shed Martin slid down the roof, walked across to the
coping, put one leg over, and stepped out of the Well-House.

PART IV

The six milkmaids were waiting for him in the apple-tree--no; Joscelyn
was in the swing.

"And so," said Martin, sitting down on the bough, "on the sixth night
the sixth Gorgon also became a maiden as lovely as her fellows, and
gave the Wanderer the sixth key to the Tower. And they let out the
Princess and set her in The Golden Truant, and she sailed away to her
Squire a thousand leagues over the water. And everybody lived happily
ever after."

"What a beautiful story!" said Jane. And they all thought so too.

"I knew from the first," said Joscelyn, "that it would have a happy
ending."

"And so did I," said Joyce.

"And I," said Jennifer,

"And I," said Jessica,

"And I," said Jane and

"And I," said little Joan.

"The verdict is passed," said Martin. "And look! over our heads hangs
the moon, as round and beautiful as a penny balloon, with an eye as
wide awake as a child's at six in the morning. If she will not go to
sleep in heaven to-night, why on earth should we? Let's have a party!"

The girls looked at one another in amazement and delight. "A party?
Oh!" cried they. "But who will give it?"

"I will," said Martin.

"And who will come to it?"

"Whoever luck sends us," said Martin. "But we'll begin with ourselves.
Joan and Joyce and Jennifer and Jessica and Jane and Joscelyn, will you
come to my party in the Apple-Orchard?"

"Yes, thank you, Martin!" cried they. And ran away to change. But the
only change possible was to take the kerchiefs off their white necks,
and the shoes and stockings off their little feet, and let down their
pretty hair. So they did these things, and made wreaths for one
another, and posies for their yellow dresses. And it is time for you to
know that Jennifer's dress was primrose and Jane's cowslip yellow, and
that Joyce looked like buttercups and Jessica like marigolds; and
Joscelyn's was the glory of the kingcups that rise like magic golden
isles above the Amberley floods in May. But little Joan had not been
able to decide between the two yellows that go to make wild daffodils,
so she had them both. Under their flowerlike skirts their white ankles
and rosy heels moved as lightly as windflowers swaying in the grass.
And just when they were ready they heard Martin Pippin's lute under the
apple-tree, so they came to the party dancing. Round and round