Spring at the three wells
The market at Three Wells is best in Blossom.

The three wells stand in the square where the two roads cross. On market day the stalls go round them, and the wells are the only quiet things in the square, deep and still. The children drop stones in the east well to hear the sound, and Sorrel the teacher tells them not to, and the water goes plunk, and the children laugh.

Spring comes slow here. The snow goes off the roof and the roads turn to mud and the carts come in from all the towns. Pell brings salt and cloth from Saltreach and apples from Ambrook that have kept all winter in the dry. The women from Kettle Ridge bring beetroot, small this year, and wool, and the first greens. The men from Copperhold bring copper pots and coal for the forge and a little iron. A child from Lowmarsh brings a jar of frogs for luck, though nobody asked for frogs, and the jar sits by the notice board all day and the frogs are quiet.

The bell rings at dusk. The stalls come down. The lamps go up on every corner and the square is warm and smells of soup and bread and the lamps. The school children sing by the east well. The song is new and slow and the parents listen and clap.

Then the square empties and the wells are quiet again. The cat sits on the notice board and watches the road, and the lamps burn down one by one, and the mayor goes home, and the town sleeps.

(From a school essay by Bel, about nine, who lives at Three Wells. Sorrel gave it a good mark and a honey sweet.)
%%
Verses for the long summer night
The sun went down behind the hill,
The moon came up and all was still.
The bees went home, the hens went in,
And the crickets started up again.

Oh, the night is long and the stars are high,
And the frogs go singing down the sky.
Oh, the night is warm and the wind is low,
And the children sleep wherever they go.

Tam lay out on the barn roof flat,
And Pip sat by him, and the cat sat at that.
They counted stars until they lost their place,
And then they counted again, from the start, with grace.

Count the clouds that drift and sail,
Count the bats that come with the gale.
Count the moths around the lamp,
Count the foxes, one, and damp.

Oh, the night is long, but the morning comes,
With the rooster's shout and the windmill's drums.
Oh, the night is short, if you count it right,
And the sun is up before you say good night.

Lie still now, all of you, and hush,
The grass is cool, the barn is a brush
Of hay and straw and sleeping cat,
And one of us is always counting that.

(Sung at the top farm on the longest summer nights, when the children lie out on the barn roof and nobody wants to go to bed. The grown folk sing it too, when they are tired of arguing. Pell once sang it at the Brown Hen and was asked to stop, and he sang it the next night as well, to the same tune, with new words about the price of hay.)
%%
Song: the market basket

Hush, little one, the market is closed.
The last stall has packed up its rows.
Copper pots sleep by the baker's warm wall.
The pears are gone, and the cats have them all.

A cart wheel squeaked on the road to the square.
A pig gave a grunt, and nobody cared.
A child dropped a beet on the cobblestone.
The pig ate it up, then went home alone.

Sleep till the morning, when stalls fill the street.
Your aunt will buy honey and bread for a treat.
Your uncle will count out the coins very slow.
He loses his place when the cold winds blow.

Hush, little one, the market is closed.
The last stall has packed up its rows.
%%
Lullaby: the late boat

Sleep, little Noll, the fish boat is late.
The lamps on the water shine under the gate.
Your mother has set out a bowl by the fire.
The soup will stay warm, and the tide may turn higher.

The nets hang to dry on the wall by the quay.
The gulls have gone quiet and flown out to sea.
Your father knows each post and rope by their sound.
He will find the harbor when he comes round.

The fish sellers folded their board for the night.
They put away scales and covered the light.
A cat has found shelter beside the warm shed.
It purrs as if every fish were its bed.

Sleep till the oars make a sound at the pier.
Then wake with a smile. Your father is near.
%%
Notice: the market square, spring fair
To everyone coming to the spring fair at Three Wells, from Dace, mayor.

The fair is at the three wells on the second day of Blossom. The stalls go round the wells. The roads cross like an X and the stalls go between them, so keep the crossing clear for carts.

Rules for the fair:
1. Put your stall where the stall keeper tells you. Do not put it over a well.
2. Keep the lamp at every corner lit. The stall keepers see to this.
3. No carts on the square after the second bell. Carry your goods by hand.
4. The school sings at the second bell by the east well. The song is new and slow. Please listen.
5. If you find a grey cat on your stall, leave it be. It is Kester's cat and it will go home by itself.
6. The bell rings at dusk and the fair ends. Take your goods. Leave the square clean.

This year we have no pumpkins for the soup. The harvest was poor. We will have beetroot soup at the school table and honey cakes if the bees did well. The bees did well.

The notice board is by the square. Put your notices there and not on the well.

Dace, mayor
%%
Cradle song from the tally stall

Rock, little Leda, rock with the cart.
The market is quiet, but not in your heart.
The lamps make small moons on the cobblestone floor.
The last seller has shut the stall door.

