"Did you promise not to tell?"
"No; but larks ought to be discreet. They see more than other birds."
"But you don't fly up high like your husband, do you?"
"Not often. But it's no matter. I come to know things for all that."
"Do tell me, and I will sing you a song," said Tricksey-Wee.
"Can you sing too?—You have got no wings!"
"Yes. And I will sing you a song I learned the other day about a lark and his wife."
"Please do," said the lark's wife. "Be quiet, children, and listen."
Tricksey-Wee was very glad she happened to know a song which would please the lark's wife, at least, whatever the lark himself might have thought of it, if he had heard it. So she sang,—
"'Good morrow, my lord!' in the sky alone,
Sang the lark, as the sun ascended his throne.
'Shine on me, my lord; I only am come,
Of all your servants, to welcome you home.
I have flown a whole hour, right up, I swear,
To catch the first shine of your golden hair!'