His uneasiness was rising. A little later he took his sack and went out.
"Well, he's gone," I thought, "but he hasn't said the customary peace-be-with-you. I'm glad I've come into the forest," I thought. "This is my home, and from this day forth, no mother's son shall come within my walls again."
I made an elaborate agreement with myself that I should have no more truck with men.
"Madame, come here," I said. "I esteem you highly, and herewith, Madame, I undertake to enter upon a union with you for life!"
Half an hour later, the man returned. He carried no sack.
"I thought you'd gone," I said.
"Gone? I'm not a dog," he replied. "I've met people before this, and I say good morning when I come and peace-be-with-you when I go. You shouldn't sneer at me, you know."
"What have you done with the sack?"
"I've carried it part of the way."
His concealing the sack in case anyone should come proved he had forethought, for it was easier to get away scot-free without a burden on one's back. To stop him from telling me any more lies about his poverty, I said: