The sheltered sheep said baa, and dropped down before the fire. Dennis knew not what to say, but uttered a yum, when the tall man broke out again: “The sound of the grinding is low, and I fear when I walk on the places that are high, and the grasshopper is a burden. Yes, my friend, the silver cord will soon be loosed, and the golden bowl broken and the pitcher at the fountain and wheel at the cistern. You find me a reed shaken by the wind, a trembling old man; but I have never seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread. I am at your service; my house, such as it is, is yours.” He bowed, and turned around and bowed.
“I am out and about collecting saltpeter,” said Dennis, “and all that I ask is to warm myself by your fire, except, except—well, that shorn sheep puzzles my wits. Pardon me, I beg a thousand pardons if I seem uncivil, but why is it dressed up in that way?”
“I will explain and enlighten your curiosity, my friendly traveler. The sheep has on my old clothing, and I have on his.”
He continued: “I am the teacher here, and my pay is small, and the war taxes take all I can save. My old clothes became very worn, as you can see there, and I had to maintain my dignity. I am a graduate of Yale, and so I exchanged clothing with my one sheep.
“My noble wife brought it about; she is at her wheel now. Let me call her and introduce her.”
He opened a door to a room where a wheel was whirling and buzzing like a northern wind.
“May, my dear!”
May appeared. The withered man bowed, holding his right hand in air on a level with his forehead. May made a courtesy.
“Behold a virtuous woman,” said the tall man, with manners. “Her price is above rubies.