, I doubt, " said Gillman slyly, "toblushing-point. "

"Master, I AM not blushing!" protested Joscelyn. "The sun's on my faceand in my eyes, don't you see?"

"I would he were on my daughter's, then, " said Gillman. "Does Gillianstill sit in her own shadow?"

"Yes, master, " answered Jane, "but I think she will be in the lightvery shortly. "

"If she be not, " groaned Gillman, "it's a shadow she'll find instead ofa father when she comes back to the farmstead; for who can sow wildoats at my time o' life, and not show it at last in his frame? Yet Iwas a stout man once. "

"Take heart, master, " urged Joyce eyeing his waistcoat. But he shookhis head. 

"Don't be deceived, maid. Drink makes neither flesh nor gristle; onlyinflation. Gillian!" he shouted, "when will ye make the best of a badjob and a solid man of your dad again?"

But the donkey braying in its paddock got as much answer as he. 

"Well, it's lean days for all, maids, " said Gillman, and doled out theloaves from his basket, "and you must suffer even as I. Yet another daymay see us grow fat. " And he turned his basket upside down on his headand moved away. 

"Excuse me, master, " said Jane, "but is Nellie, my little Dexter Kerry, doing nicely?"

"As nicely as she ever does with any man, " said Gillman, "which is tokick John twice a day, mornings and evenings. He say he's getting usedto it, and will miss it when you come back to manage her. But beforethat happens I misdoubt we'll all be plunged in rack and ruin. "

And he departed, making his usual parrot-cry. 

"I'm getting fond of old Gillman, " said Martin sitting up and pickingdead leaves out of his hair; "I like his hawker's cry of Maids, maids, maids!' for all the world as though he had prettygirls to sell, and I like the way he groans regrets over his emptybasket as he goes away. But if I had those wares for market I'd asksuch unfair prices for them that I'd never be out of stock. "

"What's an unfair price for a pretty girl, Master Pippin?" askedJessica. 

"It varies, " said Martin. "Joan I'd not sell for less than an apple, orJoyce for a gold-brown hair. I might accept a blade of grass forJennifer and be tempted by a button for Jane. You, Jessica, I rate ashigh as a saucy answer. "

"Simple fees all, " laughed Joyce. 

"Not so simple, " said Martin, "for it must be the right apple and theparticular hair; only one of all the grass-blades in the world will do, and it must be a certain button or none. Also there are answers andanswers. "

"In that case, " said Jessica, "I'm afraid you've got us all on yourhands for ever. But at what price would you sell Joscelyn?"

"At nothing less, " said Martin, "than a yellow shoe-string. "

Joscelyn stamped her left foot so furiously that her shoe came off. Andlittle Joan, anxious to restore peace, ran and picked it up for her andsaid, "Why, Joscelyn, you've lost your lace! Where can it be?" ButJoscelyn only looked angrier still, and went without answering to setGillian's bread by the Well-House; where she found nothing whatever buta little crust of yesterday's loaf. And surprised out of her vexationshe ran back again exclaiming, "Look, look! as surely as Gillian isfinding her appetite I think she is losing her grief. "

"The argument is as absolute, " said Martin, "as that if we do not soonbreakfast my appetite will become my grief. But those miserable ducks!"

And he snatched the crust from Joscelyn's hand and flung it mightilyinto the pond; where the drake gobbled it whole and the ducks gotnothing. 

And the girls cried "What a shame!" and burst out laughing, all butJoscelyn who said under her breath to Martin, "Give it back at once!"But he didn't seem to hear her, and raced the others gayly to the treewhere they always picnicked; and they all fell to in such good spiritsthat Joscelyn looked from one to another very doubtfully, and suddenlyfelt left out in the cold. And she came slowly and sat down not quitein the circle, and kept her left foot under her all the time. 

As soon as breakfast was over Jennifer sighed, "I wish it weredinner-time. "

"What a greedy wish, " said Martin. 

"And then, " said she, "I wish it were supper-time. "

"Why?" said he. 

"Because it would be nearer to-morrow, " said Jennifer pensively. 

"Do you want it to be to-morrow so much?" asked Martin. And five of themilkmaids cried, "oh, yes!"

"That's better than wanting it to be yesterday, " said Martin, "yet I'malways so pleased with to-day that I never want it to be either. And asfor old time, I read him by a dial which makes it any hour I choose. "

"What dial's that?" asked Joyce. And Martin looked about for aDandelion Clock, and having found one blew it all away with a singlepuff and cried, "One o'clock and dinner-time!"

Then Jennifer got a second puff and blew on it so carefully that shewas able to say, "Seven o'clock and supper-time!"

And then all the girls hastened to get clocks of their own, and maketheir favorite time o'day. 

"When I can't make it come right, " confided little Joan to Martin, "Ipull them off and say six o'clock in the morning. "

"It's a very good way, " agreed Martin, "and six o'clock in the morningis a very good hour, except for lazy lie-abeds. Isn't it?"

"Nancy always looked for me at six of a summer morning, " said littleJoan. 

"Yes, " said Martin, "milkmaids must always turn their cows in beforethe dew's dry. And carters their horses. "

"Sometimes they get so mixed in the lane, " said Joan. 

"I am sure they do, " said Martin. "How glad your cows will be to seeyou all again. "

"Are you certain we shall be out of the orchard to-morrow, MasterPippin?" asked Jane. 

"Heaven help us otherwise, " said he, "for I've but one tale left in myquiver, and if it does not make an end of the job, here we must stayfor the rest of our lives, puffing time away in gossamer. "

Then Jessica, blowing, cried, "Four o'clock! come in to tea!"

And Joyce said, "Twelve o'clock! baste the goose in the oven. "

"Three o'clock! change your frock!" said Jane. 

"Eight o'clock! postman's knock!" said Jennifer. 

"Ten o'clock! to bed, to bed!" cried Jessica again. 

"Nine o'clock!--let me run down the lane for a moment first, " beggedlittle Joan. 

Then Martin blew eighteen o'clock and said it was six o'clock tomorrowmorning. And all the girls clapped their hands for joy--all exceptJoscelyn, who sat quite by herself in a corner of the orchard, andneither blew nor listened. And so they continued to change the hour andthe occupation: now washing, now wringing, now drying; now milking, nowbaking, now mending; now cooking their meal, now eating it; nowstrolling in the cool of the evening, now going to market onmarketing-day:--till by dinner they had filled the morning with a weekof hours, and the air with downy seedlings, as exquisite as crystals offrost. 

At dinner the maids ate very little, and Jessica said, "I think I'mgetting tired of bread. "

"And apples?" said Martin. 

"One never gets tired of apples, " said Jessica, "but I would like tohave them roasted for a change, with cream. Or in a dumpling with brownsugar. And instead of bread I would like plum-cake. "

"What wouldn't I give for a bowl of curds and whey!" exclaimed Joyce. 

"Fruit salad and custard is nice, " sighed Jennifer. 

"I could fancy a lemon cheesecake, " observed Jane, "or a jam tart. "

"I should like bread-and-honey, " said little Joan. "Bread-and-honey'sthe best of all. "

"So it is, " said Martin. 

"You always have to suck your fingers afterwards, " said Joan. 

"That's why, " said Martin. "Quince jelly is good too, and treaclebecause if you're quick you can write your name in it, and pickedwalnuts, and mushrooms, and strawberries, and green salad, and plovers'eggs, and cherries are ripping especially in earrings, and macaroons, and cheesestraws, and gingerbread, and--"

"Stop! stop! stop! stop! stop!" cried the milkmaids. 

"I can hardly bear it myself, " said Martin. "Let's play See-Saw. "

So the maids rolled up a log from one part of the orchard, and Martingot a plank from another part, because the orchard was full of allmanner of things as well as girls and apples, and he straddled one endand said, "Who's first?" And Jessica straddled the other as quick as aboy, and went up with a whoop. But Joyce, who presently turned her off, sat sideways as gay and graceful as a lady in a circus. And Jennifercrouched a little and clung rather hard with her hands, but laughedbravely all the time. And Jane thought she wouldn't, and then shethought she would, and squeaked when she went up and fell off when shecame down, so that Martin tumbled too, and apologized to her earnestlyfor his clumsiness; and while he rubbed his elbows she said it didn'tmatter at all. But little Joan took off her shoes, and with her handsbehind her head stood on the end of the see-saw as lightly as a sunraystanding on a wave, and she looked up and down at Martin, half shylybecause she was afraid she was showing off, and half smiling becauseshe was happy as a bird. And Joscelyn wouldn't play. Then the girlstold Martin he'd had more than his share, and made him get off, andstruggled for possession of the see-saw like Kings of the Castle. AndMartin strolled up to Joscelyn and said persuasively, "It's such fun!"but Joscelyn only frowned and answered, "Give it back to me!" andMartin didn't seem to understand her and returned to the see-saw, andsuggested three a side and he would look after Jane very carefully. Sohe and Jane and Jennifer got on one end, and Jessica, Joyce and Joansat on the other, and screaming and laughing they tossed like a boat ona choppy sea: until Jessica without any warning jumped off her perch inmid-air and destroyed the balance, and down they all camehelter-skelter, laughing and screaming more than ever. But Janereproved Jessica for her trick and said nobody would believe heranother time, and that it was a bad thing to destroy people'sconfidence in you; and Jessica wiped her hot face on her sleeve andsaid she was awfully sorry, because she admired Jane more than anybodyelse in the world. Then Martin looked at the sun and said, "You'vebarely time to get tidy for supper. " So the milkmaids ran off to smooththeir hair and their kerchiefs and do up ribbons and buttons orwhatever else was necessary. And came fresh and rosy to their meal, ofwhich not one of them could touch a morsel, she declared. 

