“Oo 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 oo shouldn't either.” Then he tuned the hare-bells once more, and sang:—-
“Hear, oh, hear! From far and near
The music stealing, ting, ting, ting!
Fairy belts 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, and, 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.
“That way!” said Bruno, carefully turning her round with her face to the wood. “Now, walk backwards walk gently—don't be frightened: oo sha'n't trip!”
But Sylvie did trip notwithstanding: in fact he led her, in his hurry, across so many little sticks and stones, that it was really a wonder the poor child could keep on her feet at all. But he was far too much excited to think of what he was doing.
I silently pointed out to Bruno the best place to lead her to, so as to get a view of the whole garden at once: it was a little rising ground, about the height of a potato; and, when they had mounted it, I drew back into the shade, that Sylvie mightn't see me.