e a sup of wine and a bit of bread for
the Folk, and let us see if we cannot find some May-flowers."

They left the little pine room,--Kirk putting in the root hollow a
generous tithe for the garden folk,--and went through the garden till
the grass grew higher beneath their feet, and they began to climb a
rough, sun-warmed hillside, where dry leaves rustled and a sweet earthy
smell arose.

"Search here among the leaves," the Maestro said, "and see what you
shall find."

So Kirk, in a dream of wonder, dropped to his knees, and felt among the
loose leaves, in the sunshine. And there were tufts of smooth foliage,
all hidden away, and there came from them a smell rapturously
sweet--arbutus on a sunlit hill. Kirk pulled a sprig and sat drinking in
the deliciousness of it, till the old gentleman said:

"We must have enough for a wreath, you know--a wreath for the queen."

"Who is our Queen of the May?" Kirk asked.

"The most beautiful person you know."

"Felicia," said Kirk, promptly.

"Felicia," mused the Maestro. "That is a beautiful name. Do you know
what it means?"

Kirk did not.

"It means happiness. Is it so?"

"Yes," said Kirk; "Ken and I couldn't be happy without her. She _is_
happiness."

"Kenneth is your brother?"

"Kenelm. Does that mean something?"

The old gentleman plucked May-flowers for a moment. "It means, if I
remember rightly, 'a defender of his kindred.' It is a good Anglo-Saxon
name."

"What does my name mean?" Kirk asked.

The Maestro laughed. "Yours is not a given name," he said. "It has no
meaning. But--you mean much to me."

He caught Kirk suddenly in a breathless embrace, from which he released
him almost at once, with an apology.

"Let us make the wreath," he said. "See, I'll show you how."

He bound the first strands, and then guided Kirk's hands in the next
steps, till the child was fashioning the wreath alone.

"'My love's an arbutus
On the borders of Lene,'"

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