“What is that?” she demanded, finger pointing.
“My tabor,” returned Peregrine.
“Tabor?” she queried. The word as well as the instrument was unknown to her. “What is a tabor?”
“A musical instrument,” said Peregrine, smiling at the little ignoramus.
“Music!” Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed. “Ah, play it!” This was on a note of deep entreaty.
Peregrine shrugged his shoulders. Here was an interlude in his former mood of blackness. It was not wholly distasteful. You have seen that he favoured children. He found quaintness in this one.
“What shall I play for you?” he demanded, unslinging the instrument.
“Play while I sing,” she said firmly. “That will sound well.”
Peregrine chuckled. “Truly that depends on the singing,” quoth he. “On, then, with the song.”
Birdlike her voice rose in the pure air. Peregrine catching the melody came in with the tabor. Here is what she sang.