imself ruefully, as he rolled his empty wallet between his
fingers.

Then, as the folly of singers provides them in some measure with a
philosophy, he fell asleep.

III

When he woke it was late in the afternoon, and the children, fresh
from school, had come out to play in the dusk. Far and near, across
the town-square, the boy could hear their merry voices, but he felt
sad, for his stomach had forgotten the baker's breakfast, and he did
not see where he was likely to get any supper. So he pulled out his
pipe, and made a mournful song to himself of the dancing gnats
and the bitter odour of the bonfires in the townsfolk's gardens. And
the children drew near to hear him sing, for they thought his song
was pretty, until their fathers drove them home, saying, "That stuff
has no educational value."

"Why haven't you a message?" they asked the boy.

"I come to tell you that the grass is green beneath your feet and
that the sky is blue over your heads."

"Oh I but we know all that," they answered.

"Do you! Do you!" screamed the boy. "Do you think you could stop
over your absurd labours if you knew how blue the sky is? You would
be out singing on the hills with me!"

"Then who would do our work?" they said, mocking him.

"Then who would want it done?" he retorted; but it's ill arguing on
an empty stomach.

But when they had tired of telling him what a fool he was, and gone
away, the tailor's little daughter crept out of the shadows and
patted him on the shoulder.

"I say, boy!" she whispered. "I've brought you some supper. Father
doesn't know." The boy blessed her and ate his supper while she
watched him like his mother and when he had done she kissed him on
the lips.

"There, boy!" she said.

"You have nice golden hair," the boy said.

"See! it shines in the dusk. It strikes me it's the only gold I shall
get in this town."

"Still it's nice, don't you think?" the girl whispered in his ear.
She had her arms round his neck.

"I love it," the boy said joyfully; "and you like my songs, don't
you?"

"Oh, yes, I like them very much, but I like you better."

The boy put her off roughly.

"You're as bad as the rest of them," he said indignantly. "I tell you
my songs are everything, I am nothing."

"But it was you who ate my supper, boy," said the girl.

The boy kissed her remorsefully. "But I wish you had liked me for my
songs," he sighed. "You are better than any silly o