ples and forget it."

"Will you sit in the swing?" asked Jennifer, pointing to the midmost
apple-tree, which was the largest in the orchard, and had a little
swing hanging from a long upper limb.

Close to the apple-tree, a branch of which indeed brushed its mossed
pent-roof, stood the Well-House. It had a round wall of old red bricks
growing green with time, and a pillar of oak rose up at each point of
the compass to support the pent. Between the south and west pillars was
a green door, held by a rusty chain and a padlock with six keyholes.
The little circular court within was flagged, and three rings of worn
steps led to the well-head and the green wooden bucket inverted on the
coping. Between the cracks of the flags sprang grass, and pink-starred
centaury, and even a trail of mallow sprawled over the steps where
Gillian lay in tears, as though to wreathe her head with its striped
blooms.

"What luck you have," said Martin, "not only to live in an orchard, but
to have a swing to swing in."

"It is our one diversion," said Joyce, "except when you come to play to
us."

"It is delightful to swing," said little Joan invitingly.

"So it is," agreed Martin, "and I beg you to sit in the swing while I
sit on this bough, and when I see your eyelids growing heavy with my
tale I will start the rope and rouse you--thus!"

So saying, he lifted the littlest milkmaid lightly into her perch and
gave her so vigorous a push that she cried out with delight, as at one
moment the point of her shoe cleared the door of the Well-House, and at
the next her heels were up among the apples. Then Martin ensconced
himself upon a lower limb of the tree, which had a mossy cushion
against the trunk as though nature or time had designed it for a teller
of tales. The milkmaids sprang quickly into other branches around him,
shaking a hail of sweet apples about his head. What he could he caught,
and dropped into the swinger's lap, whence from time to time he helped
himself; and she did likewise.

"Begin," said Joscelyn.

"A thought has occurred to me," said Martin Pippin, "and it is that my
tale may disturb your master's daughter."

"We desire it to," said Joscelyn looking down on the Well-House and the
yellow head of Gillian. "The fear is rather that you may not arouse her
attention, so I hope that when you speak you will speak clearly. For to
tell you the truth we have heard that nothing but six love-tales will
wash from her mind the image