Down with a rush, through the sweet, hay-scented air; then up again, startling the swallows from under the eaves, and making the staid and conservative old hens frantic with anxiety.

Up and down, in broad, free sweeps, growing slower now, as the farmer left her and went to his work.
How perfect it was! Did the world hold anything else so delightful as swinging in a barn?
She began to sing, for pure joy, a little song that her mother had made for her when she was a little child, and used to swing in the garden at home.

And Farmer Hartley, with his hand on the brown heifer's back, paused with a smile and a sigh as he heard the girl's sweet fresh voice ring out gladly from the old barn.

This was the song she sang:-- If I were a fairy king (Swinging high, swinging low), I would give to you a ring (Swinging, oh!) With a diamond set so bright That the shining of its light Should make morning of the night (Swinging high, swinging low)-- Should make morning of the night (Swinging, oh!).
On each ringlet as it fell (Swinging high, swinging low) I would tie a golden bell (Swinging, oh!); And the golden bells would chime In a little merry rhyme, In the merry morning time (Swinging high, swinging low)-- In the happy morning time (Swinging, oh!).
You should wear a satin gown (Swinging high, swinging low), All with ribbons falling down (Swinging, oh!).
And your little twinkling feet, O my Pretty and my Sweet! Should be shod with silver neat (Swinging high, swinging low)-- Shod with silver slippers neat (Swinging, oh!).
But I'm not a fairy, Pet (Swinging high, swinging low), Am not even a king, as yet (Swinging, oh!).
So all that I can do Is to kiss your little shoe, And to make a queen of you (Swinging high, swinging low), Make a fairy queen of you (Swinging, oh!)..