"Dear, dear, dear!" said Martin anxiously. "What's the matter with youall?"

But they really didn't know. They just weren't hungry. So pleasewouldn't he tell them a story?

"This will never do, " said Martin. "I shall have you ill on my hands. An apple apiece, or no story to-night. "

At this dreadful threat Joan plucked the nearest apple she could find, which was luckily a Cox's Pippin. 

"Must I eat it all, Martin?" she asked. (And Joscelyn looked at herquickly with that doubtful look which had been growing on her all day. )

"All but the skin, " said Martin kindly. And taking the apple from herhe peeled it cleverly from bud to stem, and handed her back nothing butthe peel. And she twirled the peel three times round her head, anddropped it in the grass behind her. 

"What is it? what is it?" cried the milkmaids, crowding. 

"It's a C, " said Martin. And he gave Joan her apple, and she ate it. 

Then Joyce came to Martin with a Beauty of Bath, and he peeled it as hehad Joan's, and withheld the fruit until she had performed her rite. And her letter was M. Jennifer brought a Worcester Pearmain, and threwa T. And Jessica chose a Curlytail and made a perfect O. And Jane, whopreferred a Russet, threw her own initial, and Martin said seriously, "You're to be an old maid, Jane. " (And Joscelyn looked at him. ) AndJane replied, "I don't see that at all. There are lots of lots of J's, Martin. " (And Joscelyn looked at her. ) Then Martin turned inquiringlyto Joscelyn, and she said, "I don't want one. " "No stories then, " saidMartin as firm as Nurse at bedtime. And she shook her shouldersimpatiently. But he himself picked her a King of Pippins, the biggestand reddest in the orchard, and peeled it like the rest and gave herthe peel. And very crossly she jerked it thrice round her head, so thatit broke into three bits, and they fell on the grass in the shape of anagitated H. And Martin gave her also her Pippin. 

"But what about your own supper?" said little Joan. 

And Martin, glancing from one to another, gathered a Cox, a Beauty, aPearmain, a Curlytail, a Russet, and a King of Pippins; and he peeledand ate them one after another, and then, one after another, whirledthe parings. And every one of the parings was a J. 

Then, while Martin stood looking down at the six J's among theclover-grass, and the milkmaids looked anywhere else and said nothing:little Joan slipped away and came back with the smallest, prettiest, and rosiest Lady Apple in Gillman's Orchard, and said softly, "Thisone's for you. "

So Martin pared it slenderly, and the peel lay in his hand like aribbon of rose-red silk shot with gold; and he coiled it lightly threetimes round his head and dropped it over his left shoulder. And assuddenly as bubbles sucked into the heart of a little whirlpool, themilkmaids ran to get a look at the letter. But Martin looked first, andwhen the ring of girls stood round about him he put his foot quickly onthe apple-peel and rubbed it into the grass. And without even tastingit he tossed his little Lady Apple right over the wicket, and beyondthe duckpond, and, for all the girls could see, to Adversane. 

Then Jane and Jessica and Jennifer and Joyce and little Joan, as by asingle instinct, each climbed to a bough of the center apple-tree, andleft the swing empty. And Martin sat on his own bough and waited forJoscelyn. And very slowly she came and sat on the swing and saidwithout looking at him:

"We're all ready now. "

"All?" said Martin. And he fixed his eyes on the Well-House, where itmade no difference. 

"Most of us, anyhow, " said Joscelyn; "and whoever isn't readyis--nearly ready. "

"Yet most is not all, and nearly is not quite, " said Martin, "and wouldyou be satisfied if I could only tell you most of my story, and wasobliged to break off when it was nearly done? Alas, with me it must bethe whole or nothing, and I cannot make a beginning unless I can seethe end. "

"All beginnings must have endings, " said Joscelyn, "so begin at once, and the end will follow of itself. "

"Yet suppose it were some other end than I set out for?" said Martin. "There's no telling with these endings that go of themselves. We meanone thing, but they mistake our meaning and show us another. Like thesimple maid who was sent to fetch her lady's slippers and her lady'ssmock, and brought the wrong ones. "

"She must have been some ignorant maid from a town, " said Jane, "if shedid not know lady-smocks and lady's-slippers when she saw them. "

"It was either her mistake or her lady's, " said Martin carelessly. "Youshall judge which. " And he tuned his lute and, still looking at theWell-House, sang:

 The Lady sat in a flood of tears All of her sweet eyes' shedding. "To-morrow, to-morrow the paths of sorrow Are the paths that I'll be treading. " So she sent her lass for her slippers of black, But the careless lass came running back With slippers as bright As fairy gold Or noonday light, That were heeled and soled To dance in at a wedding. 

 The Lady sat in a storm of sighs Raised by her own heart-searching. "To-morrow must I in the churchyard lie Because love is an urchin. " So she sent her lass for her sable frock, But the silly lass brought a silken smock So fair to be seen With a rosy shade And a lavender sheen, That was only made For a bride to come from church in. 

Now as Martin sang, Gillian got first on her elbow, and then on herknees, and last upright on her two feet. And her face was turned fullon the duckpond, and her eyes gazed as though she could see more andfurther than any other woman in the world, and her two hands held herheart as though but for this it must follow her eyes and be lost to herfor ever. 

"So far as I can see, " said Joscelyn, "there's nothing to choosebetween the foolishness of the maid and that of the mistress. But sinceGillian appears to have risen to some sense in it, for goodness' sake, before she sinks back on her own folly, tell us your tale and be donewith it!"

"It is ready now, " said Martin, "from start to finish. Glass is notclearer nor daylight plainer to me than the conclusion of the whole, and if you will listen for a very few instants, you shall see ascertainly as I the ending of The Imprisoned Princess. "

THE IMPRISONED PRINCESS

There was once, dear maidens, a Princess who was kept on an island. 

(Joscelyn: There are no islands in Sussex. 

Martin: This didn't happen in Sussex. 

Joscelyn: But I thought it was a true story. 

Martin: It is the only true story of them all. )

She was kept on the island locked up in a tower, for the best of allthe reasons in the world. She had fallen in love. She had fallen inlove with her father's Squire. So the King banished him for ever andlocked up his daughter in a tower on an island, and had it guarded bysix Gorgons. 

(Joscelyn: It's NOT a true story!

Martin: It IS a true story! If you don't say so at the end I'll giveyou--

Joscelyn: What?--I don't want you to give me anything!

Martin: All right then. 

Joscelyn: What will you give me?

Martin: A yellow shoe-string. )

By six Gorgons (repeated Martin) who had the sharpest claws and thesnakiest hair of any Gorgons there ever were. And their faces--

(Joscelyn: Leave their faces alone!

Martin: You're being a perfect nuisance!

Joscelyn: I simply HATE this story!

Martin: Tell it yourself then!

Joscelyn: What ABOUT their faces?)

Their faces (said Martin) were as beautiful as day and night and thefour seasons of the year. They were so beautiful that I must stoptalking about them or I shall never talk about anything else. So I'dbetter talk about the young Squire, who was a great deal lessinteresting, except for one thing: that he was in love. Which is a bigadvantage to have over Gorgons, who never are. The only othernoteworthy thing about him was that his voice was breaking because hewas merely fifteen years old. He was just a sort of Odd Boy about theKing's court. 

(Martin: Mistress Joscelyn, if you keep on wiggling so much you'll geta nasty tumble. Kindly sit still and let me get on. This isn't a verylong story. )

One morning in April this Squire sat down at the end of the world, andhe sobbed and he sighed like any poor soul; and a sort of wanderingfellow who was going by had enough curiosity to stop and ask him whatwas the matter. And the Squire told him, and added that his heart wasbreaking for longing of the flower that his lady wore in her hair. Sothis fellow said, "Is that all?" And he got into his boat, which had apainted prow, and a light green pennon, and a gilded sail, and calleditself The Golden Truant, and he sailed away a thousand leagues overthe water till he came to the island where the princess was imprisoned;and the six Gorgons came hissing to the shore, and asked him what hewanted. And he said he wanted nothing but to play and sing to them; sothey let him. And while he did so they danced and forgot, and he ran tothe tower and found the Princess with her beautiful head bowed on thewindowsill behind the bars, weeping like January rain. And he climbedup the wall and took from her hair the flower as she wept, in exchangefor another which--which the Squire had sent her. And she whispered aword of sorrow, and he another of comfort, and came away. And theGorgons suspected nothing; except perhaps the littlest Gorgon, and shelooked the other way. 

