“The funny part of it is,” said Betty, “that somehow I think I’ve heard it before. Only I never thought it came from a person, you know, Gerry. It seemed the same kind of tune as the bees somehow--a sort of out-of-doors sound, and mixed up with every other sound.” She stopped, wondering whether her companion would understand what she meant. Gerry, however, appeared to take the remark as a perfectly intelligible one. She nodded gravely. [Illustration: The pair of them were leaning over the fence.] “Yes, I know. Only it couldn’t be, of course; because it really is a _tune_. I wish----” By this time the pair of them were leaning over the fence which divided the gardens from the school wood. “Nobody’s here,” said Gerry. “You see, it’s private; and we couldn’t hear sounds from the road--it’s too far off. But the sound did come from the wood; I heard it too.” “Just as though,” burst in Betty, “it was a kind of ‘Piper of Dreams’ sound. Gerry, there’s a picture in the post-office at home--framed, you know, and to sell. There’s a boy there, sitting under a tree--a kind of fairy boy, I think--playing a pipe. And rabbits and birds are round his knees listening to him, and not minding him. I’ve often taken the twins to see it”--Betty gave a little gulp of remembrance--“and some day when I’m rich I shall buy it for them. But even then I shan’t like it any better than I do now, I don’t think. Perhaps not so much. It’s nice not to have a thing for altogether, but to have to go out and look at it.” Gerry nodded again. “But,” she objected, “this music couldn’t be him--I mean we couldn’t have fairy-piper music here, unless--” Transfixed with a sudden idea she gave a little cry. “If it came from _Witch’s_ Wood now,” said Gerry. “_That’s_ supposed to be magic. But of course it didn’t; and no _witch_ would ever play fairy music of course.” “‘Witch’s Wood!’” repeated Betty, staring. “You can ask Rene about it. Her father is the doctor here. She’s only a boarder at Benedick’s because she wants to be so much. She knows about Witch’s Wood; it was she who told Mona and me.” Gerry turned from the fence and seized a trowel. “Let’s go on gardening, Betty, and get the ground ready for the mignonette seeds, like Sybil said. We’ll listen while we do it. It’s funny that I’ve been to school a year longer than you and never heard it before till to-day. And you’ve heard it often.” “I _think_ I have,” corrected Betty. “Always when I’ve been alone, I think; or else I would have been sure to have asked if you and the others were hearing it too. To-day, though, you came along just as I was beginning to wonder about it. Perhaps if we don’t talk it will come back.” Gardening went on, however, after that without the interruption that they hoped for. Every now and then the girls lifted their heads, but no sound came from the wood on the other side of the fence save the faint soughing of the breeze in the branches and the occasional call of a bird.