The tune was a jigging
reel, and soon began to inspire the performer above. Her small dancers
in a twinkling turned into a gambolling elephant, then to a pair
of swallows. A moment after they were flower and butterfly, then
a jigging donkey, then harlequin and columbine again. With each
fantastic change the tune quickened and the dance grew wilder. At
length, tired out, the woman spread her hands out wide against the
sheet, as if imploring mercy.
The player tossed his flageolet over a headstone, and rolled back on
the grave in a paroxysm of laughter. Above him the rooks had poured
out of their nests, and were cawing in flustered circles.
"Monsieur," he gasped out, sitting up and wiping his eyes, "was it
good this time?"
"Yes, it was."
"Then could you spare from the house one little crust of bread? For I
am famished."
The youth went round the churchyard wall, and came back in a couple of
minutes with some bread and cold bacon.
"Of course," said he, "if you should meet either of us in the village
to-morrow, you will not recognise us.
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