With that he vanished as quietly as he came. Almost as soon as the trees had hidden him from my sight, a blackbird began to whistle, then stopped, and a laugh came out of the woods.
Altogether a very strange man.
I found, when he had gone, that he had written something on a piece of paper and had pinned it to the tree with a long thorn. It was this:
“I think, very likely, you may not know Ben Jonson’s ‘Gipsy Benediction.’ If you don’t, accept the offering as a return for my excellent lunch.
“The faerybeam upon you—
The stars to glisten on you—
A moon of light
In the noon of night,
Till the firedrake hath o’er gone you!
The wheel of fortune guide you;