MOTHER. Ingé! Ingé! What have I ever told you?
INGÉ I thought I'd go just this once.
MOTHER (showing sorrow). Ah, Ingé, that's what you always say.
INGÉ There's no harm talking with the elves.
MOTHER. And I, your mother, say there is harm.
INGÉ But, mother,—they talk so prettily.
MOTHER (nodding). Aye! and that's the harm. They've put such silly ideas into your head.
INGÉ They say 't is friendship makes them talk as they do.
MOTHER (indignantly). Friendship! 'T is friendship, is it, to tell you not to fetch the wood?
INGÉ They say 't will spoil my hands.