So in the summer the Squire told the Wanderer that he would surely dieunless he had his lady's ring to kiss; and the fellow went again to theisland. The Gorgons were not sorry to see him, and were willing todance while he played and sang as before; and as before he tookadvantage of their pleasure, and stole the gold ring from thePrincess's hand as she lay in tears behind her bars. But in place ofthe gold ring he left a silver one which had belonged to--to theSquire. And the voice of her despair spoke through her tears, and heanswered it as best he could with the voice of hope. And went away asbefore, leaving the Gorgons dancing. 

Then in the autumn the Squire said to the Wanderer, "Who can live onflowers and rings? If you do not get me my lady herself, let me lie inmy grave. " So the Wanderer set sail for the third time, though he knewthat the dangers and difficulties of this last adventure were supreme;and once more he landed on the island of the Imprisoned Princess. Andthis time the Gorgons even appeared a little pleased to see him, andlet him stay with them six days and nights, telling them stories, andsinging them songs, and inventing games to keep them amused. For he wasvery sorry for them. 

(Joscelyn: Why? Why? Why?

Martin: Because he discovered that they were even unhappier than thePrincess in her tower. 

Joscelyn: It isn't true! It isn't true!

Martin: Look out! you're losing your slipper. )

Of course the Gorgons were unhappier than the Princess. She was onlyparted from her lover; but they were parted from love itself. 

But as the week wore on, miracles happened; for every night one of theGorgons turned into the beautiful girl she used to be before theGoddess of Reason, infuriated with the Irrational God who bestows ongirls their quite unreasonable loveliness, had made her what she was. And night by night the Wanderer rubbed his eyes and wondered if he hadbeen dreaming; for the guardians of the tower no longer hissed, butsighed at love, and instead of claws for the destructions of lovers hadbeautiful kind hands that longed to help them. Until on the sixth nightonly one remained this fellow's enemy. But alas! she was the strongestand fiercest of them all. 

(Joscelyn: How dare you!)

And her case (said Martin) was hopeless, because she alone of them allhad never known what love was, and so had nothing to be restored to. 

(Joscelyn: How DARE you!)

And without her (said Martin) there was nothing to be done. She hadalways had the others under her thumb, and by this time she had theWanderer in exactly the same place. And so--and so--

And so here is your shoe-string, Mistress Joscelyn; and I am sorry thewant of it has been such an inconvenience to you all day, so that youcould not make merry with us. But I must forfeit it now, for the storyis ended, and I think you must own it is true. 

(Joscelyn: I won't take it! The story is NOT true! The story is NOTended! Finish it at once! None of the others ended like this. 

Martin: The others weren't true. 

Joscelyn: I don't care. You are to say what happened to the Gorgons. 

Joyce: And to the Squire. 

Jennifer: And to the Princess. 

Jessica: And what she looked like. 

Jane: And what happened to the King. 

"Please, Martin, " said little Joan, "please don't let the story come toan end before we know what happened to the Wanderer. "

"I'm tired of telling stories, " said Martin, "and I'll never tellanother as long as I live. But I suppose I must add the trimmings tothis one, or I shall get no peace. ")

All these things, dear maidens, are very quickly told, except what thePrincess looked like, for that is impossible. No man ever knew. Henever got further than her eyes, and then he was drowned. But what doesit matter how she looked? She died a thousand years ago of a brokenheart. And her Squire, hearing of her death, died too, a thousandleagues away. And the King her father expired of remorse, and hiscountry went to rack and ruin. And the five kind Gorgons had to pay thepenalty of their regained humanity, and wilted into their maidengraves. Only the Sixth Gorgon lived on for ever and ever. I dare notthink of her solitary eternity. But as for the Wanderer, he is of noimportance. A little while he still went wandering, singing theselovers' sorrows to the world, and what became of him I never knew. 

That's the end. 

And now, dear Mistress Joscelyn, let me lace up your shoe. 

(Joscelyn buried her face in her hands and burst out crying. )

POSTLUDE

PART I

There was consternation in the Apple-Orchard. 

All the milkmaids came tumbling from their perches to run and comforttheir weeping comrade. And as they passed Martin, Joyce cried, "It's ashame!" and Jennifer murmured "How could you?" and Jessica exclaimed"You brute!" and Jane said "I'm surprised at you!" and even little Joanshook her head at him, and, while all the others fondled Joscelyn, andpetted and consoled her, took her hand and held it very tight. But withher other hand she took Martin's and held it just as tight, and lookeda little anxious, with tears in her blue eyes. Yet she looked a littlesmiling too. And there were tears also in the eyes of all themilkmaids, because the story had ended so badly, and because they didnot in the least know what was going to happen, and because a man hadmade one of them cry. And Martin suddenly realized that all these girlswere against him as much as though it were six months ago. And he swunghis feet and looked as though he didn't care, so that Joan knew he wasfeeling rather sheepish inside, and held his hand a little tighter. 

Then Joscelyn, who had the loveliest brown, as Joan had the loveliestblue, eyes in England, lifted her young head and looked at Martin sodefiantly through her tears that he knew she had given up the game atlast; and he pressed Joan's hand for all he was worth, and began tolook ashamed of himself, so that Joan knew he had stopped feelingsheepish in the least. And Joscelyn, in a voice that shook likebirch-leaves, said, "I don't want it to end like that. "

Martin: Dear Mistress Joscelyn, is it my fault? I promised you thetruth, and with your help I have told it. 

Joscelyn: How dare you say it's with my help? If I had my way--!

Martin: You shall have it. We will leave the end of the story in yourhands. 

Joscelyn: I won't have anything to do with it!

Martin: Then I'm afraid it's your fault. 

Joscelyn: That's what a man always says!

Martin: Did he?

Joscelyn: Yes, he did! he said it was Eve's fault. 

Martin: So it was. 

Joscelyn: How dare you!

Martin: He said nothing but the truth. And what did you say?

Joscelyn: I said it was Adam's fault. 

Martin: So it was. YOU said nothing but the truth. 

Joscelyn: How could it be two people's fault?

Martin: How could it be anything else? Oh, Joscelyn! there are twothings in this world that one person alone cannot bring to perfection. And one of them is a fault. It takes two people to make a perfectfault. Eve tempted Adam; and Adam was jolly glad to get tempted if hewas half as sensible as he ought to have been. And Eve knew it. AndAdam let her know it. And if after that she had not tempted him hewould never have forgiven her. When it came to fault-making theyunderstood each other perfectly. And between them they made the mostperfect fault in the world. 

Joscelyn: (after a very long pause): You said there were two things. 

Martin: Two things?

Joscelyn: That one person alone can't bring to perfection. 

Martin: Did I?

Joscelyn: What is the other thing?

Martin: Love. Isn't it?

Joscelyn: How dare you ask me?

Martin: I dare ask more than that. Joscelyn, how old are you?

Joscelyn: I sha'n't tell you. 

Martin: Joscelyn, you are the tallest of the milkmaids, but you can'thelp that. How old are you?

Joscelyn: Mind your own business. 

Martin: Joscelyn, the first three times I saw you, you had your hairdown your back. But ever since I told you my first story you have doneit up, like beautiful dark flowers, on each side of your head. And itis my belief that you have no business to have it up at all. 

Joscelyn (very angrily): How dare you! Of course I have! Am I notnearly sixteen?

Martin: Nearly?

Joscelyn: Well, next June. 

Martin: Oh, Hebe! it's worse than I thought. How dare I? Youwhipper-snapper! How dare YOU have us all under your thumb? How dareYOU play the Gorgon to Gillian? How dare YOU cry your eyes out becausemy lovers had an unhappy ending? Go back to your dolls'-house! Whatdoes sixteen next June know about Adam? What does sixteen next Juneknow about love?

Joscelyn: Everything! how dare you? everything!

Martin: Am I to believe you? Then by all you know, you baby, give methe sixth key of the Well-House!

And he took from his pocket the five keys he already had, and held outhis hand for the last one. Joscelyn's eyes grew bigger and bigger, andthe doubt that had troubled her all day became a certainty as shelooked from the keys to her comrades, who all got very red and hungtheir heads. 

"Why did you give them up?" demanded Joscelyn. 

