with
countless sheep nibbling everywhere. The shower was soon blown away; the
sun came out; and a pleasant wind sprang up out of the south. Here and
there beside some cottage wall the lilacs bloomed, and the later
orchard-trees were apple-pink and cherry-white with May.

They came to a puddle in the road where there was a dance of
butterflies. Cicely clapped her hands with glee. A goldfinch dipped
across the path like a little yellow streak of laughter in the sun. "Oh,
Nick, what is it?" she cried.

"A bird," said he.

"A truly bird?" and she clasped her hands. "Will it ever come again?"

"Again? Oh, yes, or, la! another one--there's plenty in the weeds."

And so they fared all afternoon, until at dusk they came to Chipping
Norton across the fields, a short cut to where the thin blue
supper-smoke curled up. The mists were rising from the meadows; earth
and sky were blending on the hills; a little silver sickle moon hung in
the fading violet, low in the western sky. Under an old oak in a green
place a fiddler and a piper were playing, and youths and maidens were
dancing in the brown light. Some little chaps were playing
blindman's-buff near by, and the older folk were gathered by the tree.

Nick came straight to where they stood, and bowing, he and Cicely
together, doffed his cap, and said in his most London tone, "We bid ye
all good-e'en, good folk."

His courtly speech and manner, as well as his clothes and Cicely's
jaunty gown, no little daunted the simple country folk. Nobody spoke,
but, standing silent, all stared at the two quaint little vagabonds as
mild kine stare at passing sheep in a quiet lane.

"We need somewhat to eat this night, and we want a place to sleep," said
Nick. "The beds must be right clean--we have good appetites. If ye can
do for us, we will dance for you anything that ye may desire--the
'Queen's Own Measure,' 'La Donzella,' the new 'Allemand' of my Lord
Pembroke, a pavone or a tinternell, or the 'Galliard of Savoy.' Which
doth it please you, mistresses?" and he bowed to the huddling young
women, who scarcely knew what to make of it.

"La! Joan," whispered one, "he calleth thee 'mistress'! Speak up,
wench." But Joan stoutly held her peace.

"Or if ye will, the little maid will dance the coranto for you, straight
from my Lord Chancellor's dancing-master; and while she dances I
will sing."

"Why, hark 'e, Rob," spoke out one motherly dame, "they two do look
clean-like. Children, too--