MOTHER. Poor child, she is not happy here. We live so quietly; we have no neighbours. I have wondered what to do--it seemed that I could do so little. If only I could be sure--(Suddenly) Master Johannes, do you like the look of this house with its little stream opposite, and the green bank running down, on which one may lie on one's back and look up at the sky? TALKER. Did we not single it out above all others by having our bread and cheese outside it? MOTHER. Will you all stay with me for a little? I think I can find room for you. Before I can lend my daughter to you, I feel that I must know something of you. I think that is the best way, is it not? (With a very friendly smile) The cider is good, you know. TALKER (rising and boning). Madame, we need say no more. [The other three come in. The DAUGHTER has found from somewhere a cap with a red feather in it. They stand in a row opposite the MOTHER, and to the FIDDLER'S accompaniment sing a merry song.] TOGETHER. The cuckoo comes in April, Sings his song in May, Changes his tune in the middle of June, And then he flies away. HE. The cuckoo comes when April's here-- He is not very good, I fear. He goes and takes another nest-- Perhaps he does it for the best. Cuckoo! Cuckoo!... SHE. When April's over he begins Repenting of his former sins; From tree to tree he takes his way, But this is all he finds to say: Cuckoo! Cuckoo!... HE. By June he gets a trifle flat, Which is not to be wondered at, And critical observers note A huskiness about the throat. (Huskily) Cuckoo! Cuckoo!... SHE. Alas! he does not stay for long, But other birds take up the song Of summer gently following The wild and happy days of Spring. Cuckoo! (The TALKER conducts with his pipe in his hand, and hums "La, la, la!" to himself. He pipes the chorus with them. At the conclusion they all bow or curtsey deeply to the MOTHER.) MOTHER (half laughing, half crying). Oh! TALKER (suddenly and dramatically, holding up his hand). Listen! EVERYBODY. What? TALKER. Didn't I hear somebody say "cider"? *** (It is eight days later when we see them again. The DAUGHTER is at the spinet, playing an accompaniment to the song which she and the SINGER are sharing for the moment.) SHE. He does not know I love him, He does not care; The sky is blue above him, The road is there For those who dare-- Alas! why should he care? HE. She does not know I love her, She does not know; The sky is blue above her, The soft winds blow Where violets grow-- Alas! how should she know?