“Where is the workman?”
“He demanded his wage and is gone forthwith to the village,” quoth the pope.
“Ah! little father! what hast thou done? He hath carried off my comb!” cried the pope’s daughter.
She hastened in pursuit, and came upon him by a little stream; the workman had tucked up his drawers and was fording the stream.
“Give me my comb!” cried the pope’s daughter.
The workman took a stone and cast it into the water.
“Pick it up,” said he; and, passing to the other side of the stream, went his way.
The pope’s daughter tucked up her petticoat, entered the water, and sought the comb. She rummaged at the bottom of the stream. No comb.
Chanced to pass a lord, who cried to her:
“What seekest, little dove?”