FISHERMAN. Oh, you are that kind? Then I know where I am.
MIDWIFE. But where am I?
FISHERMAN. In the middle of Krummedikke's lake, and over there you see his castle. He was a king who lived long, long ago, and, like Herod, he caused all male babes to be slain because he was afraid for his crown. But now his castle holds all the girls who have not been afraid for theirs.
MIDWIFE. What are they doing in there?
FISHERMAN. Spinning flax.
MIDWIFE. That's the jail, then?
FISHERMAN. That's what it is.
MIDWIFE. And the lake?
FISHERMAN. Oh, it's a good one! There used to be dry land where the lake is now, and on that piece of land stood a church, and that church started a feud. It was a question of pews, you see. The mill-folk, who thought themselves above the rest, wanted to sit next to the altar, but the Mewlings were the stronger. One Easter Sunday it broke loose, right in the nave, and blood was shed. The church was profaned so that it could never be cleansed again. Instead it was closed up and deserted, and by and by it sank into the earth, and now there are fifty feet of water above the weathercock on the spire. By this time the lake has been washing it and washing it these many hundred years, but as long as mill-folk and Mewlings keep on fighting, the temple will never be cleansed.
MIDWIFE. Why are they called Mewlings?