“Blow that,” he said, giving it to Fairyfoot, “and take care that you don’t swallow it.  You are such a tremendous creature!”

Fairyfoot took the whistle and put it very delicately to his lips.  He blew, and there came from it a high, clear sound that seemed to pierce the deepest depths of the forest.

“Blow again,” commanded Robin Goodfellow.

Again Prince Fairyfoot blew, and again the pure clear sound rang through the trees, and the next instant he heard a loud rushing and tramping and squeaking and grunting, and all the great drove of swine came tearing through the bushes and formed themselves into a circle and stood staring at him as if waiting to be told what to do next.

“Oh, Robin Goodfellow, Robin Goodfellow!” cried Fairyfoot, “how grateful I am to you!”

“Not as grateful as I am to you,” said Robin Goodfellow.  “But for you I should be disturbing that hawk’s digestion at the present moment, instead of which, here I am, a respectable fairy once more, and my late wife (though I ought not to call her that, for goodness knows she was early enough hustling me out of my nest before daybreak, with the unpleasant proverb about the early bird catching the worm!)—­I suppose I should say my early wife—­is at this juncture a widow.  Now, where do you live?”

Fairyfoot told him, and told him also about the swineherd, and how it happened that, though he was a prince, he had to herd swine and live in the forest.

“Well, well,” said Robin Goodfellow, “that is a disagreeable state of affairs.  Perhaps I can make it rather easier for you.  You see that is a fairy whistle.”

“I thought so,” said Fairyfoot.

“Well,” continued Robin Goodfellow, “you can always call your swine with it, so you will never be beaten again.  Now, are you ever lonely?”

“Sometimes I am very lonely indeed,” ananswered the Prince.  “No one cares for me, though I think the brook is sometimes sorry, and tries to tell me things.”

“Of course,” said Robin.  “They all like you.  I’ve heard them say so.”

“Oh, have you?” cried Fairyfoot, joyfully.

“Yes; you never throw stones at the birds, or break the branches of the trees, or trample on the flowers when you can help it.”

“The birds sing to me,” said Fairyfoot, “and the trees seem to beckon to me and whisper; and when I am very lonely, I lie down in the grass and look into the eyes of the flowers and talk to them.  I would not hurt one of them for all the world!”

“Humph!” said Robin, “you are a rather good little fellow.  Would you like to go to a party?”

“A party!” said Fairyfoot.  “What is that?”

“This sort of thing,” said Robin; and he jumped up and began to dance around and to kick up his heels gaily in the palm of Fairyfoot’s hand.  “Wine, you know, and cake, and all sorts of fun.  It begins at twelve to-night, in a place the fairies know of, and it lasts until just two minutes and three seconds and a half before daylight.  Would you like to come?”