"It is useless," Robin said. "For even if you could cross the duckpond, and evade the ducks, and compass the green gate, my sweetheart's father's milkmaids are not to be come over by any man; and they watch the Well-House day and night." "Yet direct me to the orchard," repeated Martin Pippin, and thrummed his lute a little. "Oh, sir," said Robin anxiously, "I must warn you that it is a long and weary way, it may be as much as two mile by the road." And he looked disconsolately at the Minstrel, as though in fear that he would be discouraged from the adventure. "It can but be attempted," answered Martin, "and now tell me only whether I go north or south as the road runs." "Gillman the farmer, her father," said Robin Rue, "has moreover a very big stick--" "Heaven help us!" cried Martin, and took to his heels. "That ends it!" sighed the sorry lover. "At least let us make a beginning!" quoth Martin Pippin. He leaped the gate, mocked at a cuckoo, plucked a primrose, and went singing up the road. Robin Rue resumed his sowing and his tears. "Maids," said Joscelyn, "what is this coming across the duckpond?" "It is a man," said little Joan. The six girls came running and crowding to the wicket, standing a-tiptoe and peeping between each other's sunbonnets. Their sunbonnets and their gowns were as green as lettuce-leaves. "Is he coming on a raft?" asked Jessica, who stood behind. "No," said Jane, "he is coming on his two feet. He has taken off his shoes, but I fear his breeches will suffer." "He is giving bread to the ducks," said Jennifer. "He has a lute on his back," said Joyce. "Man!" cried Joscelyn, who was the tallest and the sternest of the milkmaids, "go away at once!" Martin Pippin was by now within arm's-length of the green gate. He looked with pleasure at the six virgins fluttering in their green gowns, and peeping bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked under their green bonnets. Beyond them he saw the forbidden orchard, with cuckoo-flower and primrose, daffodil and celandine, silver windflower and sweet violets blue and white, spangling the gay grass. The twisted apple-trees were in young leaf. "Go away!" cried all the milkmaids in a breath. "Go away!" "My green maidens," said Martin, "may I not come into your orchard? The sun is up, and the shadow lies fresh on the grass. Let me in to rest a little, dear maidens--if maidens indeed you be, and not six leaflets blown from the apple-branches." "You cannot come in," said Joscelyn, "because we are guarding our master's daughter, who sits yonder weeping in the Well-House." "That is a noble and a tender duty," said Martin. "From what do you guard her?" The milkmaids looked primly at one another, and little Joan said, "It is a secret." Martin: I will ask no more. And what do you do all day long? Joyce: Nothing, and it is very dull. Martin: It must be still duller for your master's daughter. Joan: Oh, no, she has her thoughts to play with. Martin: And what of your thoughts?