ld songs!"

"As bad as the rest of them," the boy said lazily, "but somehow
pleasant."

The shadows flocked to their evening meeting in the square, and
overhead the stars shone out in a sky that was certainly exceedingly
blue.

IV

Next morning they arrested the boy as a rogue and a vagabond, and in
the afternoon they brought him before the magistrate.

"And what have you to say for yourself!" said the magistrate to the
boy, after the second policeman, like a faithful echo, had finished
reading his notes.

"Well," said the boy, "I may be a rogue and a vagabond. Indeed, I
think that I probably am; but I would claim the license that has
always been allowed to singers."

"Oh!" said the magistrate. "So you are one of those, are you! And
what is your message!"

"I think if I could sing you a song or two I could explain myself
better," said the boy.

"Well," replied the magistrate doubtfully, "you can try if you like,
but I warn you that I wrote songs myself when I was a boy, so that I
know something about it."

"Oh, I'm glad of that," said the boy, and he sang his famous song of
the grass that is so green, and when he had finished the magistrate
frowned.

"I knew that before," he said.

So then the boy sang his wonderful song of the sky that is so blue.
And when he had finished the magistrate scowled. "And what are we to
learn from that!" he said.

So then the boy lost his temper and sang some naughty doggerel he
had made up in his cell that morning. He abused the town and
townsmen, but especially the townsmen. He damned their morals, their
customs, and their institutions. He said that they had ugly faces,
raucous voices, and that their bodies were unclean. He said they
were thieves and liars and murderers, that they had no ear for music
and no sense of humour. Oh, he was bitter!

"Good God!" said the magistrate, "that's what I call real improving
poetry. Why didn't you sing that first? There might have been a
miscarriage of justice."

Then the baker, the tailor, the butcher, the cobbler, the milkman,
and the maker of candlesticks rose in court and said--

"Ah, but we all knew there was something in him."

So the magistrate gave the boy a certificate that showed that he was
a real singer, and the tradesmen gave him a purse of gold, but the
tailor's little daughter gave him one of her golden ringlets. "You
won't forget, boy, will you?" she said.

"Oh, no," said the b