The moon was playing in silvery brightness down the gutter of the humble street. A “helper,” rubbing down one of Lady Smigsmag's carriage-horses, even paused in his whistle to listen to the strain. Mr. Tressle's man, who had been professionally occupied, ceased his tap-tap upon the coffin which he was getting in readiness. The greengrocer (there is always a greengrocer in those narrow streets, and he goes out in white Berlin gloves as a supernumerary footman) was standing charmed at his little green gate; the cobbler (there is always a cobbler too) was drunk, as usual, of evenings, but, with unusual subordination, never sang except when the refrain of the ditty arrived, when he hiccupped it forth with tipsy loyalty; and Eglantine leaned against the chequers painted on the door-side under the name of Crump, and looked at the red illumined curtain of the bar, and the vast well-known shadow of Mrs. Crump's turban within. Now and again the shadow of that worthy matron's hand would be seen to grasp the shadow of a bottle; then the shadow of a cup would rise towards the turban, and still the strain proceeded. Eglantine, I say, took out his yellow bandanna, and brushed the beady drops from his brow, and laid the contents of his white kids on his heart, and sighed with ecstatic sympathy. The song began,-- “Come to the greenwood tree, [1] Come where the dark woods be, Dearest, O come with me! Let us rove--O my love--O my love! O my-y love! (Drunken Cobbler without) O my-y love!” “Beast!” says Eglantine. “Come--'tis the moonlight hour, Dew is on leaf and flower, Come to the linden bower, Let us rove--O my love--O my love! Let us ro-o-ove, lurlurliety; yes, we'll rove, lurlurliety, Through the gro-o-ove, lurlurliety--lurlurli-e-i-e-i-e-i! (Cobbler, as usual)-- Let us ro-o-ove,” etc. “YOU here?” says another individual, coming clinking up the street, in a military-cut dress-coat, the buttons whereof shone very bright in the moonlight. “YOU here, Eglantine?--You're always here.” “Hush, Woolsey,” said Mr. Eglantine to his rival the tailor (for he was the individual in question); and Woolsey, accordingly, put his back against the opposite door-post and chequers, so that (with poor Eglantine's bulk) nothing much thicker than a sheet of paper could pass out or in. And thus these two amorous caryatides kept guard as the song continued:-- “Dark is the wood, and wide, Dangers, they say, betide; But, at my Albert's side, Nought, I fear, O my love--O my love! “Welcome the greenwood tree, Welcome the forest tree, Dearest, with thee, with thee, Nought I fear, O my love--O ma-a-y love!”