"Oo, I've killed my pig, and lost my mother and I'm nobbut a fool myself," says he, sobbing.
"That's bad," says she; "and haven't thee anybody to look after thee?"
"No," says he, "and I canna buy my pottle o' brains, for there's nothing I like best left!"
"What art talking about?" says she.
And down she sets by him, and he told her all about the wise woman and the pig, and his mother and the riddles, and that he was alone in the world.
"Well," says she, "I wouldn't mind looking after thee myself."
"Could thee do it?" says he.
"Ou, ay!" says she; "folks say as fools make good husbands, and I reckon I'll have thee, if thou 'rt willing."
"Can'st cook?" says he.
"Ay, I can," says she.