who'd gi' them stones when they beg for
bread? I'll do for them this night myself; and thou, the good man, and
Kit can sleep in the hutch. So there, dears; now let's see the Lord
Chancellor's tantrums."

"'Tis not a tantrums, goody," said Nick, politely, "but a coranto."

"La! young master, what's the odds, just so we sees it done? Some folks
calls whittles 'knives,' and thinks 't wunnot cut theys fingers!"

Nick took his place at the side of the ring. "Now, Cicely!" said he.

"Thou'lt call 'Sa--sa!' and give me the time of the coup d'archet?" she
whispered, timidly hesitant, as she stepped to the midst of the ring.

"Ay, then," said he, "'tis off, 'tis off!" and struck up a lively tune,
snapping his fingers for the time.

Cicely, bowing all about her, slowly began to dance.

It was a pretty sight to see: her big eyes wide and earnest, her cheeks
a little flushed, her short hair curling, and her crimson gown
fluttering about her as she danced the quaint running step forward and
back across the grass, balancing archly, with her hands upon her hips
and a little smile upon her lips, in the swaying motion of the coupee,
courtesying gracefully as one tiny slippered foot peeped out from her
rustling skirt, tapping on the turf, now in front and now behind. Nick
sang like a blackbird in the hedge. And how those country lads and
lasses stared to see such winsome, dainty grace! "La me!" gaped one,
"'tis fairy folk--she doth na even touch the ground!" "The pretty dear!"
the mothers said. "Doll, why canst thou na do the like, thou lummox?"
"Tut," sighed the buxom Doll, "I have na wingses on my feet!"

Then Cicely, breathless, bowed, and ran to Nick's side asking, "Was it
all right, Nick?"

"Right?" said he, and stroked her hair; "'twas better than thou didst
ever dance it for M'sieu."

"For why?" said she, and flushed, with a quick light in her eyes; "for
why--because this time I danced for thee."

The country folk, enchanted, called for more and more.

Nick sang another song, and he and Cicely danced the galliard together,
while the piper piped and the fiddler fiddled away like mad; and the
moon went down, and the cottage doors grew ruddy with the light inside.
Then Dame Pettiford gave them milk and oat-cakes in a bowl, a bit of
honey in the comb, and a cup of strawberries; and Cicely fell fast
asleep with the last of the strawberries in her hand.

So they came up out of the south through Shipston-on-Stour, in the
m