"A thought has occurred to me," said Martin Pippin, "and it is that
my tale may disturb your master's daughter."

"We desire it to," said Joscelyn looking down on the Well-House and
the yellow head of Gillian. "The fear is rather that you may not
arouse her attention, so I hope that when you speak you will speak
clearly. For to tell you the truth we have heard that nothing but
six love-tales will wash from her mind the image of--"

"Of whom?" inquired Martin as she paused.

"It does not matter whom," said Joscelyn, "but I think the time is
ripe to confess to you that the silly damsel is in love."

"The world is so full of wonders," said Martin Pippin, "that one
ceases to be surprised at almost anything."

"Is love then," said little Joan, "so rare a thing in the world?"

"The rarest of all things," answered Martin, looking gravely into
her eyes. "It is as rare as flowers in Spring."

"I am glad of that," said Joan; while Joscelyn objected, "But
nothing is commoner."

"Do you think so?" said Martin. "Perhaps you are right. Yet Spring
after Spring the flowers quicken my heart as though I were
perceiving them for the first time in my life--yes, even the very
commonest of them."