rass." 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;--"may I hear it again?" "Boy," said the singer gravely, "I
had rather have such a look as you gave me during the song than a golden
crown. You will not understand what I say, but you paid me the homage of
the pure heart, the best reward that the minstrel desires."

Then he conferred with the other boy in a low tone, and struck a very
sad yet strong chord upon his lute; and then, with a grave face, he sang
what to Paul seemed like a dirge for a dead hero who had done with
mortal things, and whose death seemed more a triumph than a sorrow. When
he had sung the first verse, the pipe came softly and sadly in, like the
voice of grief that could not be controlled, the weeping of those on
whom lay the shadow of loss. To Paul, in a dim way,--for he was but a
child--the song seemed the voice of the world, lamenting its noblest,
yet triumphing in their greatness, and desirous to follow in their
steps. It brought before him all the natural sorrows of death, the call
to quit the sweet and pleasant things of the world--a call that could
not be denied, and that was in itself indeed stronger and even sweeter
than the delights which it bade its listeners leave. And Paul seemed to
walk in some stately procession of men far off and ancient, who followed
a great king to the grave, and whose hearts were too full of wonder to
think yet what they had lost. It was an uplifting sadness; and when the
sterner strain came to an end, Paul said very quietly, putting into
words the thoughts of his full heart, "I did not think that death could
be so beautiful." And the minstrel smiled, but Paul saw that his eyes
were full of tears.

Then all at once the minstrel struck the lute swiftly and largely, and
sang a song of those that march to victory, not elated nor excited, but
strong to dare and to do; and Paul felt his heart beat within him, and
he longed to be of the company. After he had sung this to an end, there
was a silence, and the minstrel said to Paul, yet as though half
speaking to himself, "There, my son, I have given you a specimen of my
art; and I think from your look that you might be of the number of those
that make these rich jewels that men call songs; and should you try to
do so,