"She has been shut into the Well-House to cure her of loving," said Joscelyn, "and in six months she has scarcely ceased to weep, and has never uttered a word. If you know the physic that shall heal her of her foolishness, I pray you tell us of it. For it is extremely dull in this orchard, with nothing to do except watch the changes of the apple-trees, and meanwhile the farmstead lacks water and milk, there being no entry to the well nor maids to milk the cows. Daily comes Old Gillman to tell us how, from morning till night, he is forced to drink cider and ale, and so the farm goes to rack and ruin, and all because he has a lovesick daughter. What is your remedy? He would give you gold and silver for it."
"I do not know if it can be bought," said the Gypsy, "I do not even know if it exists. But when a maid broods too much on her own love-tale, the like weapons only will vanquish her thoughts. Nothing but a new love-tale will overcome her broodings, and where the case is obstinate one only will not suffice. You say she has pined upon her love six months. Let her be told six brand-new love-tales, tales which no woman ever heard before, and I think she will be cured. These counter-poisons will so work in her that little by little her own case will be obliterated from her blood. But for my part I doubt whether there be six untold love-tales left on earth, and if there be I know not who keeps them buttoned under his jacket."
"Alas!" cried Joscelyn, "then we must stay here for ever until we die."
"It looks very like it," said the Gypsy, "and my wares are a penny apiece."
So saying she collected her moneys and withdrew, and for all I know was never seen again by man, woman, or child.
"My apple-gold maidens," said Martin Pippin, leaning on the gate in the bright night, "may I come into your orchard?"
As he addressed them he gazed with delight at the enclosure. By the light of the Queen Moon, now at her full in heaven, he saw that the orchard grass was clipped, and patterned with small clover, but against the hedges rose wild banks of meadow-sweet and yarrow and the jolly ragwort, and briony with its heart-shaped leaf and berry as red as heart's-blood made a bower above them all. And all the apple-trees were decked with little golden moons hanging in clusters on the drooping boughs, and glimmering in the recesses of the leaves. Under each tree a ring of windfalls lay in the grass. But prettiest sight of all was the ring of girls in yellow gowns and caps, that lay around the midmost apple-tree like fallen fruit.
"Dear maidens," pleaded the Minstrel, "let me come in."
At the sound of his voice the six milkmaids rose up in the grass like golden fountains. And fountains indeed they were, for their eyes were running over with tears.
"We did not hear you coming," said little Joan.
"Go away at once!" commanded Joscelyn.
Then all the girls cried "Go away!" together.
"My apple-gold maidens," said Martin Pippin, "I entreat you to let me in. For the moon is up, and it is time to be sleeping or waking, in sweet company. So I beseech you to admit me, dear maidens—if maidens in truth you be, and not six apples bobbed off their stems."
"You may not come in," said Joscelyn, "in case you should release our master's daughter, who sits in the Well-House pining to follow her heart."
"Why, whither would she follow it?" asked Martin much surprised.
The milkmaids turned their faces away, and little Joan murmured, "It is a secret."
Martin: I will put chains on my thoughts. But shall I not sing you a tune you may dance to? I will make you a song for an August night, when the moon rocks her way up and down the cradle of the sky, and you shall rock on earth like any apple on the twig.
Jane: For my part, I see nothing against it.
Jessica: Gillian won't care little apples.
Joyce: She would not hear though we danced the round of the year.
Joscelyn: So long as he does not come in—
Jennifer:—or we go out.
"Oh, let us dance, do let us dance!" cried little Joan.
"Man," they importuned him in a single breath, "play for us and sing for us, as quickly as you can!"
"Sweet ones," said Martin Pippin, shaking his head, "songs must be paid for. And yet I do not know what to ask you, some trifle in kind it should be. Why, now, I have it! If I give you the keys to the dance, give me the keys to your little mistress, that I may keep her secure from following her heart like a bird of passage, whither it's no business of mine to ask."
At this request, made so gayly and so carelessly, the girls all looked at one another in consternation. Then Joscelyn drew herself up to full height, and pointing with her arm straight across the duckpond she cried:
"Minstrel, begone!"
And the six girls, turning their backs upon him, moved away into the shadows of the moon.
"Well-a-day!" sighed Martin Pippin, "how a fool may trip and never know it till his nose hits the earth. I will sing to you for nothing."
But the girls did not answer.
Then Martin touched his lute and sang as follows, so softly and sweetly that they, not regarding, hardly knew the sound of his song from the heavy-sweet scent of the ungathered apples over their heads.
Toss me your golden ball, laughing maid, lovely maid,
Lovely maid, laughing maid, toss me your ball!
I'll catch it and throw it, and hide it and show it,
And spin it to heaven and not let it fall.
Boy, run away with you! I will not play with you—
This is no ball!
We are too old to be playing at ball.
Toss me the golden sun, laughing maid, lovely maid,
Lovely maid, laughing maid, toss me the sun!
I'll wheel it, I'll whirl it, I'll twist it and twirl it
Till cocks crow at midnight and day breaks at one.
Boy, I'll not sport with you! Boy, to be short with you,
This is no sun!
We are too young to play tricks with the sun.
Toss me your golden toy, laughing maid, lovely maid,
Lovely maid, laughing maid, toss me your toy!
It's all one to me, girl, whatever it be, girl
So long as it's round that's enough for a boy.
Boy, come and catch it then!—there now! Don't snatch it then!
Here comes your toy!
Apples were made for a girl and a boy.
There was no sound or movement from the girls in the shadows.
"Farewell, then," said Martin. "I must carry my tunes and tales elsewhere."
Like pebbles from a catapult the milkmaids shot to the gate.
"Tales?" cried Jessica.
"Do you know tales?" exclaimed Jennifer.
"What kind of tales?" demanded Jane.
"Love-tales?" panted Joyce.
"Six of them?" urged little Joan.
"A thousand!" said Martin Pippin.
Joscelyn's hand lay on the bolt.
"Man," she said, "come in."
She opened the wicket, and Martin Pippin walked into the Apple Orchard.
PRELUDE TO THE FIRST TALE