200 MASTER SKYLARK

laughed together, not loud, but such a jolly little laugh
that all the people smiled to hear it. After the laughter
came a hush.

Then the pipes overhead made a merry sound as of
shepherds piping on oaten straws in new grass where
there are daisies; and there was a little elfish laughter of
clarionets, and a fluttering among the cool flutes like spring
wind blowing through crisp young leaves in April. The
harps began to pulse and throb with a soft cadence like
raindrops falling into a clear pool where brown leaves lie
upon the bottom and bubbles float above green stones and
smooth white pebbles. Nick lifted up his head and sang.

It was a happy little song of the coming and the triumph
of the spring. The words were all forgotten long ago.
They were not much: enough to serve the turn, no more;
but the notes to which they went were like barn swallows
twittering under the eaves, goldfinches clinking in purple
weeds beside old roads, and robins singing in common
gardens at dawn. And wherever Nick’s voice ran Colley’s
followed, the pipes laughing after them a note or two
below ; while the flutes kept gurgling softly to themselves
as a hill brook gurgles through the woods, and the harps
ran gently up and down like rain among the daffodils.
One voice called, the other answered ; there were echo-like
refrains; and as they sang Nick’s heart grew full. He
eared not a stiver for the crowd, the golden palace, or the
great folk there—the Queen no more—he only listened
for Colley’s voice coming up lovingly after his own and
running away when he followed it down, like a lad and a