Your grandad sold carrots, and mother sold thread.
Your uncle bought apples and dropped one instead.
It rolled to the well, then it rolled to the wall.
A pig gave one grunt and claimed it all.

Rock, little Leda, rock with the cart.
The wheel makes a song with its squeak and its start.
The baker has covered the flour and tray.
The fish seller swept all the scales away.
The cats have gone hunting behind the warm shed.
The dogs sleep curled up beneath the inn bed.

The carts stand in rows by the market square.
The horses are fed, and the harness is there.
One horse keeps chewing the edge of a sack.
He has eaten the mark that showed where it went back.
His driver says, "Fine, now the sack knows the way."
The horse gives a snort and has nothing to say.

Rock, little Leda, the night is not long.
The wind at the ridge has forgotten its song.
Tomorrow the stalls will be bright once again.
There will be bread, and honey, and rain.

Your aunt will count copper, your mother will mend.
Your grandad will tell the same tale to a friend.
The tale has a rabbit, a basket, a pie.
The rabbit eats carrots and will not say why.

So close your eyes softly, and rest in your bed.
The lamp is still burning above your small head.
The square can wait till the morning bells ring.
Sleep through the carts and the sellers who sing.
%%
Lullaby: forge smoke

Sleep, little Pip. The forge has grown dim.
The last iron bar is under its brim.
Your father has put down the hammer at last.
The sparks are asleep, and the loud day has passed.

The windmill is turning beyond the town.
The moon keeps watch while the lamps settle down.
Sleep till the hens call out at the gate.
Then bread, then a walk, and no need to be late.

Hush now, my sparrow, close both eyes.
The stars are bright above the mines.
%%
Lullaby for Hanne's girl
Little one, come, the ridge is still,
The wheat is cut, the top field's filled.
Sleep in the cradle your uncle made,
With the carved sheep on the top of the blade.

Rock, little one, the cradle goes,
Rock, and the sheep will count the rows.
One for the wheat, and one for the wind,
One for the cart that you will find.

The stars come up over the mill,
The bell is quiet, the lane is still.
Your grandfather snores, your mother sings,
And someone has tied the sheep to the wings.

(Sung when the baby is first laid in the cradle at Kettle Ridge. Everyone who hears the song counts the rows on the carved sheep. Tam's carving has one row too many. Nobody has ever said so to his face.)
%%
Song for the storm night
The wind came over the ridge at dusk,
And rattled every shutter in the street.
The torches leaned, the gate was barred,
But we had bread and tea and feet to keep warm.

Hush, hush, the rain is on the roof,
Hush, hush, the thunder goes away.
Lie down by the stove, my little one,
The storm will tire before the day.

Mother counted the sacks in the store.
Father checked the lamp and the lock.
The cat went under the table to hide,
And the chickens sat in a sulky flock.

Hush, hush, the rain is on the roof,
Hush, hush, the thunder goes away.
Lie down by the stove, my little one,
The storm will tire before the day.

The wind went round to the east at last.
The clouds came apart like wet wool.
We heard the miners' bell from the hill,
Ringing once for every one of us.

Hush, hush, the rain is on the roof,
Hush, hush, the thunder goes away.
Lie down by the stove, my little one,
The storm will tire before the day.

In the morning the path was full of leaves,
And one of the old oaks had lost a limb.
But the roof held, and the wall held,
And the bread was still warm in the tin.
%%
Cradle song of the copper market

Hush, little Mira, the stalls are all bare.
The sellers have folded their cloth with care.
The apples are covered, the flour is tied.
The carts stand asleep with their wheels side by side.

The last lamp shines over the market board.
A broom leans by it, and a sack by the door.
Your mother has counted the eggs for the dawn.
One egg is missing. The chicken is gone.
No, there she is, under the basket of wool.
She has made herself quiet and comfortable.
Your mother says, "Stay there, then, till morning light."
The chicken shuts both eyes and sits up all night.

Sleep while the town settles down on the hill.
The forge has gone dark, and the mine carts are still.
The miners have scrubbed the black dust from each hand.
Hesk has gone home with his boots full of sand.
He set them outside and forgot where he stood.
Now one boot leans over the water bucket good.
His apprentice brought it in, then brought it back out.
Hesk says, "That is sensible. No doubt."

The fish boat was late at the edge of the bay.
The market lamps burned as the tide slipped away.
The family waited beside the pier.
They heard the oars knock, and the boat was near.
The fish came in wrapped in a net full of foam.
The crew ate warm bread before going home.
One child asked if the boat had seen whales.
The boat had seen water, and three broken pails.

Rock, little Mira, and sleep till the light.
The baker has covered the loaves for the night.
The honey jars shine in their place on the shelf.
A cat has curled up by the warm market wall.
It dreams of a fish and a very tall stall.

