Joscelyn: Have you a corset-lace of yellow silk? The Gypsy: Here's for you and you. No love-charms, no. Here's for you and you and you. I warrant, no love-charms! Ay, I've a yellow lace, twill keep you in as tight as jealousy, my pretty. Out upon all love-charms!--And what will she have that sits crouched in the Well-House? "Oh, Gypsy!" cried Joscelyn, "have you among your charms one that will make a maid fall OUT of love?" "Nay, nay," said the Gypsy, growing suddenly grave. "That is a charm takes more black art than I am mistress of. I know indeed of but one remedy. Is the case so bad?" "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?"