The bridegroom winked at him, but said never a word, good or ill, for he was willing to let all that had happened be past and gone. But the king saw how matters stood as clear as daylight, and when he got back home again he had the new words that stood on the walls of the room painted out, and had the old ones painted in in bigger letters than ever: “All Things are as Fate wills.” All the good people who were gathered around the table of the Sign of Mother Goose sat thinking for a while over the story. As for Boots, he buried his face in the quart pot and took a long, long pull at the ale. “Methinks,” said the Soldier who cheated the Devil, presently breaking silence--“methinks there be very few of the women folk who do their share of this story-telling. So far we have had but one, and that is Lady Cinderella. I see another one present, and I drink to her health.” He winked his eye at Patient Grizzle, beckoning towards her with his quart pot, and took a long and hearty pull. Then he banged his mug down upon the table. “Fetch me another glass, lass,” said he to little Brown Betty. “Meantime, fair lady”--this he said to Patient Grizzle--“will you not entertain us with some story of your own?” “I know not,” said Patient Grizzle, “that I can tell you any story worth your hearing.” “Aye, aye, but you can,” said the Soldier who cheated the Devil; “and, moreover, anything coming from betwixt such red lips and such white teeth will be worth the listening to.” Patient Grizzle smiled, and the brave little Tailor, and the Lad who fiddled for the Jew, and Hans and Bidpai and Boots nodded approval. “Aye,” said Ali Baba, “it is true enough that there have been but few of the women folk who have had their say, and methinks that it is very strange and unaccountable, for nearly always they have plenty to speak in their own behalf.” All who sat there in Twilight Land laughed, and even Patient Grizzle smiled. “Very well,” said Patient Grizzle, “if you will have it, I will tell you a story. It is about a fisherman who was married and had a wife of his own, and who made her carry all the load of everything that happened to him. For he, like most men I wot of, had found out--” Where to Lay the Blame. Many and many a man has come to trouble--so he will say--by following his wife’s advice. This is how it was with a man of whom I shall tell you. There was once upon a time a fisherman who had fished all day long and had caught not so much as a sprat. So at night there he sat by the fire, rubbing his knees and warming his shins, and waiting for supper that his wife was cooking for him, and his hunger was as sharp as vinegar, and his temper hot enough to fry fat. While he sat there grumbling and growling and trying to make himself comfortable and warm, there suddenly came a knock at the door. The good woman opened it, and there stood an old man, clad all in red from head to foot, and with a snowy beard at his chin as white as winter snow.