"Because, " Martin answered for them, "they know everything about love. But then they are all more than sixteen years of age, and capable ofmaking the right sort of ending which is so impossible to children likeyou and me. "

Then Joscelyn looked as old as she could and said, "Not so impossible, Master Pippin, if--if--"

But all of a sudden she began to laugh. It was the first time Martinhad ever heard her laugh, or her comrades for six months. Their facescleared like magic, and they all clapped their hands and ran away. AndMartin got down from his bough, because when Joscelyn laughed shedidn't look more than fourteen. 

"If what, Joscelyn?" he said. 

"If you'd stolen the right shoe-string, Martin, " said she. And shestuck out her right foot with its neatly-laced yellow slipper. ThenMartin knelt down, and instead of lacing the left shoe unlaced theright one, and inside the yellow slipper found the sixth key just underthe instep. "Is that the right ending?" said Joscelyn. And Martin heldthe little foot in his hands rubbing it gently, and saidcompassionately, "It must have been dreadfully uncomfortable. "

"It was sometimes, " said Joscelyn. 

"Didn't it hurt?" asked Martin, beginning to lace up her shoes for her. 

"Now and then, " said Joscelyn. 

"It was an awfully kiddish place to hide it in, " said Martin finishing, and as he looked up Joscelyn laughed again, rubbing her tear-stainedcheeks with the back of her hand, and for all the great growing girlthat she was looked no more than twelve. So he slid under the swing andstood up behind her and kissed her on the back of the neck where babiesare kissed. 

Then all the milkmaids came back again. 

PART II

To every girl Martin handed her key. "This is your business, " said he. And first Joan, and next Joyce, and then Jennifer, and then Jessica, and then Jane, and last of all Joscelyn, put her key into its lock andturned. And not one of the keys would turn. They bit their lips andheld their breath, and turned and turned in vain. 

"This is dreadful, " said Martin. "Are you sure the keys are in theright keyholes?"

"They all fit, " said little Joan. 

"Let me try, " said Martin. And he tried, one after another, and thentried each key singly in each lock, but without result. Jane said, "Iexpect they've gone rusty, " and Jessica said, "That must be it, " andJennifer turned pale and said, "Then Gillian can never get out of theWell-House or we out of the orchard. " And Martin sat down in the swingand thought and thought. As he thought he began to swing a little, andthen a little more, and suddenly he cried "Push me!" and the six girlscame behind him and pushed with all their strength. Up he went with hislegs pointed as straight as an arrow, and back he flew and up again. The third time the swing flew clean over the Well-House, and as true asa diving gannet Martin dropped from mid-air into the little court, andstood face to face with Gillian. 

PART III

She was not weeping. She was bathed in blushes and laughter. She heldout her hands to him, and Martin took them. She had golden hair oflights and shadows like a wheatfield that fell in two thick plaits overher white gown, and she had gray eyes where smiles met you like aninvitation, but you had to learn later that they were really a littleguard set between you and her inward tenderness, and that her gayety, like a will-o'-the-wisp, led you into the flowery by-ways of her spiritwhere fairies played, but not to the heart of it where angels dwelled. Few succeeded in surprising her behind her bright shield, but sometimeswhen she wasn't thinking it fell aside, and what men saw then tooktheir breath from them, for it was as though they were falling throughendless wells of infinite sweetness. And afterwards they could havetold you nothing further of her loveliness; when they got as far as hereyes they were drowned. Her features, the curves of her cheeks and lipsand chin and delicate nostrils, were as finely-turned as the edge of awild-rose petal, and her skin had the freshness of dew. The sight ofher brought the same sense of delight as the sight of a meadow ofcowslips. As sweet and sunny a scent breathed out from her beauty. 

But all this Martin only felt without seeing, for he was drowned. Gillian, I suppose, wasn't thinking. So they held each other's handsand looked at each other. 

Presently Martin said, "It's time now, Gillian, and you can go. "

"Yes, Martin, " said Gillian. "How shall I go?"

"As I came, " said he. 

"Before I go, " said she, "I am going to ask you a question. You haveasked my friends a lot of questions these six nights, which they haveanswered frankly, and you have twisted their answers round your littlefinger. Now you must answer my question as frankly. "

"And what will you do?" asked Martin. 

"I won't twist your answer, " said Gillian gently. "I'll take it forwhat it is worth. You have been laughing up your sleeve a little at myfriends because, having a quarrel with men, they were sworn to livesingle. But you live single too. Tell me, if you please, what is yourquarrel with girls?"

Martin dropped her hands until he held each by the little finger only, and then he answered, "That they are so much too good for us, Gillian. "

"Thank you, Martin, " said Gillian, taking her hands away. "And nowplease ask them to send over the swing, for it is time for me to go toAdversane. " And as she spoke the light played over her eyes again andfloated him up to the surface of things where he could swim withoutdrowning. He saw now the flowers of her loveliness, but no longer thedeeps of those gray pools where the light shimmered between herself andhim. So he turned and climbed to the pent roof of the Well-House, andlooked towards the group of shadows clustered under the apple-treearound the swing; and they understood and launched it through the air, and he caught it as it came. And Gillian in a moment was up beside him. 

"Are you ready?" said Martin. 

"Yes, " she answered getting on the swing, "thank you. And thank you foreverything. Thank you for coming three times this year. Thank you forthe stories. Thank you for giving their happiness again to my darlingfriends. Thank you for all the songs. Thank you for drying my tears. "

"Are they all dried up?" said Martin. 

"All, " said Gillian. 

"If they were not, " said he, "you shall find Herb-Robert growing alongthe roadside, and the Herbman himself in Adversane. "

And holding the swing fast as he sat on the roof, Martin sang her hislast song, not very loud, but so clearly that the shadows under theapple-tree heard every note and syllable. 

 Good morrow, good morrow, dear Herbman Robert! Good morrow, sweet sir, good morrow! Oh, sell me a herb, good Robert, good Robert, To cure a young maid of her sorrow. 

 And hath her sorrow a name, sweet sir? No lovelier name or purer, With its root in her heart and its flower in her eyes, Yet sell me a herb shall cure her. 

 Oh, touch with this rosy herb of spring Both heart and eyes when she's sleeping, And joy will come out of her sorrowing, And laughter out of her weeping. 

"Good-by, Martin. "

"Good-by, Gillian. "

"I want to ask you a lot more questions, Martin. "

"Off you go!" cried he. And let the swing fly. Back it came. 

"Martin! why didn't--"

"Jump when you're clear!" called Martin. But back it came. 

"Why didn't the young Squire in the story--"

"Jump this time!" And back it came. 

"--come to fetch her himself, Martin?"

"Jump!" shouted Martin; and shut his eyes and put his hands over hisears. But it was no use; again and again he felt the rush of air, andquestions falling through it like shooting-stars about his head. 

"Martin! what was the name on the eighth floret of grass?"

"Martin! what was the letter you threw with the Lady-peel?"

"Martin! why is my silver ring all chased with little apples?"

"Martin! do you--do you--do you--?"

"Shall I never be rid of this swing?" cried Martin. "Jump, younuisance, jump when I tell you!"

And she jumped, and was caught and kissed among the shadows. 

"Gillian!"

"Gillian!"

"Gillian!"

"Gillian!"

"Gillian!"

"Dear Gillian!"

And then like a golden wave and she the foam, they bore her over themoonlit grass to the green wicket, and they threw it open, and she wentlike a skipping stone across the duckpond and over the fields toAdversane. 

When she had vanished Martin slid down the roof, walked across to thecoping, put one leg over, and stepped out of the Well-House. 

PART IV

The six milkmaids were waiting for him in the apple-tree--no; Joscelynwas in the swing. 

"And so, " said Martin, sitting down on the bough, "on the sixth nightthe sixth Gorgon also became a maiden as lovely as her fellows, andgave the Wanderer the sixth key to the Tower. And they let out thePrincess and set her in The Golden Truant, and she sailed away to herSquire a thousand leagues over the water. And everybody lived happilyever after. "

"What a beautiful story!" said Jane. And they all thought so too. 

"I knew from the first, " said Joscelyn, "that it would have a happyending. "

"And so did I, " said Joyce. 

"And I, " said Jennifer, "And I, " said Jessica, "And I, " said Jane and

"And I, " said little Joan. 

"The verdict is passed, " said Martin. "And look! over our heads hangsthe moon, as round and beautiful as a penny balloon, with an eye aswide awake as a child's at six in the morning. If she will not go tosleep in heaven to-night, why on earth should we? Let's have a party!"

The girls looked at one another in amazement and delight. "A party?Oh!" cried they. "But who will give it?"

"I will, " said Martin. 

"And who will come to it?"

"Whoever luck sends us, " said Martin. "But we'll begin with ourselves. Joan and Joyce and Jennifer and Jessica and Jane and Joscelyn, will youcome to my party in the Apple-Orchard?"

