“Over those who are born on an Ember Day neither a cap of darkness nor the fairies’ fern itself has any power,” said the crone; “both of you must have been born in one of the four Ember Weeks.” And her voice died away into indistinct mumblings.
“It is a dower that none need envy,” quoth the apprentice, and the princess sighed in answer.
Now on the following morning the shepherd and his wife urged the princess to remain with them, and she joyfully consented. “I will not be a burden to you,” said she, “for I can spin, and I will learn to do all manner of things about the house, and will take care of the old grandmother.”
But the apprentice set out upon his travels again, and this time he felt even sadder than on the previous day, for it went to his heart to part from the princess, whom already he loved for her fair face and gentle ways. After journeying for some distance he left the hills behind him, and at noon he entered a deep and shady wood. There, in a mossy glade, seated upon a bank of primroses, he caught sight of a little man dressed all in green, who was busily mending shoes. But as the apprentice drew nearer, the mannikin flung aside his work, and snatching up a green cap with a sprig of fern in the brim, he set it upon his head.
“That much trouble you might have spared yourself,” laughed the apprentice, “for I was born on an Ember Day, they tell me.”
“Is that so?” said the mannikin, and he resumed his cobbling.
“And who may you be?” asked the apprentice.
“I am the fairies’ cobbler,” replied the little green man.
“Then I pray you teach me my trade,” said the apprentice, “for I am a cobbler’s apprentice, but I have not served my full time, since my master has sent me away on a wrongful charge.”
“Where did your master live?” asked the mannikin.