THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF Meteorology Dept, "Df^lC y^^uo' yC4/-^ y^'^^-^^ ypt'dAZ^^ ^^ukAcn^ - "-t^o-^ Z-^-^i^^ "^-^^-c^ yCtoi.'^t.^^ -M^UCC- yCO-^ ,,Z-'» 2 MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD "Love," said the youth. By now he was somewhat distant from the gate when 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 appeared slightly annoyed. Martin chewed a grass and watched him up and down the meadow. 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 fur- row behind the boy. "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 in vain." "Always, thank God!" said Martin fervently. The j^outh, whose name was Robin Rue, suddenly dropped all his seed in one heap, flung up his arms, and, "Alas!" he cried. "Oh, Gillian! GiUian!" And began to sob more heavily than ever. "Tell me your trouble," said the Minstrel kindly. "Sir," said the youth, "I do not know your name, and your clothes are very tattered. But you are the first who has cared whether or no my heart should break since my lovely Gillian was locked with six keys into her father's Well-House, and six young milkmaids, sworn virgins and man-haters all, to keep the keys." "The thirsty," said Martin, "make little of padlocks when within a rope's length of water." "But, sir," continued the youth earnestly, "this Well-House is set in the midst of an Apple-Orchard enclosed in a hawthorn hedge full six foot high, and no entrance thereto but one small green wicket, bolted on 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 swim- ming on it. Alas!" he cried, "I shall never see my lovely girl again !" "Love is a mighty power," said Martin Pippin, "but there are doubtless things it cannot do." "I ask so little," sighed Robin Rue. "Only to send her a MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD 3 primrose for her 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 all events to make an end of my sowing." "Well, that would be something," said Martin cheerfully, "for fields must not go fallow that are appointed to bear. Di- rect me to your Gillian'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's father's milkmaids are not to be come over by any man ; and they watch the Well-House day and night." "Yet direct me to the orchard," repeated Martin Pippin, and thrummed his lute a little. "Oh, sir," said Robin anxiously, "I must warn you that it is a long and weary way, it may be as much as two mile by the road." And he looked disconsolately at the Minstrel, as though in fear that he would be discouraged from the adven- ture. "It can but be attempted," answered Martin, "and now tell me only whether I go north or south as the road runs." "Gillman the farmer, her father," said Robin Rue, "has moreover a very big 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 prim- rose, and went singing up the road. Robin Rue resumed his sowing and his tears. "Maids," said Joscelyn, "what is this coming across the duck- pond?" "It is a man," said little Joan. The six girls came running and crowding to the wicket, standing a-tiptoc and peeping between each other's sunbonnets. Their sunbonnets and 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 his shoes, 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. 4 MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD "Man!" cried Joscelyn, who was the tallest and the sternest of the milkmaids, "go away at once!" Martin Pippin was by now within arm's-length of the green gate. He looked with pleasure at the six virgins fluttering in their green gowns, and peeping bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked under their green bonnets. Beyond them he saw the forbid- den orchard, with cuckoo-flower and primrose, daffodil and celandine, silver windflower and sweet violets blue and white, spangling the gay grass. The twisted apple-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? The sun is up, and the shadow lies fresh on the grass. Let me in to rest a little, dear maidens — if maidens indeed you be, and not six leaflets blown from the apple- branches." "You cannot come in," said Joscelyn, "because we are guard- ing our master's daughter, who sits yonder weeping in the Well-House." "That is a noble and a tender duty," said Martin. "From what do you guard her?" The milkmaids looked primly at one another, and little Joan said, "It is 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 daugh- ter. 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 in- deed! 