"Yes, thank you, Martin!" cried they. And ran away to change. But theonly change possible was to take the kerchiefs off their white necks, and the shoes and stockings off their little feet, and let down theirpretty hair. So they did these things, and made wreaths for oneanother, and posies for their yellow dresses. And it is time for you toknow that Jennifer's dress was primrose and Jane's cowslip yellow, andthat Joyce looked like buttercups and Jessica like marigolds; andJoscelyn's was the glory of the kingcups that rise like magic goldenisles above the Amberley floods in May. But little Joan had not beenable to decide between the two yellows that go to make wild daffodils, so she had them both. Under their flowerlike skirts their white anklesand rosy heels moved as lightly as windflowers swaying in the grass. And just when they were ready they heard Martin Pippin's lute under theapple-tree, so they came to the party dancing. Round and round the treethey danced in the moonlight till they were out of breath. But whenthey could dance no more they stood stock still and stared withoutspeaking; for spread under the trees was such a feast as they had notseen for months and months. 

In the middle was a great heap of apples, red and brown and green andgold; but besides these was a dish of roasted apples and another ofapple dumplings, and between them a bowl of brown sugar and a fullpitcher of cream. The cream had spilled, and you could see where Martinhad run his finger up the round of the pitcher to its lip, where onedrip lingered still. Near these there was a plum-cake of the sort ourgrannies make. It is of these cakes we say that twenty men could notput their arms round them. There were nuts in it too, and spices. Andthere was a big basin of curds and whey, and a bigger one of fruitsalad, and another of custard; and plates of jam tarts and lemoncheesecakes and cheesestraws and macaroons; and gingerbread in cakesand also in figures of girls and boys with caraway comfits for eyes, and a unicorn and a lion with gilded horn and crown; and pots of honeyand quince jelly and treacle; and mushrooms and pickled walnuts andgreen salads. Even Mr. Ringdaly did not provide a bigger feast when hemarried Mrs. Ringdaly. For there were also all the best sorts of sweetsin the world: sugar-candy on a string, and twisted barley-sticks, andbulls'-eyes, and peardrops, and licorice shoe-strings, and TurkishDelight, and pink and white sugar mice; besides these there wassherbet, not to drink of course, but to dip your finger in. There werea good many other things, but these were what the milkmaids took in ata glance. 

"OH!" cried six voices at once. "Where did they come from?"

"Through the gap, " said Martin. 

"But who brought them?"

"Don't ask me, " said Martin. 

At first the girls were rather shy--you can't help that at parties. Butas they ate (and you know what each ate first) they got more and moreat their ease, and by the time they were licking their sticky fingerswere in the mood for any game. So they played all the best games thereare, such as "Cobbler! Cobbler!" (Joscelyn's shoe), and Hunt theThimble (Jane's thimble), and Mulberry Bush, and Oranges and Lemons, and Nuts in May. And in Nuts in May Martin insisted on being a side allby himself, and one after another he fetched each girl away from herside to his. And Joan came like a bird, and Joyce pretended tostruggle, and Jennifer had no fight in her at all, and Jessica reallytried, and Jane didn't like it because it was undignified and so rough. But when Joscelyn's turn came to be fetched as she stood all alone onher side deserted by her supporters, she put her hands behind her back, and jumped over the handkerchief of her own accord, and walked up toMartin and said, "All right, you've won. " For when it comes to fetchingaway it is a game that boys are better at than girls. 

"In that case, " said Martin, "it's time for Hide-and-Seek. " And he satdown on the swing and shut his eyes. 

At the same moment the moon went behind a cloud. 

And as he waited a light drop fell on Martin's cheek, and another, andanother, like the silent weeping of a girl; so that he couldn't helpopening his eyes quickly and looking by instinct toward the emptyWell-House. It was still empty, for wherever the girls had hiddenthemselves, it was not there. 

Then through the shadowed raining orchard a low voice called "Cuckoo!"and "Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" called another. And softly, clearly, laughingly, mockingly, defiantly, teasingly, sweetly, caressingly, "Cuckoo! Cuckoo!Cuckoo!" they called on every side. Martin stood up and stole among thetrees. At first he went quietly, but soon he ran and darted. And nevera girl could he find. For this after all is the game that girls arebetter at than boys, and when it comes to hiding if they will not befound they will not. And if they will they will. But their will was notfor Martin Pippin. Through the pattering moonless orchard he huntedthem in vain; and the place was full of slipping shadows and whispers. And every now and then those cuckooing milkmaids called him, sometimesat a distance, sometimes at his very ear. But he could not catch asingle one. 

And now it seemed to Martin that there were more of these elusiveshadows than he could have believed, and whisperings that neededaccounting for. 

For once he heard somebody whisper, "Oh, you were right! the world ISflat--for six months it's been as flat as a pancake!" And a secondvoice whispered, "Then I was wrong! for pancakes are round. " And Martinsaid to himself, "That's Joyce!" but the first voice he couldn'trecognize. And then followed a sound that was not exactly a whisper, yet not exactly unlike one; and Martin darted towards it, but touchedonly air. 

And again he heard a mysterious voice whisper, "How could you keepyourself so secret all these months? I couldn't have. However can girlskeep secrets so long?" And the answer was, "They can't keep them asingle instant if you come and ask them--but you didn't come!" "What afool I was!" whispered the first voice, but whose Martin could not forthe life of him imagine. Yet he was sure that the other was Jennifer's. And again he heard that misleading sound which seemed to be something, yet, when he sought it, was nothing. 

And now he heard another unknown whisperer say, "You should have seenmy drills in the wheatfield last April! How the drill did wobble! Why, I was that upset, any girl could have thrown straighter than I drilledthat wheat. " And a second whisperer replied, "It MUST have been asight, then, for girls throw crookeder than swallows fly!" This wassurely Jessica; but who was the first speaker?

He was as strange to Martin as another one who whispered, "It was thesilence got on my nerves most--it was having nobody to listen to of anevening. Of course there were the lads, but they never talk to thepoint. " "I often fear, " whispered a second voice, "that I talk too muchat random. " "Good Lord! you couldn't, if you talked for ever!" Each ofthese two cases ended as the first two had ended; and for Martin in aslittle result. 

He hastened to another part of the orchard where the whispers werefalling fast and fierce. "It was Adam's fault after all!" "No, I'vefound out that it was Eve's fault!" "But I've been looking it up. " "AndI've been thinking it over. " "Rubbish! it WAS Adam's fault. " "It wasNOT Adam's fault. What can a stupid little boy know about it?" "I'm amonth older than you are. " "I don't care if you are. It was Eve'sfault. " "Well, don't make a fuss if it was. " "Wasn't it?" "Stuff!""WASN'T it?" "Oh, all right, if you like, it was Eve's fault. " "Here'san apple for you, " said Joscelyn quite distinctly. "Oh, ripping! butI'd rather have a--" "Sh-h! RUN!" Martin was just too late. "Ratherhave a what?" said Martin to himself. 

He was beginning to feel lonely. His hair was wet with rain. He hadn'tseen a milkmaid for an hour. He prowled low in the grass hoping tocatch one unawares. In the swing he saw a shadow--or was it twoshadows? It looked like one. And yet--

One half of the shadow whispered, "Do you like my new corduroys?" "Everso much, " whispered the other half. "I'm rather bucked about themmyself, " whispered the first half, "or ought I to say about IT?" "Ithink it's them, " said the second half. The first half reflected, "Itmight be either one thing or two. But arithmetic's a nuisance--I neverwas good at it. " The second half confessed, "I always have to guess atit myself. I'm only really sure of one bit. " "Which bit's that?"whispered the first half, and the second half whispered, "That one andone make two. " "Oh, you darling! of course they don't, and never didand never will. " "Well, I don't really mind, " said little Joan. Andthen there was a pause in which the two shadows were certainly one, until the second half whispered, "Oh! oh, you've shaved it off!" Andthis delighted the first half beyond all bounds; because even in thecircumstances it was clever of the second half to have noticed it. 

But Martin could bear no more. He sprang forward crying "Joan!"--and hegrasped the empty swing. And round the orchard he flew, his handsbefore him, calling now "Joyce!" now "Jane!" now "Jessica!" "Jennifer!""Joscelyn!" and again "Joan! Joan! Joan!" And all his answer wasrustlings and shadows and whispers, and faint laughter like far-awayechoes, and empty air. 

All of a sudden the light rain stopped and the moon came out of hercloud. And Martin found himself standing beside the Well-House, andnobody near him. He gazed all around at the familiar things, theapple-trees, the swing, the green wicket, the broken feast in thegrass. And then at the far end of the orchard he saw an unfamiliarthing. It was a double ladder, arched over the hawthorn. And up theladder, like a golden shaft of the moon, went six quick girls, andahead of each her lad. * And on the topmost rung each took his milkmaidby the hand and vanished over the hedge. 

Martin Pippin was left alone in the Apple-Orchard. 

