'If fairy songs and fairy gold
Were tunes to sell and gold to spend,
Then, hearts so gay and hearts so bold,
We'd find the joy that has no end.
But fairy songs and fairy gold
Are but red leaves in Autumn's play.
The pipes are dumb, the tale is told,
Go back to realms of working day.
The working day is dark and long,
And very full of dismal things;
It has no tunes like fairy song,
No hearts so brave as fairy kings.
Its princes are the dull and old,
Its birds are mute, its skies are grey;
And quicker far than fairy gold
Its dreary treasures fleet away.
But all the gallant, kind and true
May haply hear the fairy drum,
Which still must beat the wide world through,
Till Arthur wake and Charlie come.
And those who hear and know the call
Will take the road with staff in hand,
And after many a fight and fall,
Come home at last to fairy-land.'"
*****
They were half-way through breakfast next morning before Buff appeared. He stood at the door with a sheet of paper in his hand, looking rather distraught. His hair had certainly not been brushed, and a smear of paint disfigured one side of his face. He was not, as Mr. Taylor would have put it, looking his "brightest and bonniest."
"I've been in Father's study," he said in answer to his sister's question, and handed Arthur Townshend the paper he carried.
"It's for you," he said, "a sea-fight. It's the best I can do. I've used up nearly all the paints in my box."
He had certainly been lavish with his colours, and the result was amazing in the extreme.
Mr. Townshend expressed himself delighted, and discussed the points of the picture with much insight.
"We shall miss you," Mr. Seton said, looking very kindly at him. "It has been almost like having one of our own boys back. You must come again, and to Etterick next time."