By this time we had nearly finished the garden. I had fetched some violets, and Bruno was just helping me to put in the last, when he suddenly stopped and said “I'm tired.” “Rest then,” I said: “I can go on without you, quite well.” Bruno needed no second invitation: he at once began arranging the dead mouse as a kind of sofa. “And I'll sing oo a little song,” he said, as he rolled it about. “Do,” said I: “I like songs very much.” “Which song will oo choose?” Bruno said, as he dragged the mouse into a place where he could get a good view of me. “'Ting, ting, ting' is the nicest.” There was no resisting such a strong hint as this: however, I pretended to think about it for a moment, and then said “Well, I like 'Ting, ting, ting,' best of all.” {Image...Bruno's revenge} “That shows oo're a good judge of music,” Bruno said, with a pleased look. “How many hare-bells would oo like?” And he put his thumb into his mouth to help me to consider. As there was only one cluster of hare-bells within easy reach, I said very gravely that I thought one would do this time, and I picked it and gave it to him. Bruno ran his hand once or twice up and down the flowers, like a musician trying an instrument, producing a most delicious delicate tinkling as he did so. I had never heard flower-music before--I don't think one can, unless one's in the 'eerie' state and I don't know quite how to give you an idea of what it was like, except by saying that it sounded like a peal of bells a thousand miles off. When he had satisfied himself that the flowers were in tune, he seated himself on the dead mouse (he never seemed really comfortable anywhere else), and, looking up at me with a merry twinkle in his eyes, he began. By the way, the tune was rather a curious one, and you might like to try it for yourself, so here are the notes. {Image...Music for hare-bells} “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 hare-bells chime in time with the music; but the last two he sang quite slowly and gently, and merely waved the flowers backwards and forwards. Then he left off to explain. “The Fairy-King is Oberon, and he lives across the lake--and sometimes he comes in a little boat--and we go and meet him and then we sing this song, you know.” “And then you go and dine with him?” I said, mischievously. “Oo 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 oo shouldn't either.” Then he tuned the hare-bells once more, and sang:---