Guilcher’s wife uttered loud cries, reiterating that they were disgraced before the parish, that nothing now was left for them but to take up the wallet and white staff of mendicants, and go begging from door to door; that it was well worth Benead’s while to have become straight and noble in appearance only to take up the straw girdle;[4] and thousands of other unreasonable sayings, after the fashion of women when they are in tribulation,—and when they are not.
To all these complaints Guilcher replied nothing, unless it were that submission to the will of God and His Blessed Mother was above all things necessary; but his heart was humbled to the core. He reproached himself now with not preferring wealth to beauty, when he had the choice; and he would only too willingly have taken back his hump, well garnished with gold, or even silver, crowns. After seeking in vain for a way out of his trouble, he made up his mind to revisit Motenn-Dervenn.
The Korils welcomed him with shouts of joy, as before, and made him join them in their dance. Benead had no heart for merriment; but he would not damp their mirth, and began to jump with all his might. The delighted dwarfs skipped about like dead leaves driven by the winter’s wind.
As they ran they repeated the first line of their song, their companion took up the second; they went on to the third, and, that being the last, Guilcher was compelled to finish the tune without words, which in a short time grew tiresome to him.
“If I might venture to give you my opinion, my little lords,” said he, “your song has the same effect upon me as the butcher’s dog, it goes upon three legs.”
“Right, right!” cried all the voices.
“I think,” said Benead, “it would be much the best way to add another foot.”
“Add, add!” replied the dwarfs.
And all sung out with one accord, and in a piercing utterance,
“Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,