*It is not important, but their names were Michael, Tom, Oliver, John, Henry, and Charles. And Michael had dark hair and light lashes, and Tomfreckles and a snub-nose, and Oliver a mole on his left cheek, and Johnfine red-gold hair on his bronzed skin; and Henry was merely theOdd-Job Boy whose voice was breaking, so he imagined that it was healone who ran the farm. But Charles was a dear. He had a tuft of whitehair at the back of his dark head, like the cotton-tail of a rabbit, and as well as corduroy breeches he wore a rabbit-skin waistcoat, andhe was a great nuisance to gamekeepers, who called him a poacher;whereas all he did was to let the rabbits out of the snares when it waskind to, and destroy the snares. And he used the bring "bunny-rabbits"(which other people call snapdragons) of the loveliest colors to plantin the little garden known as Joan's Corner. I should like to tell youmore about Charles (but there isn't time) because I am fond of him. IfI hadn't been I shouldn't have let him have Joan. 

EPILOGUE

At cockcrow came the call which in that orchard was now as familiar asthe rooster's. 

"Maids! Maids! Maids!"

Martin Pippin was leaning over the green wicket throwing jam tarts tothe ducks. Because in the Well-House Gillian had not left so much as acrumb. But when he heard Old Gillman's voice, he flicked a bull's-eyeat the drake, getting it very accurately on the bill, and walked acrossto the gap. 

"Good morning, master, " said Martin cheerfully. "Pray how does Lemon, Joscelyn's Sussex, fare?"

Old Gillman put down his loaves with great deliberation, and spent afew minutes taking Martin in. Then he answered, "There's scant milk toa Sussex, and allus will be. And if there was not, there'd be none toJoscelyn's Lemon. And if there was, it would take more than Henry todraw it. And so that's you, is it?"

"That's me, " said Martin Pippin. 

"Well, " said Old Gillman, "I've spent the best of six mornings tryingnot to see ye. And has my daughter taken the right road yet?"

"Yes, master, " said Martin, "she has taken the road to Adversane. "

"Which SHE'S spent the best of six months trying not to see, " said OldGillman. "Women's a nuisance. Allus for taking the long cut round. "

"I've known many a short cut, " said Martin, "to end in a blind alley. "

"Well, well, so long as they gets there, " grunted Gillman. "And what'sthis here?"

"A pair of steps, " said Martin. 

"What for?" said Gillman. 

"Milkmaids and milkmen, " said Martin. 

"So they maids have cut too, have they?"

"It was a full moon, you see. "

"I dessay. But if they'd gone by the stile they could have hopped it inthe dark six months agone, " said Old Gillman. And he got over thestile, which was the other way into the orchard and has not beenmentioned till now, and came and clapped Martin on the shoulder. 

"Women's more trouble, " said he, "than they're worth. "

"They're plenty of trouble, " said Martin; "I've never discovered yetwhat they're worth. "

"We'll not talk of em more. Come up to the house for a drink, boy, "said Old Gillman. 

Martin said pleasantly, "You can drink milk now, master, to yourheart's content. Or even water. " And he walked over to the Well-House, and pointed invitingly to the bucket. 

Old Gillman followed him with one eye open. "It's too late for that, boy. When you've turned toper for six months, after sixty sober years, it'll take you another six to drop the habit. That's what thesedaughters do for their dads. But we'll not talk of em. " He stoodbeside Martin and stared down at the padlock. "How did the pretty go?"

"In the swing, like a swift. "

"Why not through the gate like a gal?"

"The keys wouldn't turn. "

"Which way?"

"The right way. "

"You should ha' tried em the wrong way, boy. "

"That would have locked it, " said Martin. 

"Azactly, " said Old Gillman; and slipped the padlock from the stapleand put it in his pocket. "Come along up now. "

Martin followed him through the orchard and the paddock and the gardenand the farmyard to the house. He noticed that everything was in thepink of condition. But as he passed the stables he heard the cowslowing badly. 

The farm-kitchen was a big one. It had all the things that go to makethe best farm-kitchens: such as red bricks and heavy smoke-blackenedbeams, and a deep hearth with a great fire on it and settles inside, from which one could look up at the chimney-shaft to the sky, and claypipes and spills alongside, and a muller for wine or beer; and hams andsides of bacon and strings on onions and bunches of herbs; much pewter, and a copper warming-pan, and brass candlesticks, and a grandfatherclock; a cherrywood dresser and wheelback chairs polished with age; anda great scrubbed oaken table to seat a harvest-supper, planed from asingle mighty plank. It was as clean as everything else in that goodroom, but all the scrubbing would not efface the circular stainswherever men had sat and drunk; and that was all the way round and inthe middle. There were mugs and a Toby jug upon it now. Old Gillmanfilled two of the mugs, and lifted one to Martin, and Martin echoed theaction like a looking-glass. And they toasted each other in good AuditAle. 

"Well, " said Old Gillman stuffing his pipe, "it's been a peaceful time, and now us must just see how things go. "

"They look shipshape enough at the moment, " said Martin. 

"Ah, " said Old Gillman shaking his head, "that's the lads. They're goodlads when you let em alone. But what it'll be now they maids getmeddling again us can't foretell. It were bad enough afore, wi' theirquarrelsomeness and their shilly-shally. It sends all things to rackand ruin. "

"What does?" said Martin. 

"This here love. " Old Gillman refilled his mug. "We'll not talk of it. She were a handy gal afore Robin began unmaking her mind along of hisown. Lord! why can't these young things be plain and say what theywant, and get it? Wasn't I plain wi' her mother?"

"Were you?" said Martin. 

"Ah, worse luck!" said Gillman, "and me a happy bachelor as I was. Whatdid I want wi' a minx about the place?" He filled his mug again. 

"What do any of us?" said Martin. "These women are the deuce. "

"They are, " said Gillman. "We'll not talk of em. "

"There are a thousand better things to talk of, " agreed Martin. "Thereis Sloe Gin. "

Old Gillman's eye brightened. "Ah!" said Old Gillman, and puffed at hispipe. "Her name, " he said, "was Juniper, but as oft as not I'd call herJune, for she was like that. A rose in the house, boy. Maybe you thinkmy Jill has her share of looks? She has her mother's leavings, let metell ye. So you may judge. But what's this Robin to dilly-dally withher daughter, till the gal can't sleep o' nights for wondering will hespeak in the morning or will he be mum? And so she becomes worse thanno use in kitchen and dairy, and since sickness is catching the maidsfollow suit. It's all off and on wi' them and their lads. In themorning they will, in the evening they won't. Ah, twas a tarriblelife. And all along o' Robin Rue. Young man, the farm, I tell ye, wasgoing to fair rack and ruin. "

"You seem to have found a remedy, " said Martin. 

"If they silly maids couldn't make up their minds, " said Old Gillman, "there was nothing for it but to turn em out neck and crop till theylearned what they wanted. And Robin into the bargain. He's no betterthan a maid when it comes to taking the bull by the horns. Yet that'sthe man's part, mark ye. Don't I know? Smockalley she come from, theRose of Smockalley they called her, for a Rose in June she were. Thereweren't a lass to match her south of Hagland and north of Roundabout. And the lads would ha' died for her from Picketty to Chiltington. Buttwas a Billinghurst lad got her, d'ye see?" Old Gillman filled his mug. 

"How did that come about?" asked Martin, filling his. 

"All along o' the Murray River. "

"WHAT'S that!" said Martin Pippin. But Old Gillman thought he said, "What's THAT?"

"'Tis the biggest river in Sussex, young man, and the littlest known, and the fullest of dangers, and the hardest to find; because nobody'sever found it yet but her and me. And she'd sworn to wed none but himas could find it with her. Don't I remember the day! Twas the day theCarrier come, and that was the day o' the week for us folk then. He hada blue wagon, had George, with scarlet wheels and a green awning; andhis horse was a red-and-white skewbald and jingled bells on its bridle. A small bandy-legged man was George, wi' a jolly face and a squint, andas he drives up he toots on a tin trumpet wi' red tassels on it. Didn'tit bring the crowd running! and didn't the crowd bring HIM to astandstill, some holding old Scarlet Runner by the bridle, and othersstanding on the very axles. And the hubbub, young man! It was Where'smy six yards of dimity?' from one, and Have you my coral necklace?'from another. Where's my bag of comfits? where's my hundreds andthousands?' from the children; and I can't wait for my ivory fan?''My bandanna hanky!' My two ounces of snuff!' My guitar!' My clogs!''My satin dancing-shoes!' My onion-seed!' My new spindle!' Myfiddle-bow!' 'My powder-puff!' And some little 'un would lisp, 'I'msure you've forgotten my blue balloon!' And then they'd cry, one-and-all, in a breath, George! what's the news?' And he'd say, 'Give a body elbow-room!' and handing the packages right and leftwould allus have something to tell. But on this day he says, News?There BE no news excepting THE News. ' 'And what's THE News?' criesone-and-all. 'Why, ' says George, 'that the Rose of Smockalley consentsto be wed at last. ' The Rose!' they cries, and me the loudest, 'towhom?' To him, ' says George, as can find her the Murray River. For asailor come by last Tuesday wi' a tale o' the Murray River where he'dbeen wrecked and seen wonders; and a woman tormented by curiosity willgo as far as a man tormented by love. And so she's willing to be wed atlast. But she's liker to die a maid. ' Then I ups and asks why. AndGeorge he says, For that the sailor breathed such perils that thelasses was taken wi' the trembles and the lads with the shudders. For, he says, the river's haunted by spirits, and a mystery at the end of itwhich none has ever come back from. And no man dares hazard so dark anddangerous an adventure, even for love of the Rose. ' That pricks a man'spride to hear, boy, and Shame, ' says I, on all West Sussex if that beso. Here be one man as is ready, and here be fifty others. What d'ye say, lads?' But Lord! as I looks from one to another they trickles away likesand through an hourglass, and before we knows it me and George has theroad to ourselves. So he says, I must be getting on to Wisboro', butfirst I'll deliver ye your baggage. ' You've no baggage o' mine, ' says I. 'Yes, if you'll excuse me, ' says he; and wi' that he parts the greenawning and says, There she be. ' And there she were, sitting on abarrel o' cider. "

