a kind of god. Well, if you cannot mend one, throw it aside and
think no more of it. Do not save it because it has some gracious
touch, for in this are the masters of the craft different from the
mere makers of songs. The master will have nothing but what is perfect
within and without, while the lesser craftsman will save a poor song
for the sake of a fine line or phrase.

"And next, you must do it for the love of your art, and not for the
praise it wins you. That is a poisoned wine, of which if you drink,
you will never know the pure and high tranquillity of spirit that
befits a master. The master may be discouraged and troubled oft, but
he must have in his soul a blessed peace, and know the worth and
beauty of what he does; for there is nothing nobler than to make
beautiful things, and to enlighten the generous heart. Fighting is a
fair trade, and though it is noble in much, yet its end is to destroy;
but the master of song mars nought, but makes joy;--and that is the
end of my sermon for the time. And now," he added briskly, "I must be
going, for I have far to fare; but I shall pass by this way again, and
shall inquire of your welfare; tell me your name and where you live."
So Paul told him, and then added timidly enough that he would fain
know how to begin to practise his art. "Silence!" said the minstrel,
rather fiercely; "that is an evil and timorous thought. If you are
worthy, you will find the way." And so in the hot afternoon he said
farewell, and walked lightly off. And Paul stood in wonder and hope,
and saw the two figures leave the flat, take to the down, and wind up
the steep road, ever growing smaller, till they topped the ridge,
where they seemed to stand a moment larger than human; and presently
they were lost from view.

So Paul made his way home; and when he pushed the gate of Heritage
open, he wondered to think that he could recollect nothing of the road
he had traversed. He went up to the house and entered the hall. There
sate Mistress Alison, reading in a little book. She closed it as he
came in, and looked at him with a smile. Paul went up to her and said,
"Mother" (so he was used to call her), "I have heard songs to-day such
as I never dreamt of, and I pray you to let me learn the art of making
music; I must be a minstrel." "'Must' is a grave word, dear heart,"
said Mistress Alison, looking somewhat serious; "but let me hear your
story first." So Paul told of his meeting with the minstrel. Mistre