In Adversane in Sussex they still sing the song of The Spring-Green Lady; any fine evening, in the streets or in the meadows, you may come upon a band of children playing the old game that is their heritage, though few of them know its origin, or even that it had one. It is to them as the daisies in the grass and the stars in the sky. Of these things, and such as these, they ask no questions. But there you will still find one child who takes the part of the Emperor's Daughter, and another who is the Wandering Singer, and the remaining group (there should be no more than six in it) becomes the Spring-Green Lady, the Rose-White Lady, the Apple-Gold Lady, of the three parts of the game. Often there are more than six in the group, for the true number of the damsels who guarded their fellow in her prison is as forgotten as their names: Joscelyn, Jane and Jennifer, Jessica, Joyce and Joan. Forgotten, too, the name of Gillian, the lovely captive. And the Wandering Singer is to them but the Wandering Singer, not Martin Pippin the Minstrel. Worse and worse, he is even presumed to be the captive's sweetheart, who wheedles the flower, the ring, and the prison-key out of the strict virgins for his own purposes, and flies with her at last in his shallop across the sea, to live with her happily ever after. But this is a fallacy. Martin Pippin never wheedled anything out of anybody for his own purposes--in fact, he had none of his own. On this adventure he was about the business of young Robin Rue. There are further discrepancies; for the Emperor's Daughter was not an emperor's daughter, but a farmer's; nor was the Sea the sea, but a duckpond; nor-- But let us begin with the children's version, as they sing and dance it on summer days and evenings in Adversane. THE SINGING-GAME OF "THE SPRING-GREEN LADY" (The Emperor's Daughter sits weeping in her Tower. Around her, with their backs to her, stand six maids in a ring, with joined hands. They are in green dresses. The Wandering Singer approaches them with his lute.) THE WANDERING SINGER Lady, lady, my spring-green lady, May I come into your orchard, lady? For the leaf is now on the apple-bough And the sun is high and the lawn is shady, Lady, lady, My fair lady! O my spring-green lady! THE LADIES You may not come into our orchard, singer, Because we must guard the Emperor's Daughter Who hides in her hair at the windows there With her thoughts a thousand leagues over the water, Singer, singer, Wandering singer, O my honey-sweet singer! THE WANDERING SINGER Lady, lady, my spring-green lady, But will you not hear an Alba, lady? I'll play for you now neath the apple-bough And you shall dance on the lawn so shady, Lady, lady, My fair lady, O my spring-green lady! THE LADIES