en ball, laughing maid, lovely maid,
Lovely maid, laughing maid, toss me your ball!
I'll catch it and throw it, and hide it and show it,
And spin it to heaven and not let it fall.
Boy, run away with you! I will not play with you--
This is no ball!
We are too old to be playing at ball.

Toss me the golden sun, laughing maid, lovely maid,
Lovely maid, laughing maid, toss me the sun!
I'll wheel it, I'll whirl it, I'll twist it and twirl it
Till cocks crow at midnight and day breaks at one.
Boy, I'll not sport with you! Boy, to be short with you,
This is no sun!
We are too young to play tricks with the sun.

Toss me your golden toy, laughing maid, lovely maid,
Lovely maid, laughing maid, toss me your toy!
It's all one to me, girl, whatever it be, girl
So long as it's round that's enough for a boy.
Boy, come and catch it then!--there now! Don't snatch it then!
Here comes your toy!
Apples were made for a girl and a boy.

There was no sound or movement from the girls in the shadows.

"Farewell, then," said Martin. "I must carry my tunes and tales
elsewhere."

Like pebbles from a catapult the milkmaids shot to the gate.

"Tales?" cried Jessica.

"Do you know tales?" exclaimed Jennifer.

"What kind of tales?" demanded Jane.

"Love-tales?" panted Joyce.

"Six of them?" urged little Joan.

"A thousand!" said Martin Pippin.

Joscelyn's hand lay on the bolt.

"Man," she said, "come in."

She opened the wicket, and Martin Pippin walked into the Apple Orchard.

PRELUDE TO THE FIRST TALE

"And now," said Martin Pippin, "what exactly do you require of me?"

"If you please," said little Joan, "you are to tell us a love-story
that has never been told before."

"But we have reason to fear," added Jane, "that there is no such story
left in all the world."

"There you are wrong," said Martin, "for on the contrary no love-story
has ever been told twice. I never heard any tale of lovers that did not
seem to me as new as the world on its first morning. I am glad you have
a taste for love-stories."

"We have not," said Joscelyn, very quickly.

"No, indeed!" cried her five fellows.

"Then shall it be some other kind of tale?"

"No other kind will do," said Joscelyn, still more quickly.

"We must all bear our burdens," said Martin; "so let us make ourselves
as happy as we can in an apple-tree, and when the tale becomes too
little to your taste you shall munch ap