“My wife’s!” gasped the ploughman. “You must be mad!”
“Mad or not mad,” replied the gnome, “I mean to have it, and, moreover, it is my due. You married without consulting me, and if I kept you to your bargain, I should have a great deal that I have not got. Certainly your wife has the best head of hair in the house, so you must cut it off near her head and bring it all to me.”
“But whatever shall I say to my wife?” cried the ploughman in distress.
“That is your look-out, not mine,” said the gnome. “Anyhow you have got to give it to me. But as the thought of it seems to annoy you I will give you a week to get it in.”
The ploughman sat and thought and thought, and very sad did he feel at thinking of all his wife’s beautiful hair being given away to the little gnome.
Next day he took his horse and cart, and told his wife he had to go for a long drive on business to a big town, a long way off. It was quite the biggest town in that neighbourhood, and many very fine people lived there. At first the wife wanted to go too, but her husband said it was too far and she would be too tired, as he could not be back till very late at night.
Next morning, when they sat at breakfast, he told his wife all he had heard and seen in the big town, and then he added, “And all the very fine ladies there have now the funniest fashion.”
“And what is that?” asked his wife; “pray tell me, for I love to hear the new fashions.”
“Why,” said the ploughman, “’tis with their hair. Instead of wearing it long, they have it cut quite close all round their heads, because they say it looks smarter now.”
“Well, I do call that a silly fashion,” said the wife; “they can’t have had much hair to consent to have had it cut off.”