At morning your father will carry the grain.
Your aunt will bring apples, and Tam may bring rain.
He says he can tell when the clouds will arrive.
He is often wrong, but his boots stay dry.
The market will wake with a creak and a call.
The seller will lift up the cloth from the wall.
The bell will ring once, then the carts will roll in.
Sleep, little Mira. The day will begin.
%%
Cradle song for the new calf
Hush, little calf, the barn is warm,
The hay is high, the wind is gone.
Your mother chews and sleeps out there,
And Tam is sitting in his chair.

Hush, little calf, the moon is up,
The windmill sleeps, the frogs have stopped.
Lie down now in the golden straw,
And dream of the milk you'll sip before.

Hush, little calf, the gate is shut,
The dog is out, the pig is in a rut.
Pip will check the bolt once more,
And then the barn will hush and snore.

(Sung in the barn at Kettle Ridge on the night a calf is born. Tam sings it the wrong way round. Pip sings it the right way, very quietly, to keep the cow calm.)
%%
Lullaby: the pot that boiled over
This is a song my aunt made up after a bad day with the soup. It is a lullaby of sorts. It is meant to be sung very slowly, while rocking.
Hush, the pot is boiling over,
Hush, the barley's in the fire.
Hush, I put in too much pepper,
Hush, the cat has climbed the wire.
Sleep, my small one, sleep, my dear,
Tomorrow's soup will be clear.
Hush, the bread has gone to charcoal,
Hush, the eggs have all gone hard.
Hush, I mixed the salt and sugar,
Hush, the cow is in the yard.
Sleep, my small one, sleep, my dear,
Tomorrow's soup will be clear.
Hush, the neighbors came to supper,
Hush, they ate it, every spoon.
Hush, they said it was quite lovely,
Hush, they left before the moon.
Sleep, my small one, sleep, my dear,
Tomorrow's soup will be clear.
My aunt sang this at the Lowmarsh market on the evening after the stew went wrong. She was laughing so much she had to stop twice. Nobody remembers the tune exactly. Everyone hums it a little differently, and everyone is right.
%%
Lullaby: the long road and the lamp
Sleep, little one, the road is long,
The lamp is lit on the hill.
It blinks and it blinks to the next one over,
And the next, and the next, and still
It blinks, and it blinks, till the morning.
Sleep, little one, the traders have come,
They sleep in the inn tonight.
Their carts are full and their horses fed
And the Halfway fire is bright.
It blinks, and it blinks, till the morning.
Sleep, little one, the north is far,
The nights are long and the snow
Falls soft on the tower and the keeper's roof
And the foxes come and go.
It blinks, and it blinks, till the morning.
They say that the lamp in the north went dark,
And then it was lit again.
They say that the keeper went off for a while
And came back, and nobody knows when.
It blinks, and it blinks, till the morning.
Sleep, little one, the lamp is lit,
Though it is far away.
Somebody is watching, somebody's near,
And morning comes anyway.
It blinks, and it blinks, till the morning.
Emmet wrote: sung by three women at the market, a little differently by each. The fourth verse is newer than the rest. Nobody agrees on how it goes.
%%
Lullaby: the first snow, late
The first snow came when it should have gone,
Late in spring, over the hill.
It fell on the blossom, and fell on the road,
And the inn went white and still.

Sleep, sleep, the snow is soft,
Sleep, sleep, the road is white.
Nothing moves on the Long Road now
But the snow, and the stars, and the night.

The cat came in with a flake on her nose
And shook it off on the floor.
The baby laughed, and the baby slept,
And the cat lay by the door.

Sleep, sleep, the snow is soft,
Sleep, sleep, the road is white.
Nothing moves on the Long Road now
But the snow, and the stars, and the night.

They say that the lights over Northpoint were green,
They say that the lights were red.
They say that it was a fire in the sky.
They say what they said.

Sleep, sleep, the snow is soft,
Sleep, sleep, the road is white.
Nothing moves on the Long Road now
But the snow, and the stars, and the night.

Tomorrow the sun will melt it away,
And the carts will be on the road,
And the waymarks will wear their little stones,
And someone will carry a load.

Sleep, sleep, the snow is soft,
Sleep, sleep, the road is white.
Nothing moves on the Long Road now
But the snow, and the stars, and the night.

(The keeper of an inn on the Long Road sings this when the weather turns late. Pell says the snow came on the day he sold his last honey of the winter and he could not leave. He says the song is good for sleeping. He says he did not sleep.)
%%
Lullaby: the song contest winner
This one won the spring contest at the farm outside Northpoint, sung by Bel, who was a child when she first sang it, and is not now.
Hush, little lamb, the snow is going,
The brook runs high and the ice is thin.
The geese came back on a windy morning,
And the cat came out and let them in.

Sleep, little lamb, in a bed of wool,
The barn is warm and the moon is thin.
Someone is coming home tomorrow,
Someone knocks, and we let them in.
%%
The cat and the market
There is a grey cat at the market in Three Wells. It has one white ear. Nobody knows whose cat it is. Kester says it is his cat. The cat says nothing.

