But out and spake Childe Waters’ mother, And a skilly[336] dame was she: ‘Where met ye with that little foot-page That looks so sad on thee? XXXV ‘Sometimes his cheek is rosy red, And sometimes deadly wan; He’s liker a woman big with bairn Than a young lord’s serving-man.’ XXXVI And then bespake Childe Waters’ sister, And these were the words said she: ‘You have the prettiest foot-page, brother, Let him go into chamber with me.’-- XXXVII ‘It is more meet for a little foot-page, That has run through moss and mire, To take his supper upon his knee, And sit by the kitchen fire, Than to go into chamber with any lady That wears so rich attire. XXXVIII ‘Rise up, rise up, my bonny boy; Give my horse corn and hay.’-- ‘O that I will, my master dear, As quickly as I may.’ XXXIX She’s ta’en the hay under her arm, The corn into her hand, And she’s gone to the great stable As fast as e’er she can. XL ‘O room ye round, my bonny brown steeds! O room ye near the wall! For this pain that strikes me through my sides Full soon will gar me fall.’ XLI She’s lean’d her back against the wall, Strong travail seized her on; And even among the great horse’ feet Burd Ellen brought forth her son. XLII And that beheard Childe Waters’ mother, Sat in her bower alone. ‘Rise up, rise up, Childe Waters,’ she said, ‘Seek neither hose nor shoon!’ XLIII She said, ‘Rise up, thou Childe Waters, I think thou’rt a cursèd man; For yonder’s a ghost in thy stable That grievously doth groan, Or else some woman labours of child, She is so woe-begone.’ XLIV But up then rose Childe Waters, Stay’d neither for hose nor shoon, And he’s doen him to the stable-door Wi’ the clear light of the moon. XLV And when he came to the stable-door, Full still there he did stand, That he might hear Burd Ellen, How she made her monand[337]. XLVI She said, ‘Lullabyè, my own dear child! Lùllabye, dear child dear! I would thy father were a king, Thy mother laid on a bier!’-- XLVII ‘O open the door, Burd Ellen! O open and let me in! I want to see if my steed be fed, Or my greyhounds fit to rin.’-- XLVIII ‘How can I open, how shall I open, How can I open to thee, When lying amang your great steeds’ feet, Your young son on my knee?’ XLIX He strack the door hard wi’ his foot, And push’d it wi’ his knee; And iron locks and iron bars Into the floor flung he. ‘Be not afraid, Burd Ellen,’ he says, ‘There’s none comes in but me.’ L ‘An asking, an asking, Childe Waters, An asking I beg of thee: May the meanest maid about your house Bring a glass o’ water to me!’