Martin Pippin in the Apple Orchard. Eleanor Farjeon

gentle Brothers, rejoicing at the sight of their happiness and their beauty, led them in; and there they were wedded. The Doves offered them to eat, but the King was impatient to reach his Barn by nightfall; so they got again on Pepper's back, and as they were about to leave the Ringdove said:

      "I have something of yours which is in itself a thing of no moment; yet, because it is of good augury, take it with you."

      And he gave the King Pepper's third shoe.

      "Thank you," said the King, "I will hang it over my Barn door."

      Now he urged Pepper to her full speed, and they went at a gallop past the Hawking Sopers, who, hearing the clatter, came running into the road.

      "Stay, gallopers, stay!" they cried, "and make merry with us."

      "We cannot," called the King, "for we are newly married."

      "Good luck to you then!" shouted the Sopers, and with huzzas and laughter flung something after them. Viola stretched out her hand and caught it in mid-air, and it was a horseshoe.

      "The tale is complete," she laughed, "and now you know where Pepper picked up her stones."

      Soon after the King said, "Here is my Barn." And he sprang down and lifted his bride from the nag's back and brought her in.

      "It is a poor place," he said gently, "but it is all I have. What can I do for you in such a home?"

      "I will tell you," said Viola, and putting her hand into her left pocket, she drew out the ruby winking with the wine of mirth. "You can dance in it." And suddenly they caught each other by the hands and went capering and laughing round the Barn like children.

      "Hurrah!" cried William, "now I know what a King should do in a Barn!"

      "But he should do more than dance in it," said Viola; and putting her hand into her right pocket she gave him the pearl, as pure as a prayer; "beloved, he should pray in it too."

      And William looked at her and knelt, and she knelt by him, and in silence they prayed the same prayer, side by side.

      Then William rose and said simply, "Now I know."

      But she knelt still, and took from her girdle the diamond, as bright as power, and she put it in his hand, saying very low, "Oh, my dear King! but he should also rule in it." And she kissed his hand. But the King lifted her very quickly so that she stood equal with his heart, and embracing her he said, with tears in his eyes:

      "And you, beloved! what will a Queen do in a Barn?"

      "The same as a King," she whispered, and drew from her bosom the opal, as lovely and as variable as the human spirit. "With the other three stones you may, if you will, buy back your father's kingdom. But this, which contains all qualities in one, let us keep for ever, for our children and theirs, that they may know there is nothing a King and a Queen may not do in a Barn, or a man and a woman anywhere. But the best thing they can do is to work in it."

      Then, going out, she came back with the bag which she had slung on Pepper's back, and took from it her father's tools.

      "In three weeks you learned all I learned in three years," said she. "When I shod Pepper this morning I did my last job as a smith; for now I shall have other work to do. But you, whether you choose to get your father's lands again or no, I pray to work in the trade I have given you, for I have made you the very king of smiths, and all men should do the thing they can do best. So take the hammer and nail up the horseshoes over the door while I get supper; for you look as hungry as I feel."

      "But there's nothing to eat," said the King ruefully.

      However, he went outside, and over the door he hung as many shoes as there are nails in one—the four Pepper had cast on the road, and the three he had first made for her. As he drove the last nail home Viola called:

      "Supper is ready."

      And the King went into the Barn and saw a Wedding Cake.

      And now, if you please, Mistress Joan, I have earned my apple.

FIRST INTERLUDE

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      Now there was a great munching of apples in the tree, for to tell the truth during the latter part of the story this business had been suspended, and between bites the milkmaids discussed the merits of what they had just heard.

      Jessica: What is your opinion of this tale, Jane?

      Jane: It surprised me more than anything. For who could have suspected that the Lad was a Woman?

      Martin: Lads are to be suspected of any mischief, Mistress Jane.

      Joscelyn: It is not to be supposed, Master Pippin, that we are acquainted with the habits of lads.

      Martin: I suppose nothing. But did the story please you?

      Joscelyn: As a story it was well enough to pass an hour. I would be willing to learn whether the King regained his kingdom or no.

      Martin: I think he did, since you may go to this day to the little city on the banks of the Adur which is re-named after his Barn. But I doubt whether he lived there, or anywhere but in the Barn where he and his beloved began their life of work and prayer and mirth and loving-rule. And died as happily as they had lived.

      Joan: I am glad they lived happily. I was afraid the tale would end unhappily.

      Joyce: And so was I. For when the King roamed the hills for a whole week without success, I began to fear he would never find the Woman again.

      Jennifer: I for my part feared lest he should not open his lips during the fourth vigil, and so must become a Dove for the remainder of his days.

      Jane: It was but by the grace of a moment he did not drown himself in the Pond.

      Jessica: Or what if, by some unlucky chance, he had never come to the forge at all?

      Martin: In any of these events, I grant you, the tale must have ended in disaster. And this is the special wonder of love-tales: that though they may end unhappily in a thousand ways, and happily in only one, yet that one will vanquish the thousand as often as the desires of lovers run in tandem. But there is one accident you have left out of count, and it is the worst stumbling-block I know of in the path of happy endings.

      All the Milkmaids: What is it?

      Martin: Suppose the lovely Viola had been a sworn virgin and a hater of men.

      There was silence in the Apple-Orchard.

      Joscelyn: She would have been none the worse for that, singer. And the tale would have been none the less a tale, which is all we look for from you. This talk of happy endings is silly talk. The King might have sought the Woman in vain, or kept his vow, or drowned himself, or ridden to the confines of Kent, for aught I care.

      Joyce: Or I.

      Jennifer: Or I.

      Jessica: Or I.

      Jane: Or I.

      Martin: I am silenced. Tales are but tales, and not worth speculation. And see, the moon is gone to sleep behind a cloud, which shows us nothing save the rainbow of her dreams. It is time we did as she does.

      Like shooting-stars in August the milkmaids slid from their leafy heaven and dropped to the grass. And here they pillowed their heads on their soft arms and soon were breathing the breath of sleep. But little Joan sat on in the swing.

      Now all this while she had kept between her hands the promised apple, turning and turning it like one in doubt; and presently Martin looked aside at her with a smile, and held his open palm to receive his reward. And first she glanced at him, and then at the sleepers, and last she tossed the apple lightly in the air. But by some mishap she tossed