Kirk did not, except that it was Saturday. "It is May-day," said the Maestro, "and the spirits of the garden are abroad. We must keep our May together. Come--I think I have not forgotten the way." He took Kirk's hand, and they walked down the grass path till the sweet closeness of a low pine covert wove a scented silence about them. The Maestro's voice dropped. "It used to be here," he said. "Try--the other side of the pine-tree. Ah, it has been so many, many years!" [Illustration: The Maestro sat down beside Kirk] Kirk's hand sought along the dry pine-needles; then, in a nook of the roots, what but a tiny dish, with sweetmeats, set out, and little cups of elder wine, and bread, and cottage cheese! The Maestro sat down beside Kirk on the pine-needles, and began to sing softly in a rather thin but very sweet voice. "Here come we a-maying, All in the wood so green; Oh, will ye not be staying? Oh, can ye not be seen? Before that ye be flitting, When the dew is in the east, We thank ye, as befitting, For the May and for the feast. Here come we a-maying, All in the wood so green, In fairy coverts straying A-for to seek our queen." "One has to be courteous to them," he added at the end, while Kirk sat rapt, very possibly seeing far more garden spirits than his friend had any idea of. "I myself," the Maestro said, "do not very often come to the garden. It is too full, for me, of children no longer here. But the garden folk have not forgotten." "When I'm here," murmured Kirk, sipping elder wine, "Applegate Farm and everything in the world seem miles and years away. Is there really a magic line at the hedge?" "If there is, you are the only one who has discovered it," said the old gentleman, enigmatically. "Leave a sup of wine and a bit of bread for the Folk, and let us see if we cannot find some May-flowers." They left the little pine room,--Kirk putting in the root hollow a generous tithe for the garden folk,--and went through the garden till the grass grew higher beneath their feet, and they began to climb a rough, sun-warmed hillside, where dry leaves rustled and a sweet earthy smell arose. "Search here among the leaves," the Maestro said, "and see what you shall find." So Kirk, in a dream of wonder, dropped to his knees, and felt among the loose leaves, in the sunshine. And there were tufts of smooth foliage, all hidden away, and there came from them a smell rapturously sweet--arbutus on a sunlit hill. Kirk pulled a sprig and sat drinking in the deliciousness of it, till the old gentleman said: "We must have enough for a wreath, you know--a wreath for the queen." "Who is our Queen of the May?" Kirk asked. "The most beautiful person you know." "Felicia," said Kirk, promptly. "Felicia," mused the Maestro. "That is a beautiful name. Do you know what it means?" Kirk did not. "It means happiness. Is it so?" "Yes," said Kirk; "Ken and I couldn't be happy without her. She _is_ happiness." "Kenneth is your brother?"