"Alas! How can I tell what of her? She is where she was and I am here where I am. What will become of me?"
"There are riddles without answers," observed Martin.
"I can answer this one. I shall fall into a decline and die. And yet I ask no more than to send her a ring to wear on her finger, and have her ring to wear on mine."
"Would this satisfy you?" asked Martin.
"I could then cling to life," said Robin Rue, "long enough at least to finish my spraying."
"We may praise God as much for small mercies," said Martin pleasantly, "as for great ones; and trees must not be blighted that were appointed to fruit."
So saying, he unstraddled his legs and dropped into the road, tickled an armadillo with his toe, twirled the silver ring on his finger, and went away singing.
"Maidens," said Joscelyn, "here is that man come again."
Maids' memories are longer than men's. At all events, the milkmaids knew instantly to whom she referred, although nearly a month had passed since his coming.
"Has he his lute with him?" asked little Joan.