e be one man as is ready, and here be fifty others. What d'ye say,
lads?' But Lord! as I looks from one to another they trickles away like
sand through an hourglass, and before we knows it me and George has the
road to ourselves. So he says, I must be getting on to Wisboro', but
first I'll deliver ye your baggage.' You've no baggage o' mine,' says I.
'Yes, if you'll excuse me,' says he; and wi' that he parts the green
awning and says, There she be.' And there she were, sitting on a
barrel o' cider."

"What was she like to look at?" asked Martin.

"Yaller hair and gray eyes," said Gillman. "And me a bachelor."

"It was hopeless," said Martin.

"It were," said Old Gillman. "And it were the end o' my peace of life.
She looks me straight in the eye and she says, Juniper's my name, but
I'm June to them as loves me. And June I'll be to you. For I have
traveled his rounds wi' this Carrier for a week, and sat behind his
curtain while he told men my wishes. And you be the only one of them
all as is willing to do a difficult thing for an idle whim, if what is
the heart's desire can ever be idle. So I will sit behind the curtain
no longer, and if you will let me I will follow you to the ends of
Sussex till the Murray River be found, or we be dead.' And I says
Jump, lass!' and down she jumps and puts up her mouth." Gillman filled
his mug.

Martin filled his. "Well," said he, "a man must take his bull by the
horns. And did you ever succeed in finding the Murray River?"

"Wi' a child's help. It can only be found by a child's help. Tis the
child's river of all Sussex. Any child can help you to it."

"Yes," said Martin, "and all children know it."

Old Gillman put down his mug. "Do YOU know it, boy?"

"I live by it," said Martin Pippin, "when I live anywhere."

"Do children play in it still?" asked Gillman.

"None but children," said Martin Pippin. "And above all the child which
boys and girls are always rediscovering in each other's hearts, even
when they've turned gray in other folks' sight. And at the end of it is
a mystery."

"She were a child to the end," said Old Gillman. "A fair nuisance, so
she were. And Jill takes after her."

"Well, SHE'S off your hands anyhow," said Martin getting up. "She's to
be some other body's nuisance now, and your maids have come back to
their milking."

"Ah, have they?" grunted Gillman. "The lads did it better. And they
cooked better. And they cleaned better. There is nothing men