THE PIPER.

BY M. L. VAN VORST.

There's a strange gaunt piper in doublet brown Comes over the heather and over the sea; His dwelling is neither in city nor town, And he pipes for the wee little folk and me. His hat is high and pointed and green, With a sprig in the hand from the holly-tree, And his smile is the merriest ever seen In the eyes of the wee little folk and me. He comes at the close of the winter days, As we sit in the firelight after tea; He steals from the corner, and smiles and plays For the tired wee little folk and me. And what are the tunes that the piper sings As the strange pipe trembles with melody?— I'd like to tell you the beautiful things He tells to the wee little folk and me. But they fade as soon as the piper goes To take his journey o'er heather and sea. Will he come again to us? Nobody knows. Will you wait with the wee little folk and me?