unlocked, would all be well with you for ever?"

"Oh," said Robin Rue, "if her prison were unlocked and the prisoner
in these arms, this wheat should be flour for a wedding-cake."

"It is the best of all cakes," said Martin Pippin, "and the grain
that is destined thereto must not rot in the husk."

With these words he strolled out of the cornfield, gathered a
harebell, rang it so loudly in the ear of a passing rabbit that it
is said never to have stopped running till it found itself in
France, and went up the road humming and thrumming his lute.

On the road he met a Gypsy.


"Maids," said Joscelyn, "somebody is at the gate."

The milkmaids, who were eating apples, came clustering about her
instantly.

"Is it a man?" asked little Joan, pausing between her bites.

"No, thank all our stars," said Joscelyn, "it is a gypsy."

The milkmaids withdrew, their fears allayed. Joan bit her apple and
said, "It puckers my mouth."

Joyce: Mine's sour.