She pushed the lady, who never spoke, into the shed, and took from her
shoulders the wet mantle, and from her hands the lantern and the tree;
and led her to the Shepherd's bed and laid her down. Then she spread
the mantle over the Shepherd's bench and,

"Lie there," said she, "till love warms ye."

Next she hung the lantern up on a nail in the wall, and,

"Swing there," said she, "till love lights ye."

Last she took the Shepherd's trowel and went outside the shed, and set
the cherry-slip beside the door. And she said:

"Grow there, till love blossoms ye."

After this she came inside and sat down at the bedhead.

Gerard the Shepherd, who had watched her proceedings without word or
gesture, said to himself, "They've come through the floods."

He looked across at the women and raised his voice to ask, "Did ye come
through the floods?"

The lady moaned a little, and the crone said, "Let her be and go to
sleep. What does it matter where we came from by night? By daybreak we
shall both of us be gone no matter whither."

The Shepherd said no more, for though he was both curious and
ill-tempered he had not the courage to disturb the lady, knowing by the
richness of her attire that she was of the quality; and the iron of
serfdom was driven deep into his soul. So he went to sleep on his
stool, as he had been bidden. But in the middle of the night he was
awakened by a gusty wind and the banging of his door; and he started up
rubbing his knuckles in his eyes, saying, "I've been dreaming of
strange women, but was it a dream or no?" He peered about the shed, and
the crone had vanished utterly, but the lady still lay on his bed. And
when he went over to look at her, she was dead. But beside her lay a
newborn child that opened its eyes and wailed at him.

Then the Shepherd ran to his open door and stared into the blowing
night, but there were no more signs of the crone without than there
were within. So he fastened the latch and came back to the bedside, and
examined the child.--

(But at this point Martin Pippin interrupted himself, and seizing the
rope of the swing set it rocking violently.

Joyce: I shall fall! I shall fall!

Martin: Then you will be no worse off than I, who have fallen already.
For I see you do not like my story.

Joyce: What makes you say so?

Martin: Till now you listened with all your ears, but a moment ago you
turned away your head a moment too late to hide the disappointment in
your ey