"What was she like to look at?" asked Martin. 

"Yaller hair and gray eyes, " said Gillman. "And me a bachelor. "

"It was hopeless, " said Martin. 

"It were, " said Old Gillman. "And it were the end o' my peace of life. She looks me straight in the eye and she says, Juniper's my name, butI'm June to them as loves me. And June I'll be to you. For I havetraveled his rounds wi' this Carrier for a week, and sat behind hiscurtain while he told men my wishes. And you be the only one of themall as is willing to do a difficult thing for an idle whim, if what isthe heart's desire can ever be idle. So I will sit behind the curtainno longer, and if you will let me I will follow you to the ends ofSussex till the Murray River be found, or we be dead. ' And I saysJump, lass!' and down she jumps and puts up her mouth. " Gillman filledhis mug. 

Martin filled his. "Well, " said he, "a man must take his bull by thehorns. And did you ever succeed in finding the Murray River?"

"Wi' a child's help. It can only be found by a child's help. Tis thechild's river of all Sussex. Any child can help you to it. "

"Yes, " said Martin, "and all children know it. "

Old Gillman put down his mug. "Do YOU know it, boy?"

"I live by it, " said Martin Pippin, "when I live anywhere. "

"Do children play in it still?" asked Gillman. 

"None but children, " said Martin Pippin. "And above all the child whichboys and girls are always rediscovering in each other's hearts, evenwhen they've turned gray in other folks' sight. And at the end of it isa mystery. "

"She were a child to the end, " said Old Gillman. "A fair nuisance, soshe were. And Jill takes after her. "

"Well, SHE'S off your hands anyhow, " said Martin getting up. "She's tobe some other body's nuisance now, and your maids have come back totheir milking. "

"Ah, have they?" grunted Gillman. "The lads did it better. And theycooked better. And they cleaned better. There is nothing men cannot dobetter than women. "

"I know it, " said Martin Pippin, "but it would be unkind to let on. "

"Then we'll wash our hands of em. But don't go, boy, " said OldGillman. "Talking of Sloe Gin--"

Martin sat down again. 

They talked of Sloe Gin for a very long time. They did not agree aboutit. They got out some bottles to see if they could not manage to agree. Martin thought one bottle hadn't enough sugar-candy in it, so they putin some more; and Old Gillman thought another bottle hadn't enough ginin it, so they also put in some more. But they couldn't get it right, though they tried and tried. Old Gillman thought it should be filtereddrop by drop seventy times through seven hundred sheets ofblotting-paper, but Martin thought seven hundred times through seventysheets was better; and Martin thought it should then be kept for seventhousand years, but Old Gillman thought seven years sufficient. Butneither of these points had ever been really proved, and was not thatday. 

After this, as they couldn't reach an agreement, they changed thesubject to rum punch, and argued a good deal as to the right quantitiesof lemon and sugar and nutmeg; and whether it was or was not improvedby the addition of brandy, and how much; and an orange or so, and howmany; and a tangerine, if you had it; and a tot of gin, if you had itleft. Yet in this case too the most repeated practice proved asinadequate as the most confirmed theory. 

So after a bit Old Gillman said, "This is child's play, boy. After all, there's but one drink for kings and men. Give us a song over our cup, and I'll sing along o' ye. "

"Right, " said Martin, "if you can fetch me the only cup worthy to singover. "

"What cup's that, boy?"

"What but a kingcup?" said Martin. 

"A king once drank from this, " said Gillman, fetching down a goblet asgolden as ale. "He looked like a shepherd, and had a fold just acrossthe road, but he was a king for all that. So strike up. "

"After me, then, " said Martin; and they pushed the cup between them, and the song too. 

Martin: What shall we drink of when we sup?

Gillman: What d'ye say to the King's own cup?

Martin: What's the drink?

Gillman: What d'ye think?

Martin: Farmer, say! Water?

Gillman: Nay!

Martin: Wine?

Gillman: Aye!

Martin: Red wine?

Gillman: Fie!

Martin: White wine?

Gillman: No!

Martin: Yellow wine?

Gillman: Oh!

Martin: What in fine, What wine then?

Gillman: The only wine That's fit for men Who drink of the King's Cup when they dine, And that is the Old Brown Barley Wine!

 From This I'll drink ye high, Point I I'll drink ye low, Don't Know Till the stars run dry Which Of Of their juices oh! Them Was I'll drink ye up, Singing; I'll drink ye down, And No More Till the old moon's cup Did They: Is cracked all round, And the pickled sun Jumps out of his brine, And you cry Done! To the Barley Wine. Come, boy, sup! Come, fill up! Here's King's own drink for the King's own cup!

What happened after this I really don't know. For I was not there, though I should like to have been. 

I only know that when Martin Pippin stepped out of Gillman's Farm withhis lute on his back, Old Gillman was fast asleep on the settle. ButMartin had never been wider awake. 

It was late in the afternoon. There was no sign of human life anywhere. In their stables the cows were lowing very badly. 

"Oh, maids, maids, maids!" sighed Martin Pippin. "Rack and ruin, mydears, rack and ruin!"

And he fetched the milkpails and went into the stalls, and did themilkmaids' business for them. And Joyce's Blossom, and Jennifer'sDaisy, and Jessica's Clover stood as still for him as they stand in theshade of the willows on Midsummer Day. And Jane's Nellie whisked hertail over his mouth, but seemed sorry afterwards. And Joscelyn's Lemonkicked the bucket and would not let down her milk till he sang to her, and then she gave in. But little Joan's little Jersey Nancy, with hersoft dark eyes, and soft dun sides, and slender legs like a deer's, licked his cheek. And this was Martin's milking-song. 

 You Milkmaids in the hedgerows, Get up and milk your kine! The satin Lords and Ladies Are all dressed up so fine, But if you do not skim and churn How can they dine? Get up, you idle Milkmaids, And call in your kine. 

 You milkmaids in the hedgerows, You lazy lovely crew, Get up and churn the buttercups And skim the milkweed, do! But the Milkmaids in their country prints And faces washed with dew, They laughed at Lords and Ladies And sang "Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" And if you know their reason I'm not so wise as you. 

When he had done, Martin carried the pails to the dairy and turned hisback on Gillman's. For his business there was ended. So he went out atthe gate and lifted his face to the Downs. 

It was a lovely evening. Half the sky was clear and blue, and the otherhalf full of silky gold clouds--they wanted to be heavy and wet, butthe sun was having such fun on the edge of the Downs, somewhere aboutDuncton, that they had to be gold in spite of themselves. 

CONCLUSION

One evening at the end of the first week in September, Martin Pippinwalked along the Roman Road to Adversane. And as he approached he saidto himself, "There are many sweet corners in Sussex, but few sweeterthan this, and I thank my stars that I have been led to see it once inmy life. "

While he was thanking his stars, which were already in the sky waitingfor the light to go out and give them a chance, he heard the sound ofweeping. It came from the malthouse, which is the most beautifulbuilding in Sussex. So persistent was it that after he had listened toit for six minutes it seemed to Martin that he had been listening to itfor six months, and for one moment he believed himself to be sitting inan orchard with his eyes shut, and warm tears from heaven falling onhis face. But knowing himself to be too much given to fancies hedecided to lay those ghosts by investigation, and he went up to themalthouse and looked inside. 

There he found a young man flooring the barley. As he turned andre-turned it with his spade he wept so copiously above it that he wasfrequently obliged to pause and wipe away his tears with his arm, forhe could no longer see the barley he was spreading. When the maltsterhad interrupted himself thus for the third occasion, Martin Pippinconcluded that it was time to address him. 

