"Rise, oh, rise! The daylight dies: The owls are hooting, ting, ting, ting! Wake, oh, wake! Beside the lake The elves are fluting, ting, ting, ting! Welcoming our fairy king We sing, sing, sing." He sang the first four lines briskly and merrily, making the bluebells chime in time with the music; but the last two he sang quite slowly and gently, and merely waved the flowers backward and forward above his head. And when he had finished the first verse, he left off to explain. "The name of our fairy king is Obberwon" (he meant Oberon, I believe), "and he lives over the lake--_there_--and now and then he comes in a little boat--and then we go and meet him--and then we sing this song, you know." "And then you go and dine with him?" I said, mischievously. "You shouldn't talk," Bruno hastily said; "it interrupts the song so." I said I wouldn't do it again. "I never talk myself when I'm singing," he went on, very gravely; "so you shouldn't either." Then he tuned the bluebells once more, and sung: "Hear, oh, hear! From far and near A music stealing, ting, ting, ting! Fairy bells adown the dells Are merrily pealing, ting, ting, ting! Welcoming our fairy king We ring, ring, ring. "See, oh, see! On every tree What lamps are shining, ting, ting, ting! They are eyes of fiery flies To light our dining, ting, ting, ting! Welcoming our fairy king They swing, swing, swing. "Haste, oh, haste! to take and taste The dainties waiting, ting, ting, ting! Honey-dew is stored--" "Hush, Bruno!" I interrupted, in a warning whisper. "She's coming!" Bruno checked his song only just in time for Sylvie not to hear him; and then, catching sight of her as she slowly made her way through the long grass, he suddenly rushed out headlong at her like a little bull, shouting, "Look the other way! Look the other way!" "Which way?" Sylvie asked, in rather a frightened tone, as she looked round in all directions to see where the danger could be. "_That_ way!" said Bruno, carefully turning her round with her face to the wood. "Now, walk backward--walk gently--don't be frightened; you sha'n't t'ip!" But Sylvie did "t'ip," notwithstanding; in fact he led her, in his hurry, across so many little sticks and stones, that it was really a wonder the poor child could keep on her feet at all. But he was far too much excited to think of what he was doing. I silently pointed out to Bruno the best place to lead her to, so as to get a view of the whole garden at once; it was a little rising ground, about the height of a potato; and, when they had mounted it, I drew back into the shade that Sylvie mightn't see me.