But there was one thing Blindschleicher knew--viz., that women-folks are to be prevailed upon mainly by flattery; and that a good head is not a necessary equipment for flattery and courtship is a well-known fact. But the handsome gardener’s apprentice had nothing that was at all available in his curly pate, and it must be admitted that nothing at all is too little. He was sweet as a fig-pudding. When he went out most of his button-holes were decked out with roses and rosebuds. If it looks pretty to wear one rose, as others do, he would argue, it must improve the effect to wear a number. His hair was made smooth and shiny with lard, and above each ear he would plaster it on each temple in a delicate crescent, like a Vienna dandy. He always chose bright and striking colours for his neckties, and tied them into knots, with long ends gracefully flowing. This as an indication of originality, and to attract the girls. But instead of the girls, the turkeys ran at him, and chased him with cackling vindictiveness through the village. In associating with men, he was rather helpless, and he avoided them as much as might be, because they either chaffed him or ignored him, according as their mood was frolicsome or serious. Toward women he put on his most gracious mien, and oftentimes he would secretly sigh, “Ah, if I had a wife! if I only could get a wife!” For a long time he could not make out the reason for his desire, but at last his feeling consolidated into a point, and then it grew into a thought, and he gradually became conscious why it was that he wanted a wife. He could then say to his tormentors, “You may laugh as much as you please. Here is one who will have me!” And there was one in particular before whose countenance he would melt like butter in the sun. That was Liese, the farm-maid. She was the most blooming lass in the valley, and he set a wistful eye upon her. And Blindschleicher confided his troubles to his friend the watchman, as they walked through the silent village one night. “Man,” he lamented, “never was there such ill luck as mine. You wouldn’t believe it. I’m head over ears in love with the lass, and there’s no help for it.” “Why don’t you take her, then?” said the watchman. “Take her, fool! when she won’t so much as look at you!” “She needn’t look at _me_. My old woman is firmly yoked to me.” “But it is at _me_ that she might look,” said Blindschleicher. “When I think of all the trouble I go to to make myself agreeable! And as for her--when I say to her, ‘Liese, good morning, Liese!’ she turns on her heel; and when I say, ‘How bonny you are, Liese!’ she says, ‘How clever you are, lad!’” “Well, don’t that please you?” said the watchman.