"By this time the lark was standing on the edge of his nest and looking at the children.

"'Poor little things! You can't fly,' said the lark.

"'No; but we can look up,' said Tricksey.

"'Ah! you don't know what it is to see the very first of the sun.'

"'But we know what it is to wait till he comes. He's no worse for your seeing him first, is he?'

"'Oh! no, certainly not,' answered the lark, with condescension; and then, bursting into his _jubilate_, he sprung aloft, clapping his wings like a clock running down.

"'Tell us where--' began Buffy-Bob.

"But the lark was out of sight. His song was all that was left of him.

That was everywhere, and he was nowhere.

"'Selfish bird!' said Buffy. 'It's all very well for larks to go hunting the sun, but they have no business to despise their neighbours, for all that.'

"'Can I be of any use to you?' said a sweet bird-voice out of the nest.

This was the lark's wife, who staid at home with the young larks while her husband went to church.

"'Oh! thank you. If you please,' answered Tricksey-Wee.

"And up popped a pretty brown head; and then up came a brown feathery body; and last of all came the slender legs on to the edge of the nest.

There she turned, and, looking down into the nest, from which came a whole litany of chirpings for breakfast, said, 'Lie still, little ones.' Then she turned to the children. 'My husband is King of the Larks,' she said.

"Buffy-Bob took off his cap, and Tricksey-Wee courtesied very low.

"'Oh, it's not me,' said the bird, looking very shy. 'I am only his wife. It's my husband.'And she looked up after him into the sky, whence his song was still falling like a shower of musical hailstones. Perhaps she could see him.

"'He's a splendid bird,' said Buffy-Bob; 'only you know he _will_ get up a little too early.'

"'Oh, no! he doesn't. It's only his way, you know. But tell me what I can do for you.'

"'Tell us, please, Lady Lark, where the she-eagle lives that sits on Giant Thunderthump's heart.'

"'Oh! that is a secret.'

"'Did you promise not to tell?'

"'No; but larks ought to be discreet. They see more than other birds.'

"'But you don't fly up high like your husband, do you?'

"'Not often. But it's no matter. I come to know things for all that.'

"'Do tell me, and I will sing you a song,' said Tricksey-Wee.

"'Can you sing too?'

"'Yes. And I will sing you a song I learned the other day about a lark and his wife.'

"'Please do,' said the lark's wife. 'Be quiet, children, and listen.'

"Tricksey-Wee was very glad she happened to know a song which would please the lark's wife, at least, whatever the lark himself might have thought of it, if he had heard it. So she sang:

"'Good morrow, my lord!' in the sky alone, Sang the lark, as the sun ascended his throne.

'Shine on me, my lord; I only am come, Of all your servants, to welcome you home.

I have flown for an hour, right up, I swear, To catch the first shine of your golden hair!'

'Must I thank you, then,' said the king, 'Sir Lark, For flying so high, and hating the dark?

You ask a full cup for half a thirst: Half is love of me, and half love to be first.

There's many a bird that makes no haste, But waits till I come. That's as much to my taste.'

And the king hid his head in a turban of cloud; And the lark stopped singing, quite vexed and cowed.

But he flew up higher, and thought, 'Anon, The wrath of the king will be over and gone; And his crown, shining out of the cloudy fold, Will change my brown feathers to a glory of gold.'

So he flew, with the strength of a lark he flew.

But, as he rose, the cloud rose too; And not a gleam of the golden hair Came through the depth of the misty air; Till, weary with flying, with sighing sore, The strong sun-seeker could do no more.

His wings had had no chrism of gold; And his feathers felt withered and worn and old; And he sank, and quivered, and dropped like a stone.

And there on his nest, where he left her, alone, Sat his little wife on her little eggs, Keeping them warm with wings and legs.

Did I say alone? Ah, no such thing!

Full in her face was shining the king.

'Welcome, Sir Lark! You look tired,' said he.

'Up is not always the best way to me.

While you have been singing so high and away, I've been shining to your little wife all day.'

He had set his crown all about the nest, And out of the midst shone her little brown breast; And so glorious was she in russet gold, That for wonder and awe Sir Lark grew cold.

He popped his head under her wing, and lay As still as a stone, till the king was away.

"As soon as Tricksey-Wee had finished her song, the lark's wife began a low, sweet, modest little song of her own; and after she had piped away for two or three minutes, she said:

"'You dear children, what can I do for you?'

"'Tell us where the she-eagle lives, please,' said Tricksey-Wee.

"'Well, I don't think there can be much harm in telling such wise, good children,' said Lady Lark; 'I am sure you don't want to do any mischief.'

"'Oh, no; quite the contrary,' said Buffy-Bob.

"'Then I'll tell you. She lives on the very topmost peak of Mount Skycrack; and the only way to get up is, to climb on the spiders' webs that cover it from top to bottom.'

"'That's rather serious,' said Tricksey-Wee.

"'But you don't want to go up, you foolish little thing. You can't go.

And what do you want to go up for?'