He lay on his back, on the soft turf beneath an oak, with
his hands clasped behind his head and his eyes upturned to the
blue sky showing between leaf and branch. On one knee crossed
above the other sat a squirrel with a nut in its paws, and half a
dozen others scampered here and there over his great body, like so
many frolicsome kittens. At a little distance grazed an old horse,
gray and gaunt, springhalt and spavined, with ribs like Death's
own. Its saddle and bridle adorned a limb of the oak.
The song went cheerfully on: -
" 'Much ado there was, God wot:
would love and she would not;
said, "Never man was true."
He said, "None was false to you." ' "
"Give you good-day, reverend sir!" I called. " Art conning next
Sunday's hymn?"
Nothing abashed, Master Jeremy Sparrow gently shook off the
squirrels, and getting to his feet advanced to meet us.
"A toy," he declared, with a wave of his hand, "a trifle, a silly old
song that came into my mind unawares, the leaves being so green
and the sky so blue. Had you come a little earlier or a little later,
you would have heard the ninetieth psalm. Give you good-day
madam. I must have sung for that the very queen of May was
coming by."
"Art on your way to Jamestown?" I demanded. "Come ride with us.
Diccon, saddle his reverence's horse."
"Saddle him an thou wilt, friend," said Master Sparrow, " for he
and I have idled long enough, but I fear I cannot keep pace with
this fair company.
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