divine gift?"

"I love it a little," said Paul, "but I have no skill."

"Yet you look to me like one who might have skill," said the man; "you
have the air of it--you look as though you listened, and as though you
dreamed pleasant dreams. But, Jack," he said, turning to his boy,
"what shall we give our friend?--shall he have the 'Song of the Rose'
first?"

The boy at this word drew a little metal pipe out of his doublet, and
put it to his lips; and the man reached out his hand and took up a
small lute which lay on the bank beside him. He held up a warning
finger to the boy. "Remember," he said, "that you come in at the fifth
chord, together with the voice--not before." He struck four simple
chords on the lute, very gently, and with a sort of dainty
preciseness; and then at the same moment the little pipe and his own
voice began; the pipe played a simple descant in quicker time, with
two notes to each note of the song, and the man in a brisk and simple
way, as it were at the edge of his lips, sang a very sweet little
country song, in a quiet homely measure.

There seemed to Paul to be nothing short of magic about it. There was
a beautiful restraint about the voice, which gave him a sense both of
power and feeling held back; but it brought before him a sudden
picture of a garden, and the sweet life of the flowers and little
trees, taking what came, sunshine and rain, and just living and
smiling, breathing fragrant breath from morning to night, and sleeping
a light sleep till they should waken to another tranquil day. He
listened as if spellbound. There were but three verses, and though he
could not remember the words, it seemed as though the rose spoke and
told her dreams.

He could have listened for ever; but the voice made a sudden stop,
not prolonging the last note, but keeping very closely to the time;
the pipe played a little run, like an echo of the song, the man struck
a brisk chord on the lute--and all was over. "Bravely played, Jack!"
said the singer; "no musician could have played it better. You
remembered what I told you, to keep each note separate, and have no
gliding. This song must trip from beginning to end, like a brisk bird
that hops on the grass." Then he turned to Paul and, with a smile,
said, "Reverend sir, how does my song please you?"

"I never heard anything more beautiful," said Paul simply. "I cannot
say it, but it was like a door opened;" and he looked at the minstrel
with intent eyes;--"