Yet somehow--what was the matter? They did not shine as other eyes shone; those brown ones, for instance, of the brown man towering in the doorway, or the twinkling gray eyes of Jacob Bailey. "The lamp's burnin'," said Pippin, "but yet it's went wrong, some ways, but even so--green grass! she's a pictur!" Coming to the end of his song, he smiled and nodded at the upturned face. "Sing more for Flora May!" cried the girl. "Sing more!" "Sure!" said Pippin. "Wait till I get a start on this aidge, Miss Flora May--Now! Here's what'll please you, I expect: "Joseph was an old man, An old man was he; He married sweet Mary, The Queen of Galilee. "As they went a-walking In the garden so gay, Maid Mary spied cherries Hanging over yon tree. "Mary said to cherry tree, 'Bow down to my knee, That I may pluck cherries By one, two, and three.'" A long way back to the cellar, and Granny Faa crooning over her black pot--in her best mood, be sure, or she would not be singing the Cherry Tree Carol. A far longer way back to an English lane in early summer, the gypsy tilt halted under a laden cherry tree, the gypsy mother singing to her little maid as she dangled the cherries over her head. A long, long road to go, and yet as yesterday, as a watch in the night. "O eat your cherries, Mary, O eat your cherries now, O eat your cherries, Mary, That grow upon the bough."-- "Now, Mr. Pippin," called Mrs. Bailey from the doorway, "it's plain to be seen there'll be no supper in this house till you give over singin'. I'm full loath to ask you to stop, but my cakes have to be eat hot, or they're no good." CHAPTER V CYRUS POOR FARM Another lifelong possession for Pippin was that first supper at Cyrus Poor Farm. "I never forget a good meal!" he was wont to say. "It's one of the gifts, or so I count it; we've no call to forget 'em, just because we've eat 'em up. I think about 'em oftentimes, travelin', and enjoy 'em over again." The long table was set in the wide doorway of the shed, "for coolth," Mrs. Bailey said. All around were piles of fragrant wood, birch and oak, with here and there a precious little store of apple wood, fruit of Jacob's thrifty pruning and thinning. The table itself, in the full light of the westering sun, glowed with many colors: rosy pink of boiled ham, dull brown of baked potatoes, rich russet of doughnuts, all set off by the vivid red of the Turkey cotton tablecloth. Pippin drew a long breath as he surveyed his plate, heaped with the solids of this repast, the lighter eatables ranged round it in nappies shaped like a bird's bath. "Lord, _make_ me thankful!" he ejaculated. "If I wasn't thankful, Mr. Bailey, sir, I'd ask you to take me by the scruff and heave me out, I would so!"