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 you a song for a spring morning, and you shall dance in the grass like any leaf 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 all day. Joscelyn : So long as he is on one side of the gate — MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD 5 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 de- serves its fee. But don't look so troubled — my hire shall be of the lightest. Let me see ! you shall fetch me the flower from the hair of your little mistress who sits weeping on the coping with her face hidden in her shining locks." At this the milkmaids clapped their hands, and little Joan, running to the Well-House, with a touch like thistledown drew from the weeper's yellow hair a yellow primrose. She brought it to the gate and laid it in Martin's hand. "Now you will play for us, won't you?" said she. "A dance for a spring morning when the leaves dance on the apple-trees." Then Martin tuned his lute and played and sang as follows, while the girls took hands and danced in a green chain among the twisty trees. The green leaf dances now, The green leaf dances noiv, The green leaf ivith its tilted tilings Dances on the hough. And every rustling air Says, I've caught you, caught you, Leaf ivith tilted ivings. Caught you in a snare! Whose snare f Spring's, That bound you to the bough Where you dance noiv, Dance, but cannot fly. For all your tilted ivings Pointing to the sky: Where like martins you ivould 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 hough, Dancing on the bough, Dancing ivith your tilted wrings On the apple-bough. Now as Martin sang and the milkmaids danced, it seemed that Gillian in her prison heard and saw nothing except the music and the movement of her sorrows. But presently she 6 MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD raised her hand and touched her hair-band, and then she lifted up the fairest face Martin had ever seen, so that he needs must see it nearer; and he took the green gate in one stride, and the green dancers never observed him. Then Gillian's tender mouth parted like an opening quince-blossom, and — "Oh, Mother, Mother!" she said, "if you had only lived they would not have 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 is gone over the duckpond to Adversane." And lo ! a second primrose dropped out of the skies into her lap. And that day the lovely Gillian wept no more. PART II IT happened that on an afternoon in May Martin Pippin passed again through Adversane, and as he passed he thought, "Now certainly I have been here before," but he could not remember when or how, for a full month had run under the bridges of time since then, and man's memory is not infinite. But in walking by a certain garden he heard a sound of sob- bing; and curiosity, of which he was largely made, caused him to climb the old brick wall that he might discover the cause. What he saw from his perch was a garden laid out in neat plots between grassy walks edged with double daisies, red, white and pink, or bordered with sweet herbs, or with lavender and wall- flower; and here and there were cordons of fruit-trees, apple, plum and cherry, and in a sunny corner a clump of flowering currant heavy with humming bees; and against the inner walls flat pear-trees stretched their long straight lines, like music- staves whereon a lovely melody was written in notes of snow. And in the midst of all this stood a very young man with a face as brown as a berry. He was spraying the cordons with quassia-water. But whenever he filled his syringe he wept so many tears above the bucket that it was always full to the brim. When he had watched this happen several times, Martin hailed the young man. "Young master!" said Martin, "the eater of your plums will need sugar thereto, and that's flat." The young man turned his eyes upward. "There is not sugar enough in all the world," he answered, "to sweeten the fruits that are watered by my sorrows." "Then here is a waste of good quassia," said Martin, "and I think your name is Robin Rue." "It is," said Robin, "and you are Martin Pippin, to whom I owe more than to any man living. But the primrose you brought me is dead this five-and-twenty days." "And what of your Gillian ?" 7 8 MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD "Alas! how can I tell what of her? She is where she was and I am where 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 I ask no more than to send her a ring to wear on her finger, and have her ring to wear on mine." "Would this satisfy you?" asked Martin. "I could then cling to life," said Robin Rue, "long enough at least to finish my spraying." "We may praise God as much for small mercies," said Mar- tin pleasantly, "as for great ones; and trees must not be blighted that were appointed to fruit." So saying, he unstraddled his legs and dropped into the road, tickled an armadillo with his toe, twirled the silver ring on his finger, and went away singing. "Maidens," said Joscelyn, "here is that man come again." Maids' memories are longer than men's. At all events, the milkmaids knew instantly to whom she referred, although nearly a month had passed since 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 his hand. Man, go away immediately!" Martin Pippin propped his elbows on the little gate, and looked smiling into the orchard, all pink and white blossom. The trees that had been longest in bloom were white cascades of flower, others there were flushed like the cheek of a sleep- ing child, and some were still studded with rose-red buds. The grass was high and full of spotted orchis, and tall wild parsley spread its nets of lace almost abreast of the lowest boughs of blossom. So that the milkmaids stood embraced in meeting