“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:— “Hear, oh, hear! From far and near The 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, and, 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 backwards—walk gently—don’t be frightened: oo sha’n’t trip!” But Sylvie _did_ trip 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. I heard Bruno cry out triumphantly “_Now_ oo may look!” and then followed a clapping of hands, but it was all done by Bruno himself. Sylvie was silent—she only stood and gazed with her hands clasped together, and I was half afraid she didn’t like it after all. Bruno too was watching her anxiously, and when she jumped down off the mound, and began wandering up and down the little walks, he cautiously followed her about, evidently anxious that she should form her own opinion of it all, without any hint from him. And when at last she drew a long breath, and gave her verdict—in a hurried whisper, and without the slightest regard to grammar—“It’s the loveliest thing as I never saw in all my life before!” the little fellow looked as well pleased as if it had been given by all the judges and juries in England put together. “And did you really do it all by yourself, Bruno?” said Sylvie. “And all for me?” “I was helped a bit,” Bruno began, with a merry little laugh at her surprise. “We’ve been at it all the afternoon—I thought oo’d like—” and here the poor little fellow’s lip began to quiver, and all in a moment he burst out crying, and running up to Sylvie he flung his arms passionately round her neck, and hid his face on her shoulder.