the first bars of a little air which none of his listeners had ever before heard. Eerily it tripped and chimed and lilted to its close, and the Maestro swung about and faced them, smiling still, quizzically.
"What does it mean?" he asked. "I am very curious to know. Is it merely a tune—or does it remind you of something?"
The Sturgises pondered. "It's like spring," Felicia said; "like little leaves fluttering."
"Yes, it is," Ken agreed. "It's a song of some sort, I think—that is, it ought to have words. And it's spring, all right. It's like—it's like—"
"It's like those toads!" Kirk said suddenly. "Don't you know? Like little bells and flutes, far off—and fairies."
The Maestro clapped his hands.
"I have not forgotten how, then," he said. "It has words, Kenelm. I hope—I hope that you will not be very angry with me."
He played the first twinkling measures again, and then began to sing:
"Down in the marshes the sounds begin
Of a far-away fairy violin,
Faint and reedy and cobweb thin."
