He turned his head quickly. The maiden had disappeared.
"Why did I trust my soul to her keeping?" he wailed drearily. "If she should lose it; or mislay it; or should even let it grow cold! My love! my love! my love!" he began calling.
"Cuckoo! cuckoo!" kept sounding across the grass.
He ran hither and hither: he followed the woodland paths feverishly.
At times he fancied he caught a glimpse of her vanishing garments; of the sunlight glinting on her long gold tresses. Now he imagined he could hear her laughter echoing among the tree-trunks: and anon he even fancied he could hear her singing. But he pursued her down the long green vistas in vain.
He sat down beneath a tree and clasped his hands drearily. "What a fool I was to trust my soul to her!" he wailed.
And at that moment he was aware of a ragged pedlar coming along the forest glades, and whistling as he came.
"Ho! young man! you look melancholy," quoth the pedlar. "What d'ye lack? A philtre to make your sweetheart love you? Ribbons for a lady? A collar for your hound?"
"I want a soul," said the young man, glancing at him hungrily.
"A common want!" quoth the pedlar, grinning broadly. "But here in my pack I have souls in plenty. Dip in your hand and take one boldly!"