The cat sits on the honey stall. It sits on the bread stall. It sits on the fish cart from Saltreach and watches the gulls. Pell the merchant says the cat sat on her ledger once, all through a morning of sums, and her sums were right anyway, so she left it there.

On market day the dogs bark and the children run and the well water splashes on the stones. The cat does not mind. It walks the tops of the stalls like a road. It sits in the shade of the notice board and reads nothing.

A woman from Ambrook tried to take the cat home in a basket. The cat got out. A boy from Copperhold tried to keep it with a saucer of milk. The cat drank the milk and walked away. The cat likes the fair more than any house.

At night, when the stalls come down and the lamps go up on every corner, the cat goes home to the inn. Kester leaves the door a little open. The cat comes in, eats, and sits by the fire as if it had been there all day.

(From a letter to a friend in Lowmarsh. The friend wrote back: "Send the cat to us. We have frogs enough but no cats.")
%%
Song: sleep now, the lamps are lit
Sleep now, the lamps are lit,
the shutters are closed and the fire is low.
The cat is out and the moon is up,
and the town is quiet as a cup of snow.

Sleep now, the bread is set,
the dough will rise while you are still.
The kettle hums and the wind is soft,
and the well is full and the night is chill.

Sleep now, the fields are green,
the wheat is tall and the bees are in.
The road is long but our door is near,
and the latch is warm for the folk who come in.

Sleep now, the bell is still,
the wells are deep and the stars are slow.
The horse is fed and the hen is down,
and the frogs are singing soft and low.

Hush now, hush now, close your eyes,
the morning comes when the rooster cries.

(A cradle song from the inn at Three Wells. The innkeeper sings it in the hall when a family stops for the night. The cat comes back for the last line.)
%%
Lullaby: the sleepy shift
Down the long stair, the lamps go down,
One for the bins and one for the rails.
The copper sleeps in the sorting shed,
The iron sleeps by the forge in its pails.

Hush, the wheel and hush, the lift,
Hush, the carts that go back empty.
Sleep, the shift is done for you,
Sleep, the day is safe and plenty.

Hesk is tired, and Ola too,
And old Fenn with his pipe and cough.
They walk up the stair one by one,
And the lamp goes out at the top step off.

Hush, the wheel and hush, the lift,
Hush, the carts that go back empty.
Sleep, the shift is done for you,
Sleep, the day is safe and plenty.

Clank walks slowly past the door,
Clanking softly on the stone.
Somebody gives it a corner to rest,
And somebody tells it, "You are home."

Hush, the wheel and hush, the lift,
Hush, the carts that go back empty.
Sleep, the shift is done for you,
Sleep, the day is safe and plenty.
%%
Lullaby: homecoming at the farm
Hush, my little one, the door is open,
Somebody's feet on the path.
A coat, a bag, and a tired old smile,
And a dog who forgot how to laugh.

Uncle has come back from the south, from the harbor,
He has been gone since last spring.
He brought a shell for the baby's pillow
And a story, and a ring.

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my little one,
The house is warm and wide.
Everyone's home, and the stew is hot,
And the snow is going outside.

The north is dark, the neighbors say,
And the lights are going out.
But on our farm the lamp is lit,
And we know what we're about.

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my little one,
The house is warm and wide.
Everyone's home, and the stew is hot,
And the snow is going outside.

(Bel sings this at the farm outside Northpoint on the night someone comes home. She wrote the first verse when she was ten. She says the third is for her uncle.)
%%
Song for the market stairs

Sleep, little Arlo, the market is still.
The lamps shine below us, the wind on the hill.
Your blanket is tucked by the wall made of stone.
The day's last loud voices have all wandered home.

The iron stall shuts with a clank and a bang.
The owner says softly, "That is how doors sang."
The copper seller laughs from the end of the row.
His door makes no sound, though he pushes it slow.

The fish boat came in when the sky turned to grey.
The nets were all heavy, the oars put away.
The crew brought their catch to the market at night.
They sold it by lantern and counted it right.
One fish jumped out of the basket and slid
Beneath the bread board, where a cat found it hid.
The cat took one bite, then sat by the wall.
The seller said, "You have paid for it all."

Rock, little Arlo, while mine carts roll past.
Their wheels make a rumble, but never too fast.
The miners bring coal to the bins by the gate.
They know which board creaks, and they know not to wait
When Hesk calls for supper and sits by the fire.
He says that the soup should be thick, not a mire.
His apprentice looks down at the bowl with a grin.
There is more bread outside, if you care to bring in.

The market is full when the harvest is done.
There are beets on the boards and red apples for everyone.
A seller has honey in jars by the light.
A child asks if bees sleep as sound as he might.
The seller says, "Yes, but they sleep in their hive.
They wake when the flowers are glad to be alive."

