Even so did Birdalone, and shaped the skin to her feet; but as she was
sewing them a fancy came into her head; for she had just come across
some threads of silk of divers colours; so she took them and her shoon
and her needle up into the wood, and there sat down happily under a
great spreading oak which much she haunted, and fell to broidering the
kindly deer-skin. And she got to be long about it, and came back to it
the next day and the next, and many days, whenso her servitude would
suffer it, and yet the shoon were scarce done.
So on a morning the dame looked on her feet as she moved about the
chamber, and cried out at her: What! art thou barefoot as an hen yet?
Hast thou spoilt the good deer-skin and art yet but shoeless? Nay, our
lady, said Birdalone, but the shoon are not altogether done. Show them
to me, said the dame.
Birdalone went to her little coffer to fetch them, and brought them
somewhat timorously, for she knew not how her mistress would take her
working on them so long, if perchance she would blame her, or it might
be chastise her, for even in those days the witch-wife’s hand was
whiles raised against her. But now when the dame took the shoes and
looked on them, and saw how there were oak-leaves done into them, and
flowers, and coneys, and squirrels, she but smiled somewhat grimly on
Birdalone, and said: Well, belike thou art a fool to waste thy time and
mine in such toys; and to give thee thy due would be to give thee
stripes. But thou doest herein after the nature of earthly women, to
adorn thy body, whatsoever else is toward. And well is that, since I
would have thee a woman so soon as may be; and I will help thy mind for
finery, since thou art so deft with thy needle.
Therewith she went to the big coffer and drew forth thence a piece of
fine green cloth, and another of fine linen, and said to Birdalone:
This mayest thou take, and make thee a gown thereof and a new smock,
and make them if thou wilt as gay as thy new shoon are gotten to be;
and here is wherewithal. And therewith she gave her two handfuls of
silken threads and gold, and said: Now I suppose that I must do the
more part of thy work, while thou art making thee these gaudy garments.
But maybe someone may be coming this way ere long, who will deem the
bird the finer for her fine feathers. Now depart from me; for I would
both work for thee and me, and ponder weighty matters.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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