But little Joan got the King. And she looked at Martin, and he smiled at her, and had no need to say anything, because a king is a king. And suddenly every girl must needs grow out of sorts with her fate, and find other blades to count, until each one had achieved a king to her satisfaction. All but Joscelyn, who said she didn't care.
"You are quite right," said Martin, "because none of this applies to any of you. These are town-fortunes, and you are country-maids."
And he plucked a new blade, reciting,
Mower,
Reaper,
Poacher,
Keeper,
Cowman,
Thatcher,
Plowman,
Herd."
"How dull!" said Jessica. "These are men for every day."
"So is a husband," said Martin. "And to your town-girls, who no longer see romance in a Chimneysweep, your Poacher's a Pirate and your Shepherd a Poet. Could you not find it in your heart, Mistress Jessica, to put up with a Thatcher?"
"That's enough of husbands," said Jessica.
"Then what of houses?" said Martin. "Where shall we live when we're wed?—
'Under a thatch,
In a ship's hatch,
An inn, a castle,
A brown paper parcel'—
"Stuff and nonsense!" said Joscelyn.