flowers, waist-deep in the orchard growth: all gowned in pink lawn with loose white sleeves, and their faces flushed it may have been with the pink linings to their white bonnets, or with the evening rose in the west, 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 your orchard? For the stars are rising with the dew, and the hour is at peace. Let me in to rest, dear maidens — if maidens indeed you be, and not six blossoms fallen from the apple-boughs." "You cannot come in," said Joscelyn, "lest you are the bearer MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD 9 of a word to our master's daughter who sits weeping in the Well-House." "From whom should I bear her a word?" asked Martin Pip- pin in great amazement. The milkmaids cast down their eyes, and little Joan said, •'It is a secret." Martin : I will inquire no further. But shall I not play a little on my lute? It is as good an hour for song and dance as any other, and I will make a tune for a sunny May evening, and you shall sway among the grasses 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 insjtai cly!" "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 my song? Wait, now! — I have it. You shall fetch me the ring from the finger of your little mistress, who sits hidden beneath the fountain of her own bright tresses." The milkmaids at these words nodded gayly, and little Joan tip-toed to the Well-House, and slipped the ring from Gil- lian's finger as lightly as a daisy may be slipped from its fellow on the chain. Then she ran with it to the gate, and Martin held up his little finger, and she put it on, saying: "Now you will keep your promise, honey-sweet singer, and play a dance for a May evening when the blossom blows for happiness on the apple-trees." So Martin Pippin tuned his lute and sang what follows, while the girls floated in ones and twos among the orchard grass : A -floating, a-floating, nvhat saiv I a- floating? Fairy ships rocking ivith pink sails and ivkite Smoothly as sivans on a river of light Saiv I a-floating? No, it ivas apple-hloom, rosy and fair, Softly obeying the nod of the air I saiu a-floating. lo MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD A-floating, a-ftoating, luhat saiu I a-floatingf JVhite clouds at eventide bloivn to and fro Lightly as bubbles the cherubim bloiv, Saiv I a-floating? No, it laas pretty girls goiuned like a floiuer Bloivn in a ring round their oivn apple-bovjer I saiu a-floating. Or ivas it my dream, my dream only — ivho knoiusf — As frail as a snoivflake, as flushed as a rose, I saiu a-floating? A-floaiing, a-floating, ixihat saiv I a-floating? Martin sang, and the milkmaids danced, and Gillian in her prison only heard the dropping of her tears, and only saw the rainbow prisms on her lashes. But presently she laid her cheek against her hand, and missed a touch she knew; and on that revealed her lovely face so full of woe, that Martin needs must comfort her or weep himself. And the dancers took no heed when he made one step across the gate and went under the trees to the Well-House. "Oh, Mother, Mother!" sighed Gillian, "if you had only lived they would never 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 gone over 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 Pip- pin came once more 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 my wanderings. And if chance or fortune will, I shall some day come this way again." While he was thinking these thoughts, his ears were assailed by groans and sighs, so that he wet his finger and held it up to find which way the 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 a wheat-field where was a young fellow stooking sheaves. A very young fellow he was, turned copper by the sun; and as he stooked he heaved such 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 the harvester. "Young master!" said Martin, "the mill that grinds your grain will need no 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 to grind 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 on your 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 six keys 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 I shall wilt and be laid in the earth." II 12 MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD "That would be a pity," said Martin. "Can nothing save you?" "Nothing but the keys to her prison, and they are in the keeping of them 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 in- consequential way. "But tell me, if Gillian's prison were in- deed unlocked, would all be well with you for ever?" "Oh," said Robin Rue, "if her prison were unlocked and the prisoner in these arms, this wheat should be flour for a wedding- cake." "It is the best of all cakes," said Martin Pippin, "and the grain that is 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 never to have stopped running till it found itself in France, and went up the road 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 her instantly. "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 and said, "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 rib- bons, mirrors and beads, silken shoe-strings