Gypsy Rover
March 2006 Maeve heard it through the trees--soft singing and whistling that lifted her spirits and drew her further into the greenwood. On this fine spring day, she’d slipped out to gather flowers and herbs, not planning to go far, though being away from home was her preference. But the music was sweet, and she, whose happiness was often small, took joy from it. Coming where she could overlook a brookside glade from a thicket, she found the source of the music. A dark, lanky man was...