THE CRONE.
And when the dame looked upon the farmer she knew his heart was troubled; but she knew not the cause.
So, lifting up her voice she cried, inquiringly: “What aileth my neighbor? Has aught befel thy goods? Has bruin descended from the mountains to worry thy flocks? Or, are thy stacks consumed? that thus you droop your eyelids to the path, and move as by a hearse.”
And the farmer, drawing nigh, replied: “My flocks unharmed graze sleek upon the hills; my stacks stand unconsumed; yet is my spirit heavy, because my walks are lonely and my heart is sad, and I come as one seeking counsel.”
Then answered the dame reprovingly: “Out upon thee, for a fusty, dreamy bachelor! Go take to thyself a wife; then will thy walks be no more lonely, neither will thy heart be sad.”
But he, answering her sorrowfully, said: “Mock me not, good madam, but look with pitying eyes upon me, and hearken to my voice.
“Behold I am now well stricken in years, my body is stooping to the grave, my manners, like my hands, are rough; my blood, like my hair, is thin; and my teeth but shine in memories of the past.
“How, then, can I win maidens’ hearts? Alas! on the contrary, they would giggling flee from before me; no hope for me remains; if I would wed, I needs must wed a squaw!” And his countenance fell.
Then was the crone exceedingly displeased, because he said, “I needs must wed a squaw,” and she answered him derisively, saying:—