and colored lacings, sweetmeats and scents and gilded pins; silver buckles, belts and bracelets, gay kerchiefs, spotted ones, striped ones; ivory bob- bins, sprigs of coral, and sea-shells from far places, they'll mur- mur you secrets o' nights if you put 'em under your pillow; here are patterns for patchwork, and here's a sheet of ballads, MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD 13 and here's a pack of cards for telling fortunes. What will ye buy? A dream-book, a crystal, a charmed powder that shall make 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 you and you and you. I warrant, no love-charms! Ay, I've a yellow lace, 'twill keep you in as jight as jealousy, my pretty. Out upon all love-charms! — And what will she have that sits crouched in the Well-House? "Oh, Gypsy!" cried Joscelyn, "have you among your charms one that will make a maid fall out of love?" "N?y, nay," said the Gypsy, growing suddenly grave. "That is a charm takes more black art than I am mistress of. I know indeed of but one remedy. Is the case so bad ?" "She has been shut into the Well-House to cure her of lov- ing," said Joscelyn, "and in six months she has scarcely ceased to weep, and has never uttered a word. If you know the physic that shall heal her of her foolishness, I pray you tell us of it. For it is extremely dull in this orchard, with nothing to do except watch the changes of the apple-trees, and mean- while the farmstead lacks water and milk, there being no en- try to the well nor maids to milk the cows. Daily comes Old Gillman to tell us how, from morning till night, he is forced to drink cider and ale, and so the farm goes to rack and ruin, and all because he has a lovesick daughter. What is your remedy? He would give you gold and silver for it." "I do not know if it can be bought," said the Gypsy, "I do not even know if it exists. But when a maid broods too much on her own love-tale, the like weapons only will vanquish her thoughts. Nothing but a new love-tale will overcome her broodings, and where the case is obstinate one only will not 14 MARTIN PIPPIN IN' THE APPLE-ORCHARD suffice. You say she has pined upon her love six months. Let her be told six brand-new love-tales, tales which no woman ever heard before, and I think she will be cured. These coun-' ter-poisons will so work in her that little by little her own case will be obliterated from her blood. But for my part I doubt whether there be six untold love-tales left on earth, and if there be I know not 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 penny apiece." So saying she collected her moneys and withdrew, and for all 1 know was never seen again by man, woman, or child. "My apple-gold maidens," said Martin Pippin, leaning on the gate in the bright night, "may I come into your orchard?" As he addressed them he gazed with delight at the enclosure. By the light of the Queen Moon, now at her full in heaven, he saw that the orchard grass was clipped, and patterned with small clover, but against the hedges rose wild banks of meadow- sweet and yarrow and the jolly ragwort, and briony with its heart-shaped leaf and berry as red as heart's-blood made a bower above them all. And all the apple-trees were decked with little golden moons hanging in clusters on the drooping boughs, and glimmering in the recesses of the leaves. Under each tree a ring of windfalls lay in the grass. But prettiest sight of all was the ring of girls in yellow gowns and caps, that lay around the midmost apple-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 like golden fountains. And fountains indeed they were, for their eyes were running 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 me in. For the moon is up, and it is time to be sleep- ing or waking, in sweet company. So I beseech you to adrnit me, dear maidens — if maidens in truth you be, and not six ap- ples bobbed off their stems." "You may not come in," said Joscelyn, "in case you should MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD 15 release our master's daughter, who sits in the Well-House pin- ing to follow her heart." "Why, whither would she follow it?" asked Martin much surprised. The milkmaids turned their faces away, and little Joan mur- mured, "It is a secret." Martin: I will put chains on my thoughts. But shall I not sing you a tune you may dance to ? I will make you a song for an August night, when the moon rocks her way up and down the cradle of the sky, and you shall rock 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 thi 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 sing for us, as quickly as you can !" "Sweet ones," said Martin Pippin, shaking his head, "songs must be paid for. And yet I do not know what to ask you, some trifle in kind it should be. Why, now, I have it! if I give you the keys to the dance, give me the keys to your little mis- tress, that I may keep her secure from following her heart like a bird of passage, whither it's no business of mine to ask." At this request, made so gayly and so carelessly, the girls all looked at one another in consternation. Then Joscelyn drew herself up to her full height, and pointing with her arm straight across the duckpond she cried: "Minstrel, begone!" And the six girls, turning their backs upon him, moved away into the shadows of the moon. "Well-a-day !" sighed Martin Pippin, "how a fool may trip and never know it till his nose hits the earth. 