home to his old familiar haunts of
orchard and dairy and granary, to his daily rations of new milk and
cream, to the cosy corner of his own fireside. We trooped home joyfully,
the Story Girl in our midst carrying Paddy hugged against her shoulder.
Never did April stars look down on a happier band of travellers on the
golden road. There was a little gray wind out in the meadows that
night, and it danced along beside us on viewless, fairy feet, and sang
a delicate song of the lovely, waiting years, while the night laid her
beautiful hands of blessing over the world.

"You see what Peg's wishbone did," said Peter triumphantly.

"Now, look here, Peter, don't talk nonsense," expostulated Dan. "The
Awkward Man found Paddy this morning and had started to bring us word
before Cecily ever thought of the wishbone. Do you mean to say you
believe he wouldn't have come walking up our lane just when he did if
she had never thought of it?"

"I mean to say that I wouldn't mind if I had several wishbones of the
same kind," retorted Peter stubbornly.

"Of course I don't think the wishbone had really anything to do with
our getting Paddy back, but I'm glad I tried it, for all that," remarked
Cecily in a tone of satisfaction.

"Well, anyhow, we've got Pat and that's the main thing," said Felix.

"And I hope it will be a lesson to him to stay home after this,"
commented Felicity.

"They say the barrens are full of mayflowers," said the Story Girl. "Let
us have a mayflower picnic tomorrow to celebrate Paddy's safe return."

CHAPTER XII. FLOWERS O' MAY

Accordingly we went a-maying, following the lure of dancing winds to a
certain westward sloping hill lying under the spirit-like blue of spring
skies, feathered over with lisping young pines and firs, which cupped
little hollows and corners where the sunshine got in and never got out
again, but stayed there and grew mellow, coaxing dear things to bloom
long before they would dream of waking up elsewhere.

'Twas there we found our mayflowers, after faithful seeking. Mayflowers,
you must know, never flaunt themselves; they must be sought as
becomes them, and then they will yield up their treasures to the
seeker--clusters of star-white and dawn-pink that have in them the very
soul of all the springs that ever were, re-incarnated in something it
seems gross to call perfume, so exquisite and spiritual is it.

We wandered gaily over the hill, calling to each other with laughter