lane
that led from their house to the road, and then along the road until
she came to Auntie Brooke's. The lane was all trimmed with beautiful
spring flowers for Easter, and the trees beside the road were full of
birds, all singing Easter songs.

She went through Auntie Brooke's squeaky gate and along the gravel
path to the side door. An old lady with a sweet face sat out on the
doorstep.

"Auntie Brooke," said Molly, a little out of breath, "I've brought you
an Easter egg, only it isn't laid yet. You may keep Red Top until she
lays it, and then you can give her back. You'll have to excuse there
not being any pink on it and your name in gilt letters, but Red Top
didn't lay it in time for that."

"Thank you, dear," said Auntie Brooke, trying not to laugh. "I'm sure
I shall like it just as well as if it were pink with gold letters on
it."

THE SONG OF THE SPRING

The King was very ill indeed and no one in all the court could find
out what was his ailment or how to cure it. He had been the kindest,
merriest king for miles about, always ready to help a poor subject or
to stop and play with the children as he drove his chariot through the
village. Now he never smiled and he seemed too weary to care what
happened in the kingdom; so everything went at sixes and sevens and no
one knew what to do about it.

"The King needs daintier food," said the Court Cook, so he served
broiled peacock on toast, and pomegranates and cream, and wild honey,
and cheese-cakes as light as feathers, and a sponge cake made with the
eggs of a bantam hen. But the King would eat none of them.

"The King needs medicine," said the Court Physician, so he searched
the countryside for growing things and he brewed rose-leaf tea, and he
made a potion of everlasting flowers mixed with rosemary, and he
distilled wild honeysuckle with dew gathered at sunrise, but the King
would drink none of these.

"Perhaps music would divert the King," suggested the Court Wise Man.
"It might make him forget whatever is troubling him." And as music was
the only remedy for the King's most sorrowful illness that had not
been tried, the Court Herald hastened through the streets, calling as
loudly as he could:

"Music for the King! Music for the King! Riches and honor for whoever
can play the prettiest tune and the one that will make his majesty
forget his sorrow."

Immediately the palace was filled with music, some of it very
beautiful and all of it played by