(Joscelyn: I won't take it! The story is NOT true! The story is NOT
ended! Finish it at once! None of the others ended like this.

Martin: The others weren't true.

Joscelyn: I don't care. You are to say what happened to the Gorgons.

Joyce: And to the Squire.

Jennifer: And to the Princess.

Jessica: And what she looked like.

Jane: And what happened to the King.

"Please, Martin," said little Joan, "please don't let the story come to
an end before we know what happened to the Wanderer."

"I'm tired of telling stories," said Martin, "and I'll never tell
another as long as I live. But I suppose I must add the trimmings to
this one, or I shall get no peace.")

All these things, dear maidens, are very quickly told, except what the
Princess looked like, for that is impossible. No man ever knew. He
never got further than her eyes, and then he was drowned. But what does
it matter how she looked? She died a thousand years ago of a broken
heart. And her Squire, hearing of her death, died too, a thousand
leagues away. And the King her father expired of remorse, and his
country went to rack and ruin. And the five kind Gorgons had to pay the
penalty of their regained humanity, and wilted into their maiden
graves. Only the Sixth Gorgon lived on for ever and ever. I dare not
think of her solitary eternity. But as for the Wanderer, he is of no
importance. A little while he still went wandering, singing these
lovers' sorrows to the world, and what became of him I never knew.

That's the end.

And now, dear Mistress Joscelyn, let me lace up your shoe.

(Joscelyn buried her face in her hands and burst out crying.)

POSTLUDE

PART I

There was consternation in the Apple-Orchard.

All the milkmaids came tumbling from their perches to run and comfort
their weeping comrade. And as they passed Martin, Joyce cried, "It's a
shame!" and Jennifer murmured "How could you?" and Jessica exclaimed
"You brute!" and Jane said "I'm surprised at you!" and even little Joan
shook her head at him, and, while all the others fondled Joscelyn, and
petted and consoled her, took her hand and held it very tight. But with
her other hand she took Martin's and held it just as tight, and looked
a little anxious, with tears in her blue eyes. Yet she looked a little
smiling too. And there were tears also in the eyes of all the
milkmaids, because the story had ended so badly, and because they did
not in the least know what was going to happ