them from above — sweetly — mockingly, as it seemed to him. What were they? Why were they? How came Cassandra there listening? He could stand this mystery no longer — and he cried out to her.

“Cass, hear. Listen to that.”

“Yes, Frale.” She spoke wearily, but did not pause.

“Wait, Cass. What be hit, ye reckon? Hit sure hain’t no fiddle. Thar! Heark to hit. Whar be hit at?”

“I reckon it’s up yonder at Doctor Thryng’s cabin. He has a little pipe like, that he blows on and it makes music like that.”

“An’ you clum’ up thar to heark to him?” He bounded forward in the darkness and