The milkmaids, who were eating apples, came clustering about her instantly.
"Is it a man?" asked little Joan, pausing between her bites.
"No, thank all our stars," said Joscelyn, "it is a gypsy."
The milkmaids withdrew, their fears allayed. Joan bit her apple and said, "It puckers my mouth."
Joyce: Mine's sour.
Jessica: Mine's hard.
Jane: Mine's bruised.
Jennifer: There's a maggot in mine.
They threw their apples away.
"Who'll buy trinkets?" said the Gypsy at the gate.