Then all the faeries melted away in the thin moonshine, the blooming flowers vanished through the floor, the laurel wreath disappeared from the baby’s head, and Eldina almost thought that she had been dreaming. She had not been dreaming, however, as she soon found out, for, as the years rolled by, and Lanis grew up into a tall, handsome boy, he became the wonder of the countryside, owing to his beautiful voice and his marvellous songs. Eldina had found a golden lyre left by the faeries when Lanis grew old enough to play it, and with this in his hand he was accustomed to wander about the country singing his lovely melodies. All the country folk used to make Lanis sing to them at their merrymakings, but when he lifted up his voice, the dancers would cease to dance, the talkers to chatter, and they would sit with awestruck faces listening to the wonderful stories he told them. It was a curious thing that, in spite of what the faeries had said about not giving him the gift of happiness, the lad’s songs were of the most joyous description, and made the hearts of all rejoice. Eldina was delighted at this, as she thought Lanis would now be happy, in spite of the prophecy of the faeries, when at one merrymaking she heard an old man say,— “Ah, he sings fine, no doubt; but he’ll sing better when his heart is broken.” “What do you mean?” she asked in great dread. “Joy-singing is beautiful,” replied the old man, “but sorrow-singing is better; your lad knows nothing of the bitterness of life, and sings like a delighted child. Wait till he breaks his heart, and he will be a famous singer indeed.” “But will he be happy?” she asked quickly, as the old man turned to go. “No: genius is the gift of heaven, but it always brings sorrow to its possessor; the laurel wreath is a sign of honour, but the leaves are bitter.” Eldina looked steadily into the eyes of the old man, and saw that he was a faery who had come to warn her of approaching sorrow. She strove to detain him and learn more, but the faery had vanished, and her hands only grasped the rags of a scarecrow which stood in the fields. That night she died, and Lanis, who was deeply attached to her, wept bitterly as they buried her under the cool green turf. Before she died, Eldina called him to her bedside, and told him all about the faeries, bidding him wander through the world and seek the one gift which they could not bestow. Lanis wept, and although he could not understand what she meant, still a vague idea of her real meaning came to him as he sat by her grave under the silent stars and sang a farewell. There was a note in his voice which had not been there before, and the simple people in the village awoke at midnight to hear his sad voice float through the still air of the summer’s night. “It is sorrow-singing,” they said to one another. “Lanis will never be happy again.”