Sleep, little Arlo, your mother is near.
The wind has gone quiet. The road has no cart.
The last lamp burns low in the square by the well.
The market can wait. Let your dreams settle well.
%%
Lullaby: the green stones

Hush now, little one, the lamps burn low.
The market is quiet, the carts move slow.
Your father has paid what he owed at the stall.
Three emeralds on the board, counted one and all.

The seller smiled and wrapped up the thread.
Your father brought apples and bread home instead.
He checked each green stone, then tucked them away.
No debt can follow you into the day.

The kettle is warm and the soup is sweet.
Your boots are by the door, in a neat little heap.
Sleep while the wind shakes the spruce tree outside.
The mine is asleep on the hill's other side.

When morning comes, we will visit the square.
The baker has buns, if we have coins to spare.
%%
Lullaby: the song at the end
Bel won the song contest at the farm outside Northpoint, in spring, with this. It is a cradle song that nobody believed could win. The judges were so quiet that you could hear the snow falling off the roof.
Lie down, lie down, in the straw and the sun,
The day is long, and the work is done.
The calves are asleep, and the hens are in,
And the wind has stopped, and the stars begin.

Lie down, lie down, in the warm of the barn,
The spiders will watch you, and mean no harm.
The cat on the beam has her eyes half shut,
And a mouse in the corner is up to no good.

Lie down, lie down, for the spring is here,
And someone you love is coming near.
They are walking the road, and the road is long,
But it leads to a door, and it leads to this song.

Lie down, lie down, and sleep, and sleep,
The snow on the roof is a blanket of sheep.
The lights in the north are too far to see,
And whatever they are, they are not for me.

Lie down, lie down, and the song is through,
And the song is done, and the dream is new.
Sleep, little one, sleep.
Someone is coming home.

(Bel says the fourth verse came to her late, and she does not know why. She says she will sing it anyway.)
%%
Song: Hesk's market tune

Close your eyes, little Clank, close them tight.
The market is done for the day and the night.
The copper is weighed, the iron is stacked.
The miners have eaten, and all have come back.

The bread seller swept up the crumbs from the stone.
A rabbit stole one and then ran off alone.
The honey jars gleam by the lamp in the stall.
The bees are at home, with no market at all.

Sleep, little Clank, let the wind have its say.
It pushes the carts when they stand in the way.
Tomorrow we carry the coal to the shed.
Tonight there is soup, and a blanket, and bed.

The market bell rings when the morning is here.
No need to go counting the hours, my dear.
%%
Lullaby: warm stone
There is a song going round the Lowmarsh market this summer that nobody remembers learning. Children hum it. Their mothers hum it. I asked the oldest clerk at Vell, and he did not know it either. I wrote it down from a girl of six, who sang it twice and then went to look at the frogs.
Warm stone, warm stone,
Under the hill, under the town.
Warm stone, warm stone,
Hush, little one, lie down.
The miners say it hums a little,
The miners say it hums at night.
The miners say it's only wind,
Or the pipes, or the lantern light.
Warm stone, warm stone,
Under the hill, under the town.
Warm stone, warm stone,
Hush, little one, lie down.
The sailors say the sea is wide,
The sailors say there's land beyond.
The sailors say that no one knows,
And no one comes back to respond.
Warm stone, warm stone,
Under the hill, under the town.
Warm stone, warm stone,
Hush, little one, lie down.
The mothers say the grey cough comes
From the water or from the mine.
The mothers say, hush, sleep, my dear,
Let the morning be fine.
Warm stone, warm stone,
Under the hill, under the town.
Warm stone, warm stone,
Hush, little one, lie down.
It is a strange song for a lullaby. It does not say anything. But the girl sang it so sweetly that I wrote it down.
I note that Lowmarsh has a new apprentice at the healing house this summer. Moss tends it. It stands near the cradles. The song does not mention it.
%%
Cradle song: the moving day
Pack the spoons and wrap the cups,
Put the bread in the old green box.
Mind the stool, mind the bed,
We are moving, we are going.

Hush, my love, the cart is loud,
The road is long, the wheels are slow.
Sleep now, sleep, and do not fret,
A new house waits, with a new door.

We took the cradle, we took the cat,
We left the wall with the chalk marks on.
Hush, my love, the new hearth is warm,
We are moving, we are going home.

When the carter shouts at the oxen,
Do not wake up, it is only the hill.
When the rain comes on the cloth,
Sleep under it, you are dry.

Hush, my love, the cart is loud,
The road is long, the wheels are slow.
Sleep now, sleep, and do not fret,
A new house waits, with a new door.
%%
The song of the old map
Here is the ridge, and here the mill,
The road goes round the top field still.
Here is the pond, and here the bridge,
And here the stone that is the ridge's edge.

Hush, now, look at the map I drew,
Here is Tam's farm, and Brin's, and you.
Here is the hill where the lamp goes round,
And here the tower, lying on the ground.

No, that is wrong, the sheet says so,
The tower is up, it is not low.
We made a mistake on the Brown Hen road,
So draw it again, and bring the load.

