“Passon!  Tum ’ere!  Passon!  Tum ’ere!”

There was no possibility of ‘holding forth’ after this.  A. short address on the brevity of life, as being co-equal with the evanescent joys of a Maypole, would hardly serve,—­and a fatherly ambition as to the unbecoming attitude of mendi-cancy assumed by independent young villagers carrying a great crown of flowers round to every house in the neighbourhood, and demanding pence for the show, would scarcely be popular.  Because what did the ‘Mayers’ Song say: 

“The Heavenly gates are opened wide, Our paths are beaten plain; And if a man be not too far gone, He may return again.”

And the ‘Heavenly gates’ of Spring being wide open, the Reverend John, thought his special path was ‘beaten plain’ for the occasion; and not being ‘too far gone’ either in bigotry or lack of heart, John did what he reverently imagined the Divine Master might have done when He ’took a little child and set it in the midst.”  He obeyed Baby Hippolyta’s imperious command, and to her again loudly reiterated “Passon!  Tum ’ere!” he sprang forward and caught her up in his arms, kissing her rosy cheeks heartily as he did so.  Seated in ‘high exalted state’ upon his shoulder.  ‘Ipsie’ became Hippolyta in good earnest, so thoroughly aware was she of her dignity, while, holding her as lightly and buoyantly as he would have held a bird, the Reverend John turned his smiling face on his young parishioners.

“Come along, boys and girls!” he exclaimed,—­“Come and plant the Maypole in the big meadow yonder, as you did last year!  It is a holiday for us all to-day,—­for me as well as for you!  It has always been a holiday even before the days when great Elizabeth was Queen of England, and though many dear old customs have fallen into disuse with the changing world, St. Rest has never yet been robbed of its May-day festival!  Be thankful for that, children!—­and come along;—­ but move carefully!—­keep order,—­and sing as you come!”

Whereupon Susie Prescott lifted up her pretty voice again and her hazel wand baton at the same moment, and started the chorus with the verse: 

“We have been rambling all this night, And almost all this day; And now returning back again, We bring you in the May!”

And thus carolling, they passed through the garden moving meadow-wards, Walden at the head of the procession,—­and Baby Hippolyta seated on his shoulder, was so elated with the gladsome sights and sounds, that she clasped her chubby arms round ‘Passon’s’ neck and kissed him with a fervour that was as fresh and delightful as it was irresistibly comic.

Bainton, making his way along the southern wall of the orchard, to take a ‘glance round’ as he termed it, at the condition of the wall fruit-trees before his master joined him on the usual morning tour of inspection, stopped and drew aside to watch the merry procession winding along under the brown stems dotted with thousands of red buds splitting into pink-and-white bloom; and a slow smile moved the furrows of his face upward in various pleasant lines as he saw the ‘Passon’ leading it with a light step, carrying the laughing ‘Ipsie’ on his shoulder, and now and again joining in the ‘Mayers’ Song’ with a mellow baritone voice that warmed and sustained the whole chorus.