" explained the Piper. "Now,
Children!"

And at these words they broke away from him, leaving only Doris by his
side; and each group began a different task. One new to the stacks of
gold and separated them into long, heavy skeins; while another spun the
threads back and forth till they sparkled and danced and seemed to turn
into sunbeams that at length broke away and glanced into the blue
above, where they played about just as the sunlight does on a bright
spring-day. Others, again, knelt down upon the soft carpet, and seemed
to be whispering something very sweet to some one or something hidden
below; and before very long up sprang long, tender shoots, and then
thin buds appeared, and by and by the buds swelled and burst, and then
where every bud had been was a flower. And all this time there had
been a sound as of falling drops that seemed to be keeping time to a
soft little melody the children were crooning.

The Piper, looking at Doris's wondering face, said, smiling: "Thou dost
not comprehend, dear heart? Well, I will explain. As I said, this is
our Spring-room, and in it all the sunshine and flowers and clouds and
rain are made that go to make up a spring day. They," he said,
pointing to the first group, "are separating the golden skeins so that
they can be spun into sunbeams. It takes great patience before they
are completely finished; and if one of the spinners should sigh while
weaving, it would ruin the beam and make it dull and heavy. So, you
see, the sunbeam-children must be very light-hearted. Then those
others are coaxing the flowers to spring up and bud. After they are
all well above ground the flower-children hide a secret in the heart of
each blossom, and a very beautiful secret it is, and so wonderful that
very few ever succeed in finding it out. But it is worth searching
for, and one or two world-people have really discovered it. Thou mayst
guess what a difficult task is that of my flower-children; for at first
the flowers are drowsy and would prefer to slumber yet awhile; and my
children must whisper to them such beautiful thoughts that they forget
everything else and spring up to hear more. The singing thou nearest
is the lullaby the rain-children are singing to the drops. Thou
knowest that the clouds are the rain-cradles, and when my children sing
slumber songs and rock the clouds gently to and fro, the drops grow
sleepy and forget to fall. But sometimes they are too restless to
re