“Well, my boys,” said he, “you look very sheep-faced. You thought there was nothing easier than to come in, and you see that our defense is good. But we are beginning to have pity on you, if you will submit and accept our conditions.”
The Grave-digger: “Speak, good people. Tell us what we must do to approach your hearth.”
The Hemp-dresser: “You must sing, my friends; but sing a song we don’t know,—one that we can’t answer by a better.”
“That’s not hard to do,” answered the grave-digger, and he thundered in a powerful voice:
“‘Six months ago, ’twas in the spring....’”
“‘I wandered through the sprouting grass,’”
answered the hemp-dresser in a slightly hoarse but terrible voice. “You must be jesting, my poor friends, singing us such time-worn songs. You see very well that we can stop you at the first word.”
“‘She was a prince’s daughter....’”
“‘Right gladly would she wed,’”
answered the hemp-dresser. “Come, move on to the next; we know that a little too well.”