O merry and free, 'Neath the wildwood tree, Are the Woodmen of Brownieland, bonnie and dee; Too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! In the breeze there is balm, In the sky there is calm, Each sound in the wood is the voice of a psalm; Too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! II. O merry and free, On the lake and lea, Are the Boatmen of Brownieland, bonnie and dee; Too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! For the trout's rushing leap, And the water-fowl's sweep, With the paddle's soft dip sweet harmony keep; Too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! III. O merry and free, On the wrinkled sea, Are the sailors of Brownieland, bonnie and dee; Too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! For the creaking of sail, And the sough of the gale, And splashing of waves, are the songs that ne'er fail; Too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! IV. O merry and free, Over hill and lea, Are the troopers of Brownieland, bonnie and dee; Too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! It is pleasure indeed, To be one with the steed In his strength, and thrill with the rhythm of speed; Too--ra--lah, too--ra--loo, too--ra--lay! "Hist--st!" The sharp prolonged sibilant that broke in upon their applause and caused instant silence, was uttered by Sergeant True. He advanced into the circle with his hand raised warningly. "Hist! Quiet all!--except you, Blythe. Keep on with your music. Play some of your softest airs, and play until I bid you stop. As for the rest of you, I charge you, for your lives, not to speak or move until you hear from me. No matter what you see--perfect silence, remember!" He stepped back again into the bushes and was hidden from sight. What could the strange interruption mean? The Brownies were all alive with keen curiosity. Was the Sergeant in a merry humor, and planning some trick upon the party? They suspected that. But it was not much after True's habit to do such a thing. Besides, his manner betokened unusual earnestness. Therefore, all sat still, looking into the bushes whither True had disappeared. The Adjutant promptly fell into his friend's plan. He obeyed orders, played away and waited. "Hist! look up! But don't stop the music, and don't stir!" said True in a low voice. All eyes turned upward. A faint rustling among the branches directed the party's gaze to the point of interest. A quaint old hag of a Pixie was slowly crawling along the twig above Blythe's head. It was our acquaintance, Dame Tigrina! [Illustration: THE BOY'S ILLUSTRATION. FIG. 108.--Blythe's Flute Charms Tigrina.]