Very sulkily it was that the Crabapple Blossoms obeyed, for they were all feeling as cross as two sticks at having such a vulgar buffoon for their master, and at being forced to learn silly old-fashioned dances that would be of no use to them when they were grown-up.
But, surely, there was magic in the bow of that old fiddler! And, surely, no other tune in the world was so lonely, so light-footed, so beckoning! Do what one would one must needs up and follow it.
Without quite knowing how it came about, they were soon all tripping and bobbing and gliding and tossing, with their minds on fire, while Miss Primrose wagged her head in time to the measure, and Professor Wisp, shouting directions the while, wound himself in and out among them, as if they were so many beads, and he the string on which they were threaded.
Suddenly the music stopped, and flushed, laughing, and fanning themselves with their pocket handkerchiefs, the Crabapple Blossoms flung themselves down on the floor, against a pile of bulging sacks in one of the corners, indifferent for probably the first time in their lives to possible damage to their frocks.
But Miss Primrose cried out sharply, "Not there, dears! Not there!"
In some surprise they were about to move, when Professor Wisp whispered something in her ear, and, with a little meaning nod to him, she said, "Very well, dears, stay where you are. It was only that I thought the floor would be dirty for you."
"Well, it wasn't such bad fun after all," said Moonlove Honeysuckle.
"No," admitted Prunella Chanticleer reluctantly. "That old man can play!"
"I wonder what's in these sacks; it feels too soft for apples," said Ambrosine Pyepowders, prodding in idle curiosity the one against which she was leaning.
"There's rather a queer smell coming from them," said Moonlove.
"Horrid!" said Prunella, wrinkling up her little nose.
And then, with a giggle, she whispered, "We've had the goose and the sage, so perhaps these are the onions!"
At that moment Portunus began to tune his fiddle again, and Professor Wisp called out to them to form up again in two rows.
"This time, my little misses," he said, "it's to be a sad solemn dance, so Miss Primrose must foot it with you - `a very aristocratic dance, such as was danced at the court of Duke Aubrey'!" and he gave them a roguish wink.
So admirable had been his imitation of Miss Primrose's voice that, for all he was such a vulgar buffoon, the Crabapple Blossoms could not help giggling.
"But I'll ask you to listen to the tune before you begin to dance it," he went on. "Now then, Portunus!"
"Why! It's just `Columbine' over again" began Prunella scornfully.
But the words froze on her lips, and she stood spellbound and frightened.
It was `Columbine,' but with a difference. For, since they had last heard it, the tune might have died, and wandered in strange places, to come back to earth, an angry ghost.
"Now, then, dance!" cried Professor Wisp, in harsh, peremptory tones.
And it was in sheer self-defence that they obeyed - as if by dancing they somehow or other escaped from that tune, which seemed to be themselves.
"Within and out, in and out, round as a ball,
With hither and thither, as straight as a line,
With lily, germander, and sops in wine.
With sweet-brier
And bon-fire
And strawberry-wire
And columbine,"
sang Professor Wisp. And in and out, in and out of a labyrinth of dreams wound the Crabapple Blossoms.
But now the tune had changed its key. It was getting gay once more - gay, but strange, and very terrifying.
"Any lass for a Duke, a Duke who wears green,
In lands where the sun and the moon do not shine,
With lily, germander, and sops in wine.
With sweet-brier
And bon-fire
And strawberry-wire
And columbine."
sang Professor Wisp, and in and out he wound between his pupils - or, rather, not wound, but dived, darted, flashed, while every moment his singing grew shriller, his laughter more wild.
And then - whence and how they could not say - a new person had joined the dance.
He was dressed in green and he wore a black mask. And the curious thing was that, in spite of all the crossings and recrossings and runs down the middle, and the endless shuffling in the positions of the dancers, demanded by the intricate figures of this dance, the newcomer was never beside you - it was always with somebody else that he was dancing. You never felt the touch of his hand. This was the experience of each individual Crabapple Blossom.
But Moonlove Honeysuckle caught a glimpse of his back; and on it there was a hump.
Chapter VII
Master Ambrose Chases a Wild Goose and Has a Vision
Master Ambrose Honeysuckle had finished his midday meal, and was smoking his churchwarden on his daisy-powdered lawn, under the branches of a great, cool, yellowing lime; and beside him sat his stout comfortable wife, Dame Jessamine, placidly fanning herself to sleep, with her pink-tongued mushroom-coloured pug snoring and choking in her lap.
Master Ambrose was ruminating on the consignment he was daily expecting of flowers-in-amber - a golden eastern wine, for the import of which his house had the monopoly in Dorimare.
But he was suddenly roused from his pleasant reverie by the sound of loud excited voices proceeding from the house, and turning heavily in his chair, he saw his daughter, Moonlove, wild-eyed and dishevelled, rushing towards him across the lawn, followed by a crowd of servants with scared faces and all chattering at once.
"My dear child, what's this? What's this?" he cried testily.
But her only answer was to look at him in agonized terror, and then to moan, "The horror of midday!"
Dame Jessamine sat up with a start and rubbing her eyes exclaimed, "Dear me, I believe I was napping. But Moonlove! Ambrose! What's happening?"
But before Master Ambrose could answer, Moonlove gave three blood-curdling screams, and shrieked out, "Horror! Horror! The tune that never stops! Break the fiddle! Break the fiddle! Oh, Father, quietly, on tiptoe behind him, cut the strings. Cut the strings and let me out, I want the dark."
For an instant, she stood quite still, head thrown back, eyes alert and frightened, like a beast at bay. Then, swift as a hare, she tore across the lawn, with glances over her shoulder as if something were pursuing her, and, rushing through the garden gate, vanished from their astonished view.
The servants, who till now had kept at a respectful distance, came crowding up, their talk a jumble of such exclamations and statements as "Poor young lady!" "It's a sunstroke, sure as my name's Fishbones!" "Oh, my! it quite gave me the palpitations to hear her shriek!"
And the pug yapped with such energy that he nearly burst his mushroom sides, and Dame Jessamine began to have hysterics.
For a few seconds Master Ambrose stood bewildered, then, setting his jaw, he pounded across the lawn, with as much speed as was left him by nearly fifty years of very soft living, out at the garden gate, down the lane, and into the High Street.
Here he joined the tail of a running crowd that, in obedience to the law that compels man to give chase to a fugitive, was trying hard to catch up with Moonlove.
The blood was throbbing violently in Master Ambrose's temples, and his brains seemed congested. All that he was conscious of, on the surface of his mind, was a sense of great irritation against Master Nathaniel Chanticleer for not having had the cobbles on the High Street recently renewed - they were so damnably slippery.