“What a nice song,” said Ginger. “Do spin another.”
So the Piper span the second penny and sang.
“The night will never stay,
The night will still go by,
Though with a million stars
You pin it to the sky,
Though you bind it with the blowing wind
And buckle it with the moon,
The night will slip away
Like sorrow or a tune.”
The last note met the plop of the penny on the pavement.
“How do you manage it?” asked Gypsy.
“It manages itself,” said the Piper. “None of my songs lasts longer than the spin of a coin.” He span the third penny so badly that it only made a very little song, like this:
“The tide in the river,
The tide in the river,
The tide in the river runs deep.
I saw a shiver
Pass over the river
As the tide turned in its sleep.”
“Have you just come up the river?” asked Ginger.
“No,” said the Piper. “I have just come from a chickory field under Graffham. The Sussex chicory is as blue now as it will be, and the raspberries are ripening on the Downs.”
“Don’t!” implored Ginger, sitting up, “How could you bear to come to town?”