Nothing had been divulged as to form of puppets, or that there were puppets, or for that matter miracles. Certainly nothing was said of purchase. All had been warm, friendly, with an air of Yule. “But when there are miracles--believe and cry aloud that it is so! Never bring cold to wither them, snow to cover them! Be a friend, and in our camp!” Somerville laughed. After an old habit, he hummed, he sang as he rode: “Turn thy coat-- Turn thy coat, Having the land, Having the land. So few know when they are bought! But all are bought, Few, few escape!” He looked through snow to castle rock. “Ha, Montjoy, do you escape?” For a moment a hand, as it were, wiped life from his face, leaving it haggard and empty. But witches trooped at whistle, sardonic mirth came back. “We buy and we are bought! Why not--if the world is Pennyworth Fair? If little good is had, so is little harm. It’s an empty barn, Montjoy, where the wind whistles! “Little good will come, Little harm will come Of Abbot Mark, Of Silver Cross-- While away the day with plucking at the lute’s three strings!” He rode through Middle Forest High Street and coming to the door of Master Eustace Bettany, dismounted and knocked. John Cobb let him in, and Thomas Bettany was most glad to see him. But he would not tarry. He had stopped in passing to ask Thomas to make him a visit at Somerville Hall. Thomas was blithe to say yes,--if his father could spare him. “Oh, he will spare you!” said Somerville intelligently. His sworn follower laughed a little. In truth Somerville was important. Merchants spared sons to visit knights. He mounted the big bay, he rode on down High Street. Thomas and John Cobb watched from the door dwindling horse and man, taken into the snow world and hidden there. Then they shook from their coats the flakes big as guilders and returned to the fire. “Now you’ve got your pleasure and your play! Did your witch bring him though?” “No!” His blue eyes regarded John Cobb with a bright and distant look. “I’ll take you with me, John, for my man--” The snow fell. The roof, the streets all were white. Sound wrapped itself in wool, in far time. The folk in the ways, the carts and wagons, the strong horses, went in a wafted veil. It witched them, witched the place and hour. As the snow fell fewer and fewer were abroad. Somerville also heard the bells ring. Morgen Fay’s house watched the head of the old wall grow white, and the bridge grow white, and the flakes melt in the river. A dusky plume waved from the chimney. Below was burning wood, and Morgen Fay moved from it to window and from window back again. She was glad to see Somerville. “If ever I needed counsel, I need it now! What is Ailsa? She cannot give it, nor can Tony! What are the others who come here? They have not thy wit, or they are too young or too old. Montjoy has wiped me from his dear soul!” “Your eyes are red. Were you weeping for that?”