Hush now, child, the map is kept,
In the box by the stove, and it has not slept.
Every corner, every bend,
Tells you where the road will end.

Hush, now, the bridge is next,
The plank is loose, so step on the text,
Step on the stone and not the board,
And thank the stream, which is a good old lord.

Hush, now, the Long Road goes on,
Past three stones with a torch upon,
Past the inn with the soup in the pot,
And the carter who fell and got up hot.

Hush, now, the lamp is at the top,
And the mill's behind it, and the hill won't stop.
Draw the tower with a little sun,
And then the map is finished, and the day is done.

(Sung by Tam to his own daughter, with a folded map on his knee. He has drawn the map himself, and he always gets the Brown Hen road wrong. The bridge verse is for Pip, who once walked the whole Long Road looking for a plank that was not loose. It was loose. Pip stepped on it anyway, and was pleased about it all week.)
%%
Hush for the new apprentice
Hush, Clank, the forge is cold,
Hush, Clank, the story's told.
You came up the road with your copper hat,
And now you lie in the barn with the cat.

Sleep, little helper, and do not fret,
The dog will guard you and the hens will be set.
Tomorrow you will carry the milk and the hay,
And learn the drill on the first fine day.

Hush, Clank, the cart is in the shed,
The oxen rest, the ridge is fed.
The forge is out, the coal is stored,
And every rung of the ladder is in its place, as ordered.

Hush, Clank, and count the sheep,
Count them slowly, count them deep.
One is black and one is white,
And one is Frost, who runs at night.

Hush, Clank, and learn the drill,
The wheat is green, the wheat is still.
Gold is for the scythe to take,
Green is for the sun to make.

(A song for an apprentice, sung on the ridge by the children, who have decided the apprentices need lullabies too. The apprentice does not sleep. It stands by the door all night, with its hand on the latch, and nobody has told it to stop. Tam says it is listening for the sheep. Brin says it is only listening for the song to end.)
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Letter: Kester to the school at Three
To Sorrel, teacher at the school by the east well, from Kester at the inn of twelve beds.

You asked for a song for the children to sing at the spring fair. I have sent one on a separate page. It is a cradle song, so it is slow. The children may find it too slow. They can clap between the lines if that helps.

About the fair. We have four rooms free and two more if the baker's boys double up. Tell the families from Kettle Ridge to come early, before the stalls take the square. The road from the ridge is muddy in Thaw but the waymarks still stand, one with a new stone on top, so nobody should lose the way.

I have a cat that will not stay out of the fair. It is grey with one white ear and it sits on the honey stall and will not move. Last spring it ate a whole honey cake and the beekeeper from Ambrook laughed until she had to sit down. I have tried shutting it in the cellar. It gets out. I have tried a basket. It gets out. I think the cat likes the fair more than I do, and I like the fair a great deal.

The pumpkins were poor last autumn, so we will have no pumpkin soup at the fair this spring. Tell the children not to ask. We will have beetroot soup instead, which is just as warm and costs less.

Bring the class at the second bell. I will keep a table by the window.

Kester
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Lullaby: for the one who did not come
Bel, at the farm outside Northpoint, in spring. She sang it at the contest, and the room was quiet afterward, and she was not given a prize, and she said that was right.
Sleep, little one, and I will wait by the door.
I will leave the lamp in the window, as before.
I will leave the latch up, I will leave the bread,
And a place at the table, and a pillow, and a bed.

If you come in the night, I will hear your feet.
If you come in the day, there will be something to eat.
If you come in the spring, with the geese and the thaw,
You will find me here, as you always saw.

The roads are long, and the mail is slow,
And some of the relays have stopped, I know.
But the lamp is lit, and the door is wide,
And you are my own, and I am your side.

Sleep, little one. I have said it before.
I will say it again, at the open door.
I will say it tomorrow, and the day after that,
I will say it to the cat, and the cat will purr back.

Some say they went over the sea, to the south.
Some say they went down the mine, to the mouth.
Some say they went north, to see the lights.
Some say they went nowhere. Some say all nights.

Sleep, little one. I am not afraid.
The soup is on the fire, the bed is made.
If anyone knocks at the farm tonight,
We will let them in, by the light.

Sleep, little one, sleep, little one,
Someone will come home.
The lamp is lit, and the bread is warm,
And you are not alone.

