"And are you wedded yet?" asked Martin. "Wedded?" he cried. "Have you forgotten that she is locked with six keys inside her father's Well-House?" "But this was long ago," said Martin. "Is she there yet?" "She is," said Robin Rue, "and here am I." "Well, all states must end some time," said Martin Pippin. "Even life," sighed Robin, "and therefore before the month is out I shall wilt and be laid in the earth." "That would be a pity," said Martin. "Can nothing save you?" "Nothing but the keys to her prison, and they are in the keeping of them that will not give them up." "I remember," said Martin. "Six milkmaids." "With hearts of flint!" cried Robin. "Sparks may be struck from flint," said Martin, in his inconsequential way. "But tell me, if Gillian's prison were indeed unlocked, would all be well with you for ever?" "Oh," said Robin Rue, "if her prison were unlocked and the prisoner in these arms, this wheat should be flour for a wedding-cake." "It is the best of all cakes," said Martin Pippin, "and the grain that is destined thereto must not rot in the husk." With these words he strolled out of the cornfield, gathered a harebell, rang it so loudly in the ear of a passing rabbit that it is said never to have stopped running till it found itself in France, and went up the road humming and thrumming his lute. On the road he met a Gypsy. "Maids," said Joscelyn, "somebody is at the gate." The milkmaids, who were eating apples, came clustering about her instantly. "Is it a man?" asked little Joan, pausing between her bites. "No, thank all our stars," said Joscelyn, "it is a gypsy." The milkmaids withdrew, their fears allayed. Joan bit her apple and said, "It puckers my mouth." Joyce: Mine's sour. Jessica: Mine's hard. Jane: Mine's bruised. Jennifer: There's a maggot in mine. They threw their apples away. "Who'll buy trinkets?" said the Gypsy at the gate. "What have you to sell?" asked Joscelyn. "Knick-knacks and gew-gaws of all sorts. Rings and ribbons, mirrors and beads, silken shoe-strings and colored lacings, sweetmeats and scents and gilded pins; silver buckles, belts and bracelets, gay kerchiefs, spotted ones, striped ones; ivory bobbins, sprigs of coral, and sea-shells from far places, they'll murmur you secrets o' nights if you put em under your pillow; here are patterns for patchwork, and here's a sheet of ballads, and here's a pack of cards for telling fortunes. What will ye buy? A dream-book, a crystal, a charmed powder that shall make you see your sweetheart in the dark?" "Oh!" six voices cried in one. "Or this other powder shall charm him to love you, if he love you not?" "Fie!" exclaimed Joscelyn severely. "We want no love-charms." "I warrant you!" laughed the Gypsy. "What will ye buy?" Jennifer: I'll have this flasket of scent. Joyce: I'll have this looking-glass. Jessica: And I this necklet of beads. Jane: A pair of shoe-buckles, if you please. Joan: This bunch of ribbons for me.