And Blindschleicher confided his troubles to his friend the watchman, as they walked through the silent village one night. “Man,” he lamented, “never was there such ill luck as mine. You wouldn’t believe it. I’m head over ears in love with the lass, and there’s no help for it.”
“Why don’t you take her, then?” said the watchman.
“Take her, fool! when she won’t so much as look at you!”
“She needn’t look at me. My old woman is firmly yoked to me.”
“But it is at me that she might look,” said Blindschleicher. “When I think of all the trouble I go to to make myself agreeable! And as for her—when I say to her, ‘Liese, good morning, Liese!’ she turns on her heel; and when I say, ‘How bonny you are, Liese!’ she says, ‘How clever you are, lad!’”
“Well, don’t that please you?” said the watchman.
“How can it please me, when she goes on to say ‘she will only take a fool.’ She’s a vixen, is Liese! And when I give her a rose, and say, ‘You look just like it, you are as pink, and you are as sweet, and you are as thorny!’ she takes the pretty blossom out of my hand, and gives it to the goat to eat.”
“Blindschleicher,” said the watchman in a low tone, “you’re on the wrong track to get a wife.”
“I am sick at heart,” said the gardener’s apprentice, and he looked it and hung his head. “Time and time again have I said to her, ‘Precious Liese, darling Liese, you are like butter and honey; I could eat you up for love. I will kiss your feet, and you may tread upon me. There is nothing you could do that would hurt me,’ I said. ‘You may put your arms tight around my neck, and smother me with your cheek; it would not hurt me. You are like a heavenly paradise to me. I can do a great deal of fine talking when I once get started. Think of the ardour of my youthful blood,’ I said.”
“And what did she reply?”