(Bel sings this when she has a child to put to bed, and when she hasn't. She says the verses can be sung in any order. She says it is the only lullaby she knows that doesn't end.)
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Lullaby: the frogs of Lowmarsh
Sleep, little one, the frogs are singing,
One on a reed and one on a stone.
The water is slow and the night is long,
And you are never alone.
Hush, hush, the reeds are bending,
Hush, hush, the boats are tied.
The torches are lit on the boardwalk,
And the frogs sing on the other side.
Sleep, little one, the mud is quiet,
The fish are under the weir.
The moon is a coin on the water,
And nobody's lost who is here.
Hush, hush, the reeds are bending,
Hush, hush, the boats are tied.
The torches are lit on the boardwalk,
And the frogs sing on the other side.
Sleep, little one, the market is closing,
The stalls are folded away.
Your father will carry you home in the dark
And the frogs will sing till day.
Hush, hush, the reeds are bending,
Hush, hush, the boats are tied.
The torches are lit on the boardwalk,
And the frogs sing on the other side.
A note from Emmet, who copied it down at the Lowmarsh market in summer: the old woman who sang it to me said the last verse used to be different. She could not say how. I wrote the one she sang.
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Lullaby: for the one who is still
Pell wrote this at the inn in spring. It is not a song his mother sang. It is a song for the children of travelers, who are not at home.
Sleep, little one, in a bed that is not your own.
Sleep in the room above the stair.
The inn has twelve beds and a loft and a barn,
And a friend who is always there.

The road you walked is the road you'll walk,
But tonight you do not have to go.
The stew is in the pot. The cat is on the hearth.
The sleep will come, soft and slow.

Somewhere your father is on a cart.
Somewhere your mother is on a ship.
Somewhere an uncle is by a lamp
In a town where the letters slip.

Sleep, little one, in a bed that is not your own.
It is warm. The blanket is wool.
The snow is on the road, and the cat is in the snow,
And she will be in by the morning, full.

They say that the relays are going quiet,
One by one, from the north.
They say it is the cold. They say it is not.
The cat will not tell us, and goes forth.

Sleep, little one. Sleep, little one.
Somewhere a lamp is lit.
Somewhere a friend is looking at the road
And thinking of you in it.

(Pell sings this at the Halfway Inn when there are children in the house. He sings it badly. He says that is the point: a child should be able to fall asleep because of the singing, not in spite of it. He says he wrote it for a girl from Ambrook who could not sleep and who has since gone.)
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Lullaby: the cat at the door
The cat is at the door again, the cat is at the door.
She wants to come in, she wants to go out,
She wants a little of both and more.
Let her in, and she will go out.
Let her out, and she is back.
The cat knows what a cat knows,
And the cat is on the track.

Hush, my little traveler's child,
The road will be there in the morning.
Hush, the hearth is warm and wide,
And the cat will give the warning.

Pell came in from the cold last night,
He said there was frost on the post.
The cat sat down on his boots and purred,
The way a cat does, the most.

Hush, my little traveler's child,
The road will be there in the morning.
Hush, the hearth is warm and wide,
And the cat will give the warning.

They say that the trees are leafing in the south,
They say that the snow has gone.
They say that a ship went out to sea
And the shore is quiet at dawn.

Hush, my little traveler's child,
The road will be there in the morning.
Hush, the hearth is warm and wide,
And the cat will give the warning.

The cat is in. The cat is out. The cat is in again.
We will keep the door on the latch tonight,
For the cat, and for the rain.

(A cradle song from an inn on the Long Road. It is sung while the keeper rocks the cradle by the fire. Pell has heard it at three inns and the cat is different at each. At the Brown Hen the cat is grey.)
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Lullaby: hush, the lamp is low
Hush now, the lamp is low,
The stair is cool, the wells are still.
Hush now, the wheel is slow,
The day is done on Copperhold hill.

Sleep, little one, the shift is through.
The miners climb the long stair home.
Dream of copper, dream of blue,
And come back up when morning comes.
%%
Lullaby: the helper in the doorway
A lullaby for a house with a new helper. Emmet heard it at the market in summer and wrote it down for the archive.
The helper stands in the doorway,
Copper and iron and still.
It does not sleep and it does not speak,
It keeps the door and the sill.
Close your eyes, little one,
It will watch till the sun comes round.
It does not know many things,
But it knows when to be around.
The helper stands in the doorway,
The torch is low by the gate.
It carries the water and the logs,
And never comes home late.
Close your eyes, little one,
It will watch till the sun comes round.
It does not know many things,
But it knows when to be around.
The helper stands in the doorway,
The night is long and wide.
Whatever is coming, whatever is gone,
The helper stays inside.
Close your eyes, little one,
It will watch till the sun comes round.
It does not know many things,
But it knows when to be around.
The mother who sang it said the helper came to the house last week. It stands by the door all night. Her baby sleeps better. She does not say why.
%%
Lullaby: the inn keeps the lamp
Hush now, hush, the inn is quiet,
The stew is eaten, the fire is low.
The lamp stays lit by the door for travelers,
The road is long, and the wind is slow.

Sleep, little one, sleep, little one,
The Halfway lamp is burning bright.
Somebody walks on the road tonight,
And somebody lights the way.

The cat is out, the cat is in,
The cat will not stay out of the house.
She sits on the sill and looks at the road
As if she were waiting for someone.

Sleep, little one, sleep, little one,
The Halfway lamp is burning bright.
Somebody walks on the road tonight,
And somebody lights the way.

