PART II It happened that on an afternoon in May Martin Pippin passed again through Adversane, and as he passed he thought, "Now certainly I have been here before," but he could not remember when or how, for a full month had run under the bridges of time since then, and man's memory is not infinite. But in walking by a certain garden he heard a sound of sobbing; and curiosity, of which he was largely made, caused him to climb the old brick wall that he might discover the cause. What he saw from his perch was a garden laid out in neat plots between grassy walks edged with double daisies, red, white and pink, or bordered with sweet herbs, or with lavender and wallflower; and here and there were cordons of fruit-trees, apple, plum and cherry, and in a sunny corner a clump of flowering currant heavy with humming bees; and against the inner walls flat pear-trees stretched their long straight lines, like music-staves whereon a lovely melody was written in notes of snow. And in the midst of all this stood a very young man with a face as brown as a berry. He was spraying the cordons with quassia-water. But whenever he filled his syringe he wept so many tears above the bucket that it was always full to the brim. When he had watched this happen several times, Martin hailed the young man. "Young master!" said Martin, "the eater of your plums will need sugar thereto, and that's flat." The young man turned his eyes upward. "There is not sugar enough in all the world," he answered, "to sweeten the fruits that are watered by my sorrows." "Then here is a waste of good quassia," said Martin, "and I think your name is Robin Rue." "It is," said Robin, "and you are Martin Pippin, to whom I owe more than to any man living. But the primrose you brought me is dead this five-and-twenty days." "And what of your Gillian?" "Alas! How can I tell what of her? She is where she was and I am here where I am. What will become of me?" "There are riddles without answers," observed Martin. "I can answer this one. I shall fall into a decline and die. And yet I ask no more than to send her a ring to wear on her finger, and have her ring to wear on mine." "Would this satisfy you?" asked Martin. "I could then cling to life," said Robin Rue, "long enough at least to finish my spraying." "We may praise God as much for small mercies," said Martin pleasantly, "as for great ones; and trees must not be blighted that were appointed to fruit." So saying, he unstraddled his legs and dropped into the road, tickled an armadillo with his toe, twirled the silver ring on his finger, and went away singing. "Maidens," said Joscelyn, "here is that man come again." Maids' memories are longer than men's. At all events, the milkmaids knew instantly to whom she referred, although nearly a month had passed since his coming. "Has he his lute with him?" asked little Joan. "He has. And he is giving cake to the ducks; they take it from his hand. Man, go away immediately!"