Martin Pippin was by now within arm's-length of the green gate. He looked with pleasure at the six virgins fluttering in their green gowns, and peeping bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked under their green bonnets. Beyond them he saw the forbidden orchard, with cuckoo-flower and primrose, daffodil and celandine, silver windflower and sweet violets blue and white, spangling the gay grass. The twisted apple-trees were in young leaf.
"Go away!" cried all the milkmaids in a breath. "Go away!"
"My green maidens," said Martin, "may I not come into your orchard? The sun is up, and the shadow lies fresh on the grass. Let me in to rest a little, dear maidens—if maidens indeed you be, and not six leaflets blown from the apple-branches."
"You cannot come in," said Joscelyn, "because we are guarding our master's daughter, who sits yonder weeping in the Well-House."
"That is a noble and a tender duty," said Martin. "From what do you guard her?"
The milkmaids looked primly at one another, and little Joan said, "It is a secret."
Martin: I will ask no more. And what do you do all day long?
Joyce: Nothing, and it is very dull.
Martin: It must be still duller for your master's daughter.
Joan: Oh, no, she has her thoughts to play with.