"Sweet ones," said Martin Pippin, shaking his head, "songs must be
paid for. And yet I do not know what to ask you, some trifle in kind
it should be. Why, now, I have it! If I give you the keys to the
dance, give me the keys to your little mistress, that I may keep her
secure from following her heart like a bird of passage, whither it's
no business of mine to ask."

At this request, made so gayly and so carelessly, the girls all
looked at one another in consternation. Then Joscelyn drew herself
up to full height, and pointing with her arm straight across the
duckpond she cried:

"Minstrel, begone!"

And the six girls, turning their backs upon him, moved away into the
shadows of the moon.

"Well-a-day!" sighed Martin Pippin, "how a fool may trip and never
know it till his nose hits the earth. I will sing to you for
nothing."

But the girls did not answer.

Then Martin touched his lute and sang as follows, so softly and
sweetly that they, not regarding, hardly knew the sound of his song
from the heavy-sweet scent of the ungathered apples over their
heads.

Toss me your golden ball, laughing maid, lovely maid,