"Young master, " said Martin, "the bitters that are brewed from yourbarley will need no adulterating behind the bar, and that's flat. "

The maltster leaned on his spade to reply. 

"There are no waters in all the world, " said he, "plentiful enough toadulterate the bitterness of my despair. "

"Then I would preserve these rivers for better sport, " said Martin. "And if memory plays me no tricks, your name was once Robin Rue. "

"And Rue it will be to my last hour, " said Robin, "for a man can nomore escape from his name than from his nature. "

"Men, " observed Martin, "have been in this respect worse served thanwomen. And when will Gillian Gillman change her name?"

"No sooner than I, " sighed Robin Rue; "a maid she must die, as I abachelor. And if she do not outlive me, we shall both be buried beforeChristmas. "

"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Martin. And stepping into the malthouse heoffered Robin six keys. 

"How will these help us?" said Robin Rue. 

"They are the keys of your lady's Well-House, " said Martin Pippin, "andhow I have outpaced her I cannot imagine, for she was on the road toyou twenty hours ago. "

"This is no news, " said Robin. "There she is. "

And he turned his face to the dark of the malthouse, and there, sittingon a barrel, with a slice of the sunset falling through a slit on hercorn-colored hair, was Gillian. 

"In love's name, " cried Martin Pippin, putting his hands to his head, "what more do you want?"

"A husband worthy of her, " moaned Robin Rue, "and how can I supposethat I am he? Oh, that I were only good enough for her! oh, that shecould be happily mated, as after all her sorrows she deserves to be!"

Then Martin looked down at the patch on his shoe saying, "And tell menow, if you knew Gillian happily wed, would you ask nothing more oflife?"

"Oh, sir, " cried Robin Rue, "if I knew any man who could give her all Icannot, I would contrive at least to live long enough to drown mysorrows in the beer brewed from this barley. "

"It is a solace, " said Martin, "that must be denied to no man. It seemsthat I must help you out to the last. And if you will take one glanceout of doors, you will see that the working-day is over. "

Robin Rue looked out of doors, saw by the sun that it was so, put downhis spade, and went home to supper. 

"Gillian, " said Martin Pippin, "the Squire did not come himself tofetch her away because he was a young fool. There was no eighth floreton the grass-blade, so the rime stayed at the seventh. The letter Ithrew with the Lady-peel was a G. There are apples all round yoursilver ring because it was once my ring. I do, you dear, I do, I do. And now I have answered your many questions, answer me one. Why did yousit six months in the Well-House weeping for love?"

"Oh, Martin, " said Gillian softly, "could you tell my friends so muchthey did not know, and not know this?--girls do not weep for love, theyweep for want of it. " And she lifted her heavenly eyes, and out of thelast of the sunlight looked at him without thinking. And Martin, like adrowning man catching at straws, caught her corn-colored plaits one ineither hand, and drawing himself to her by them, whispered, "Do girlsdo that? But they are so much too good for us, Gillian. "

"I know they are, " whispered Gillian, "but if all men were like RobinRue, what would become of us? Must we be punished for what we can'thelp?"

And she put her little finger on his mouth, and he kissed it. 

Then Martin himself sat down on the barrel where there was only roomfor one; but it was Martin who sat on it. And after a while he said, "You mightn't think it, but I have got a cottage, and there is nothingwhatever in it but a table which I made myself, and I think that isenough to begin with. On the way to it we shall pass Hardham, where inthe Priory Ruins lives a Hermit who is sometimes in the mood. BeyondHardham is the sunken bed of the old canal that is a secret not knownto everybody; all flowering reeds and plants that love water growthere, and you have to push your way between water-loving trees underwhich grass and nettles in their season grow taller than children; butat other times, when the pussy-willows bloom with gray and golden bees, the way is clear. Beyond this presently is a little glade, theloveliest in Sussex; in spring it is patterned with primroses, andwindflowers shake their fragile bells and show their silver stars abovethem. Some are pure and colorless, like maidens who know nothing oflove, and others are faintly stained with streaks of purple-rose. Soexquisite is the beauty of these earthly flowers that it is like aheavenly dream, but it is a dream come true; and you will never pass itin April without longing to turn aside and, kneeling among all thatpallid gold and silver, offer up a prayer to the fairies. And I shallalways kneel there with you. But beyond this is a land of bracken andundiscovered forests that hides a special secret. And you may run roundit on all sides within fifty yards, yet never find it; unless youhappen to light upon a land where grass springs under your feet amongdeep cart-ruts, and blackberry branches scramble on the ground from theflowery sides. The lane is called Shelley's Lane, for a reason toobeautiful to be told; since all the most beautiful reasons in the worldare kept secrets. And this is why, dear Gillian, the world never knows, and cannot for the life of it imagine, what this man sees in that maidand that maid in this man. The world cannot think why they fell in lovewith each other. But they have their reason, their beautiful secret, that never gets told to more than one person; and what they see in eachother is what they show to each other; and it is the truth. Only theykept it hidden in their hearts until the time came. And though you andI may never know why this lane is called Shelley's, to us both it willalways be the greenest lane in Sussex, because it leads to the specialsecret I spoke of. At the end of it is an old gate, clambered with blueperiwinkle, and the gate opens into a garden in the midst of theforest, a garden so gay and so scented, so full of butterflies and beesand flower-borders and grass-plots with fruit-trees on them, that itmight be Eden grown tiny. The garden runs down a slope, and is dividedfrom a wild meadow by a brook crossed by a plank, fringed with younghazel and alder and, at the right time, thick-set with primroses. Behind the meadow, in a glimpse of the distance full of soft blueshadows and pale yellow lights, lie the lovely sides of the Downs, rounded and dimpled like human beings, dimpled like babies, roundedlike women. The flow of their lines is like the breathing of a sleeper;you can almost see the tranquil heaving of a bosom. All about andaround the garden are the trees of the forest. Crouched in one of thehollows is my cottage with the table in it. And the brook at the bottomof the garden is the Murray River. "

Gillian looked up from his shoulder. "I always meant to find that someday, " she said, "with some one to help me. "

"I'll help you, " said Martin. 

"Do children play there now?"

"Children with names as lovely as Sylvia, who are even lovelier thantheir names. They are the only spirits who haunt it. And at the sourceof it is a mystery so beautiful that one day, when you and I havediscovered it together, we shall never come back again. But this willbe after long years of gladness, and a life kept always young, not onlyby our children, but by the child which each will continuallyrediscover in the other's heart. "

"What is this you are telling me?" whispered Gillian, hiding her faceagain. 

"The Seventh Story. "

"I'm glad it ends happily, " said Gillian. "But somehow, all the time, Ithought it would. "

"I rather thought so too, " said Martin Pippin. "For what does furniturematter as long as Sussex grows bedstraw for ladies to sleep on?"

And tuning his lute he sang her his very last song. 

 My Lady sha'n't lie between linen, My Lady sha'n't lie upon down, She shall not have blankets to cover her feet Or a pillow put under her crown; But my Lady shall lie on the sweetest of beds That ever a lady saw, For my Lady, my beautiful Lady, My Lady shall lie upon straw. Strew the sweet white straw, he said, Strew the straw for my Lady's bed-- Two ells wide from foot to head, Strew my Lady's bedstraw. 

 My Lady sha'n't sleep in a castle, My Lady sha'n't sleep in a hall, She shall not be sheltered away from the stars By curtain or casement or wall; But my lady shall sleep in the grassiest mead That ever a Lady saw, Where my Lady, my beautiful Lady, My Lady shall lie upon straw. Strew the warm white straw, said he, My arms shall all her shelter be, Her castle-walls and her own roof-tree-- Strew my Lady's bedstraw. 

When he had done Martin Said, "Will you go traveling, Gillian?"

And Gillian answered, "With joy, Martin. But before I go traveling, Iwill sing to you. "

And taking the lute from him she sang him her very first song. 

 I saw an Old Man by the wayside Sit down with his crutch to rest, Like the smoke of an angry kettle Was the beard puffed over his breast. 

 But when I tugged at the Old Man's beard He turned to a beardless boy, And the boy and myself went traveling, Traveling wild with joy. 

 With eyes that twinkled and hearts that danced And feet that skipped as they ran-- Now welcome, you blithe young Traveler! And fare you well, Old Man!

When she had done Martin caught her in his arms and kissed her on themouth and on the eyes and on both cheeks and on her two hands, and onthe back of the neck where babies are kissed; and standing her up onthe barrel and himself on the ground, he kissed her feet, one after theother. Then he cried, "Jump, lass! jump when I tell you!" and Gillianjumped. And as happy as children they ran hand-in-hand out of theMalthouse and down the road to Hardham. 

Overhead the sun was running away from the clouds with all his might, and they were trying to catch hold of him one by one, in vain; for herolled through their soft grasp, leaving their hands bright withgold-dust.