“Well, my boys,” said he, “you look very sheep-faced. You thought there was nothing easier than to come in, and you see that our defense is good. But we are beginning to have pity on you, if you will submit and accept our conditions.” _The Grave-digger_: “Speak, good people. Tell us what we must do to approach your hearth.” _The Hemp-dresser_: “You must sing, my friends; but sing a song we don’t know,--one that we can’t answer by a better.” “That’s not hard to do,” answered the grave-digger, and he thundered in a powerful voice: “‘Six months ago, ’twas in the spring....’” “‘I wandered through the sprouting grass,’” answered the hemp-dresser in a slightly hoarse but terrible voice. “You must be jesting, my poor friends, singing us such time-worn songs. You see very well that we can stop you at the first word.” “‘She was a prince’s daughter....’” “‘Right gladly would she wed,’” answered the hemp-dresser. “Come, move on to the next; we know that a little too well.” _The Grave-digger_: “How do you like this one?”-- “‘As I was journeying home from Nantes.’” _The Hemp-dresser_: “‘Weary, oh, weary, was I, was I.’” “That dates from my grandmother’s time. Let’s have another.” _The Grave-digger_: “‘One day I went a-walking....’” _The Hemp-dresser_: “‘Along a lovely wood!’” “That one is too stupid! Our little children wouldn’t take the trouble to answer you. What! Are these all you know?” _The Grave-digger_: “Oh, we shall sing you so many that you will never be able to hear them all.” In this way a full hour passed. As the two antagonists were champions of the country round in the matter of songs, and as their store seemed inexhaustible, the contest might last all night with ease, all the more because the hemp-dresser, with a touch of malice, allowed several ballads of ten, twenty, or thirty couplets to be sung through, feigning by his silence to admit his defeat. Then the bridegroom’s camp rejoiced and sang aloud in chorus, and thought that this time the foe was worsted; but at the first line of the last couplet, they heard the hoarse croaking of the old hemp-dresser bellow forth the second rhyme. Then he cried: “You need not tire yourselves by singing such a long one, my children--we know that one to our finger-tips.” Once or twice, however, the hemp-dresser made a wry face, contracted his brow, and turned toward the expectant housewives with a baffled air. The grave-digger was singing something so old that his adversary had forgotten it, or perhaps had never even heard it; but instantly the good gossips chanted the victorious refrain through their noses with voices shrill as a sea-mew’s, and the grave-digger, forced to surrender, went on to fresh attempts. It would have taken too long to wait for a decision of the victory. The bride’s party declared itself disposed to be merciful, provided that the bride were given a present worthy of her.