AT THE FALCON INN 215

piping a little silver thread of song. Nick’s heart grew
hungry for the woods of Arden and the gathering rush
of the waking water-brooks among the old dead leaves.
The rain beat in at his window, but he did not care for
that, and kept it open day and night; for when he wak-
ened in the dark he loved to feel the fingers of the wind
across his face.

Sometimes the moonlight through the ragged clouds
came in upon the floor, and in the hurry of the wind he
almost fancied he could hear the Avon, bank-full, rushing
under the old mill-bridge.

Then one day there came a shower with a warm south
wind, sweet and healthful and serene; and through the
shower, out of the breaking clouds, a sun-gleam like a path
of gold straight down to the heart of London town;
and on the south wind, down that path of gold, came
April.

That night the wind in the chimney fluted a glad, new
tune; and when Nick looked out at his casement the free
stars danced before him in the sky. And when he felt that
fluting wind blow warm and cool together on his cheek,
the chimneys mocked him, and the town was hideous.

Iv fell upon an April night, when the moon was at its
full, that Master Carew had come to the Falcon Inn, on
the Southwark side of the river, and had brought Nick
with him for the air. Master Heywood was along, and it
was very pleasant there.

The night breeze smelled of green fields, and the inn