“I wonder if there’s any way of catching him?” whispered Gypsy; and reaching stealthily for the pillar-box, he shook out a dozen coppers. Then he picked out the gold ones which were the fine-weather pennies (he himself was always given brown pennies), and span one through the haze in the direction of the tune. They heard it ring on the road, and the tune stopped, and a moment later mended its broken bar. Gypsy sent a second penny not quite so far, and in the pause they heard three soft steps come their way. The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth pennies fell shorter still, and the seventh penny was so close that a form stood up like a shadow on the mist. Even then they couldn’t see the Piper very distinctly; but he was tall and thin, and Gypsy said he had the silver hair of a very old man, and Ginger said he had the blue eyes of the youngest babies. But his gentle voice was neither young nor old as he said kindly, “What am I to do with seven pennies, children?” “Spend them?” suggested Gypsy. “That’s so difficult,” said the Piper. “Spin them?” suggested Ginger. “Ah, that’s easy,” said the Piper. And he sat down cross-legged a little way off on the pavement, and span one of the seven gold pennies. While it span he sang a song that began and ended with the penny. “The fountain is dry, The fountain is dry! Let down your rain, Blue sky, blue sky, Or a child’s blue eye Must let its rain To fill his fountain Up again.” “What a nice song,” said Ginger. “Do spin another.” So the Piper span the second penny and sang. “The night will never stay, The night will still go by, Though with a million stars You pin it to the sky, Though you bind it with the blowing wind And buckle it with the moon, The night will slip away Like sorrow or a tune.” The last note met the plop of the penny on the pavement. “How do you manage it?” asked Gypsy. “It manages itself,” said the Piper. “None of my songs lasts longer than the spin of a coin.” He span the third penny so badly that it only made a very little song, like this: “The tide in the river, The tide in the river, The tide in the river runs deep. I saw a shiver Pass over the river As the tide turned in its sleep.” “Have you just come up the river?” asked Ginger. “No,” said the Piper. “I have just come from a chickory field under Graffham. The Sussex chicory is as blue now as it will be, and the raspberries are ripening on the Downs.” “Don’t!” implored Ginger, sitting up, “How could you bear to come to town?” “I follow the sheep,” said the Piper, and span the fourth penny. While it turned he sang: