bucket inverted on the coping. Between the cracks of the flags
sprang grass, and pink-starred centaury, and even a trail of mallow
sprawled over the steps where Gillian lay in tears, as though to
wreathe her head with its striped blooms.

"What luck you have," said Martin, "not only to live in an orchard,
but to have a swing to swing in."

"It is our one diversion," said Joyce, "except when you come to play
to us."

"It is delightful to swing," said little Joan invitingly.

"So it is," agreed Martin, "and I beg you to sit in the swing while
I sit on this bough, and when I see your eyelids growing heavy with
my tale I will start the rope and rouse you--thus!"

So saying, he lifted the littlest milkmaid lightly into her perch
and gave her so vigorous a push that she cried out with delight, as
at one moment the point of her shoe cleared the door of the Well-House,
and at the next her heels were up among the apples. Then
Martin ensconced himself upon a lower limb of the tree, which had a
mossy cushion against the trunk as though nature or time had
designed it for a teller of tales. The milkmaids sprang quickly into
other branches around him, shaking a hail of sweet apples about his
head. What he could he caught, and dropped into the swinger's lap,
whence from time to time he helped himself; and she did likewise.

"Begin," said Joscelyn.