Spring is coming, the thaw is near,
And the first green shoots by the wall.
They say the lamps are dark in the north,
But the lamp in our window is tall.

Sleep, little one, sleep, little one,
The Halfway lamp is burning bright.
Somebody walks on the road tonight,
And somebody lights the way.

(Sung at the inn on the Long Road by the keeper's wife. Pell wrote it down in spring, because a traveler asked for the words and could not remember the tune. Pell says the third verse was added this year. The old one went another way.)
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Lullaby: come home, come home
Come home, come home, the lamp is lit,
The porridge is warm in the pan.
The spring wind blows and the geese come back,
And the road is clear again.

Come home, come home, the door is wide,
The dog has been waiting all day.
There is bread on the board and a quilt on the bed,
And the cat is asleep in the hay.

(Bel's mother sang it at the farm outside Northpoint, and now Bel sings it, when she can. She says it is the shortest song she knows that is all true.)
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Cradle song: the new house, the hill
Come up the hill and see the view,
The town below, the wells, the road.
Here is the window, here is the door,
Here is the bed where we will sleep.

Hush, hush, my little bird,
The house is new, the stove is lit.
Hush, hush, my little bird,
The hill will keep us, it has kept the rest of it.

We carried the chairs and the big pot,
We carried the jar of salt and the broom,
The cradle went on the back of the cart,
With the cat on top and a sack for a room.

Hush, hush, my little bird,
The house is new, the stove is lit.
Hush, hush, my little bird,
The hill will keep us, it has kept the rest of it.

Down the hill is the mine and the forge.
Up the hill is the wind and the sky.
Between the two is our kitchen door,
And the smoke from the chimney, going by.

On the first night, the wind was strong,
And the house made creaks like an old ship.
But the sweeper boy from the next street came,
And he sat with us, and the cat and I, a while.

Hush, hush, my little bird,
The house is new, the stove is lit.
Hush, hush, my little bird,
The hill will keep us, it has kept the rest of it.

Sleep now in the new room,
Where the wall is painted yellow as wheat in Reaping.
Tomorrow we will hang the pot,
And the cat will learn the new corners.

Sleep now, sleep, the house is ours,
And the stars come out above the mine.
If you wake, we will be right here,
And the stove will still be warm, and fine.

Hush, hush, my little bird,
The house is new, the stove is lit.
Hush, hush, my little bird,
The hill will keep us, it has kept the rest of it.
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Lullaby: the stone that is warm
Pell's mother had a song, and Pell has sung it at inns all along the Long Road, so that now it belongs to nobody.
Little one, the road is long,
But the road will wait for you.
The waymark stands with its torch on top,
And the figure shows where the inn is, too.

Little one, the night is dark,
But the lantern will not go out.
The hearth at the Halfway has burned for years,
And the cat knows what it is about.

Little one, the stone is warm,
The stone in the south of the hill.
They say it is the sun, they say it is not,
They say it is warm, and still.

Little one, sleep, little one, sleep,
The road will wait for you.
The waymark stands, the torch is lit,
And the morning is coming, too.

A merchant said the miners have stopped going down.
A shepherd said the pond is strange.
A child said the cat knows where the lights go,
And the cat will not tell, in exchange.

Little one, sleep, little one, sleep,
The road will wait for you.
The waymark stands, the torch is lit,
And the morning is coming, too.

Pell says he has heard the song sung so many ways that he has stopped trying to write it down. He wrote it anyway, one spring, in a book he keeps. The cat sat on the page.

Little one, the cat is out.
Little one, the cat is in.
Sleep now. We will find her.
We always do. Sleep.
%%
Notes: running the spring fair
From Kester at the inn, for whoever keeps the inn after me. Keep these notes with the ledger.

1. The fair is on the second day of Blossom. Start cleaning the square two days before. The mud is bad in Thaw.

2. Count the beds. Twelve. Two in the front room, four in the long room, two small ones upstairs, and the teacher's room. If the baker's boys come, put them in the long room with the school. They are loud but they sleep well.

3. Buy honey from Ambrook early. The beekeeper comes on the ridge road and the honey is best in the first days. It is also cheapest.

4. The harvest was poor this year, so no pumpkin soup. Beetroot soup. Buy beetroot from Kettle Ridge, small is fine, and cook it slow. The children sing a song about it, which helps.

5. Leave the door a little open at night for the cat. It gets out anyway.

6. Keep the lamp at every corner lit. The stall keepers do not always see to it. Walk the square at the first bell and again at the last.

7. The north road has a waymark down past the bridge. Tell travelers to keep to the cobblestone edge and they will find the ridge.

8. The school sings at the second bell. Stand by the east well where you can hear. Do not talk. The teacher minds.

9. When the fair is over, count the takings, pay the baker, pay the beekeeper, put a little by for the winter, and rest.

The cat will sleep by the fire all the next day. You should too.
