Bruno took another look at the mysterious letters. “Why, it’s ‘LIVE,’ backwards!” he exclaimed. (I thought it was, indeed.) “How _did_ you manage to see that?” said Sylvie. “I just twiddled my eyes,” said Bruno, “and then I saw it directly. Now may I sing the King-fisher Song?” “Geography next,” said Sylvie. “Don’t you know the Rules?” “I thinks there oughtn’t to be such a lot of Rules, Sylvie! I thinks——” “Yes, there _ought_ to be such a lot of Rules, you wicked, wicked boy! And how dare you _think_ at all about it? And shut up that mouth directly!” So, as ‘that mouth’ didn’t seem inclined to shut up of itself, Sylvie shut it for him—with both hands—and sealed it with a kiss, just as you would fasten up a letter. “Now that Bruno is fastened up from talking,” she went on, turning to me, “I’ll show you the Map he does his lessons on.” And there it was, a large Map of the World, spread out on the ground. It was so large that Bruno had to crawl about on it, to point out the places named in the ‘King-fisher Lesson.’ “When a King-fisher sees a Lady-bird flying away, he says ‘_Ceylon_, if you _Candia_!’ And when he catches it, he says ‘Come to _Media_! And if you’re _Hungary_ or thirsty, I’ll give you some _Nubia_!’ When he takes it in his claws, he says ‘_Europe!_’ When he puts it into his beak, he says ‘_India!_’ When he’s swallowed it, he says ‘_Eton!_’ That’s all.” “That’s _quite_ perfect,” said Sylvie. “Now you may sing the King-fisher Song.” “Will _oo_ sing the chorus?” Bruno said to me. I was just beginning to say “I’m afraid I don’t know the _words_,” when Sylvie silently turned the map over, and I found the words were all written on the back. In one respect it was a _very_ peculiar song: the chorus to each verse came in the _middle_, instead of at the _end_ of it. However, the tune was so easy that I soon picked it up, and managed the chorus as well, perhaps, as it is possible for _one_ person to manage such a thing. It was in vain that I signed to Sylvie to help me: she only smiled sweetly and shook her head. “King Fisher courted Lady Bird— _Sing Beans, sing Bones, sing Butterflies!_ ‘Find me my match,’ he said, ‘With such a noble head— With such a beard, as white as curd— With such expressive eyes!’ “‘Yet pins have heads,’ said Lady Bird— _Sing Prunes, sing Prawns, sing Primrose-Hill!_ ‘And, where you stick them in, They stay, and thus a pin Is very much to be preferred To one that’s never still!’ “‘Oysters have beards,’ said Lady Bird— _Sing Flies, sing Frogs, sing Fiddle-strings!_ ‘I love them, for I know _They_ never chatter so: They would not say one single word— Not if you crowned them Kings!’ “‘Needles have eyes,’ said Lady Bird— _Sing Cats, sing Corks, sing Cowslip-tea!_ ‘And they are sharp—just what Your Majesty is _not:_ So get you gone—’tis too absurd To come a-courting _me_!’” [Illustration: KING FISHER’S WOOING]