1 will sing to you for nothing." But the girls did not answer. Then Martin touched his lute and sang as follows, so softly and sweetly that they, not regarding, hardly knew the sound of his song from the heavy-sweet scent of the ungathered ap- ples over their heads. i6 MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD Toss me your golden ball, laughing maid, lovely maid, Lovely maid, laughing maid, loss me your ball! I'll catch it and throvj it, and hide it and show it, And spin it to heaven and not let it fall. Boy, run axvay 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! Ifs 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. 'Tarewell, then," said Martin. "I must carry my tunes and tales elsewhere." 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 ** A ND now," said Martin Pippin, "what exactly do you /~\ require of me?" "If you pleasQf" said little Joan, "you are to tell us a love-story that has never been told before." "But we have reason to fear," added Jane, "that there is no such story left in all the world." "^There you are wrong," said Martin, "for on the contrary no love-story has ever been told twice. I never heard any tale of lovers that did not seem to me as new as the world on its first morning. I am glad you have a 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 ourselves as happy as we can in an apple-tree, and when the tale becomes too little to your taste you shall munch apples and forget it." "Will you sit in the swing?" asked Jennifer, pointing to the midmost apple-tree, which was the largest in the orchard, and had a little swing hanging from a long upper limb. Close to the apple-tree, a branch of which indeed brushed its mossed pent-roof, stood the Well-House. It had a round wall of old red bricks growing green with time, and a pillar of oak rose up at each point of the compass to support the pent. Between the south and west pillars was a green door, held by a rusty chain and a padlock with six keyholes. The little circu- lar court within was flagged, and three rings of worn steps led to the well-head and the green wooden bucket inverted on the coping. Between the cracks of the flags sprang grass, and pink-starred centaury, and even a trail of mallow sprawled over the steps where Gillian lay in tears, as though to wreathe her head with its striped blooms. "What luck you have," said Martin, "not only to live in an orchard, but to have a swing to swing in." 17 i8 MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD "It is our one diversion," said Joyce, "except when you come to play to us." "It is delightful to swing," said little Joan invitingly. "So it is," agreed Martin, "and I beg you to sit in the swing while I sit on this bough, and when I see your eyelids growing heavy with my tale I wall start the rope and rouse you — thus!" So saying, he lifted the littlest milkmaid lightly into her perch and gave her so vigorous a push that she cried out with delight, as at one moment the point of her shoe cleared the door of the Well-House, and at the next her heels were up among the apples. Then Martin ensconced himself upon a lower limb of the tree, which had a mossy cushion against the trunk as though nature or time had designed it for a teller of 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 helped himself; and she did like- wise. "Begin," said Joscelyn. "A thought has occurred to me," said Martin Pippin, "and it is that my tale may disturb your master's daughter." "We desire it to," said Joscelyn looking down on the Well- House and the yellow head of Gillian. "The fear is rather that you may not arouse her attention, so I hope that when you speak you will speak clearly. For to tell you the truth we have heard that nothing but six love-tales will wash 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 ripe to confess to you that the silly damsel is in love." "The world is so full of wonders," said Martin Pippin, "that one ceases to 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 her eyes. "It is as rare as flowers in Spring." "I am glad of that," said Joan; while Joscelyn objected, "But nothing is commoner." r "Do you think so?" said Martin. "Perhaps you are right. ' Yet Spring after Spring the flowers quicken my heart as though MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD 19 I were perceiving them for the first time in my life — )'es, even J the very commonest of them." "What do you call the commonest?" asked Jessica. "Could any be commoner," said Martin, "than Robin-run-by- the-Wall? Yet I think he has touched many a heart in his day." And fixing his eyes on the weeper in the Well-House, Mar- tin Pippin tried his lute and sang this song. Run by the ixjall, Robin, Run by the nvall! You might hear a secret A Lady once let fall. If you hear her secret Tell it in my ear, And I'll