"Kenelm. Does that mean something?" The old gentleman plucked May-flowers for a moment. "It means, if I remember rightly, 'a defender of his kindred.' It is a good Anglo-Saxon name." "What does my name mean?" Kirk asked. The Maestro laughed. "Yours is not a given name," he said. "It has no meaning. But--you mean much to me." He caught Kirk suddenly in a breathless embrace, from which he released him almost at once, with an apology. "Let us make the wreath," he said. "See, I'll show you how." He bound the first strands, and then guided Kirk's hands in the next steps, till the child was fashioning the wreath alone. "'My love's an arbutus On the borders of Lene,'" sang the Maestro, in his gentle voice. "Listen and I will tell you what you must say to Felicia when you crown her Queen of the May." The falling sun found the wreath completed and the verse learned, and the two went hand in hand back through the shadowy garden. "Won't you make music to-day?" Kirk begged. "Not to-day," said the old gentleman. "This day we go a-maying. But I am glad you do not forget the music." "How could I?" said Kirk. At the hedge, he added: "I'd like to put a bit of arbutus in your buttonhole, for your May." He held out a sprig in not quite the right direction, and the Maestro stepped forward and stooped to him, while Kirk's fingers found the buttonhole. "Now the Folk can do me no harm," smiled the old gentleman. "Good-by, my dear." * * * * * Felicia was setting the table, with the candle-light about her hair. If Kirk could have seen her, he would indeed have thought her beautiful. He stood with one hand on the door-post, the other behind him. "Phil?" he said. "Here," said Felicia. "Where have you been, honey?" He advanced to the middle of the room, and stopped. There was something so solemn and unchancy about him that his sister put a handful of forks and spoons on the table and stood looking at him. Then he said, slowly: "I come a-maying through the wood, A-for to find my queen; She must be glad and she must be good, And the fairest ever seen. And now have I no further need To seek for loveliness; She standeth at my side indeed-- Felicia--Happiness!" With which he produced the wreath of Mayflowers, and, flinging himself suddenly upon her with a hug not specified in the rite, cast it upon her chestnut locks and twined himself joyfully around her. Phil, quite overcome, collapsed into the nearest chair, Kirk, May-flowers and all, and it was there that Ken found them, rapturously embracing each other, the May Queen bewitchingly pretty with her wreath over one ear. "I didn't make it up," Kirk said, at supper. "The Maestro did--or at least he said the Folk taught him one like it. I can't remember the thanking one he sang before the feast. And Ken, he says _your_ name's good Anglo-Saxon and means 'a defender of his kindred.'"