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Page 13
There was no resisting such a strong hint as this: however, I pretended
to think about it for a moment, and then said, "Well, I like 'Ting,
ting, ting,' best of all."
"That shows you're a good judge of music," Bruno said, with a pleased
look. "How many bluebells would you like?" And he put his thumb into
his mouth to help me to consider.
As there was only one bluebell within easy reach, I said very gravely
that I thought one would do _this_ time, and I picked it and gave it to
him. Bruno ran his hand once or twice up and down the flowers,--like a
musician trying an instrument,--producing a most delicious delicate
tinkling as he did so. I had never heard flower-music before,--I don't
think one can unless one's in the "eerie" state,--and I don't know
quite how to give you an idea of what it was like, except by saying
that it sounded like a peal of bells a thousand miles off.
When he had satisfied himself that the flowers were in tune, he seated
himself on the mouse (he never seemed really comfortable anywhere
else), and, looking up at me with a merry twinkle in his eyes, he
began. By the way, the tune was rather a curious one, and you might
like to try it for yourself, so here are the notes:
[Illustration]
"Rise, oh, rise! The daylight dies:
The owls are hooting, ting, ting, ting!
Wake, oh, wake! Beside the lake
The elves are fluting, ting, ting, ting!
Welcoming our fairy king
We sing, sing, sing."
He sang the first four lines briskly and merrily, making the bluebells
chime in time with the music; but the last two he sang quite slowly and
gently, and merely waved the flowers backward and forward above his
head. And when he had finished the first verse, he left off to explain.
"The name of our fairy king is Obberwon" (he meant Oberon, I believe),
"and he lives over the lake--_there_--and now and then he comes in a
little boat--and then we go and meet him--and then we sing this song,
you know."
"And then you go and dine with him?" I said, mischievously.
"You shouldn't talk," Bruno hastily said; "it interrupts the song so."
I said I wouldn't do it again.
"I never talk myself when I'm singing," he went on, very gravely; "so
you shouldn't either."
Then he tuned the bluebells once more, and sung:
"Hear, oh, hear! From far and near
A 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 only just in time for Sylvie not to hear him;
and then, catching sight of her 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.
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