sang the Maestro, in his gentle voice. "Listen, and I will tell you what you must say to Felicia when you crown her Queen of the May."
The falling sun found the wreath completed and the verse learned, and the two went hand in hand back through the shadowy garden.
"Won't you make music to-day?" Kirk begged.
"Not to-day," said the old gentleman. "This day we go a-maying. But I am glad you do not forget the music."
"How could I?" said Kirk. At the hedge, he added: "I'd like to put a bit of arbutus in your buttonhole, for your May."
He held out a sprig in not quite the right direction, and the Maestro stepped forward and stooped to him, while Kirk's fingers found the buttonhole.
"Now the Folk can do me no harm," smiled the old gentleman. "Good-by, my dear."
Felicia was setting the table, with the candlelight about her hair. If Kirk could have seen her, he would indeed have thought her beautiful. He stood with one hand on the door-post, the other behind him.
