Martin: The others weren't true.

Joscelyn: I don't care. You are to say what happened to the Gorgons.

Joyce: And to the Squire.

Jennifer: And to the Princess.

Jessica: And what she looked like.

Jane: And what happened to the King.

"Please, Martin," said little Joan, "please don't let the story come to an end before we know what happened to the Wanderer."

"I'm tired of telling stories," said Martin, "and I'll never tell another as long as I live. But I suppose I must add the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs to this one, or I shall get no peace.")

All these things, dear maidens, are very quickly told, except what the Princess looked like, for that is impossible. No man ever knew. He never got further than her eyes, and then he was drowned. But what does it matter how she looked? She died a thousand years ago of a broken heart. And her Squire, hearing of her death, died too, a thousand leagues away. And the King her father expired of remorse, and his country went to rack and ruin. And the five kind Gorgons had to pay the penalty of their regained humanity, and wilted into their maiden graves. Only the Sixth Gorgon lived on for ever and ever. I dare not think of her solitary eternity. But as for the Wanderer, he is of no importance. A little while he still went wandering, singing these lovers' sorrows to the world, and what became of him I never knew.

That's the end.

And now, dear Mistress Joscelyn, let me lace up your shoe.

(Joscelyn buried her face in her hands and burst out crying.)

POSTLUDE

PART I

There was consternation in the Apple-Orchard.

All the milkmaids came tumbling from their perches to run and comfort their weeping comrade. And as they pa.s.sed Martin, Joyce cried, "It's a shame!" and Jennifer murmured "How could you?" and Jessica exclaimed "You brute!" and Jane said "I'm surprised at you!" and even little Joan shook her head at him, and, while all the others fondled Joscelyn, and petted and consoled her, took her hand and held it very tight. But with her other hand she took Martin's and held it just as tight, and looked a little anxious, with tears in her blue eyes. Yet she looked a little smiling too. And there were tears also in the eyes of all the milkmaids, because the story had ended so badly, and because they did not in the least know what was going to happen, and because a man had made one of them cry. And Martin suddenly realized that all these girls were against him as much as though it were six months ago. And he swung his feet and looked as though he didn't care, so that Joan knew he was feeling rather sheepish inside, and held his hand a little tighter.

Then Joscelyn, who had the loveliest brown, as Joan had the loveliest blue, eyes in England, lifted her young head and looked at Martin so defiantly through her tears that he knew she had given up the game at last; and he pressed Joan's hand for all he was worth, and began to look ashamed of himself, so that Joan knew he had stopped feeling sheepish in the least. And Joscelyn, in a voice that shook like birch-leaves, said, "I don't want it to end like that."

Martin: Dear Mistress Joscelyn, is it my fault? I promised you the truth, and with your help I have told it.

Joscelyn: How dare you say it's with my help? If I had my way--!

Martin: You shall have it. We will leave the end of the story in your hands.

Joscelyn: I won't have anything to do with it!

Martin: Then I'm afraid it's your fault.

Joscelyn: That's what a man always says!

Martin: Did he?

Joscelyn: Yes, he did! he said it was Eve's fault.

Martin: So it was.

Joscelyn: How dare you!

Martin: He said nothing but the truth. And what did you say?

Joscelyn: I said it was Adam's fault.

Martin: So it was. YOU said nothing but the truth.

Joscelyn: How could it be two people's fault?

Martin: How could it be anything else? Oh, Joscelyn! there are two things in this world that one person alone cannot bring to perfection.

And one of them is a fault. It takes two people to make a perfect fault. Eve tempted Adam; and Adam was jolly glad to get tempted if he was half as sensible as he ought to have been. And Eve knew it. And Adam let her know it. And if after that she had not tempted him he would never have forgiven her. When it came to fault-making they understood each other perfectly. And between them they made the most perfect fault in the world.

Joscelyn: (after a very long pause): You said there were two things.

Martin: Two things?

Joscelyn: That one person alone can't bring to perfection.

Martin: Did I?

Joscelyn: What is the other thing?

Martin: Love. Isn't it?

Joscelyn: How dare you ask me?

Martin: I dare ask more than that. Joscelyn, how old are you?

Joscelyn: I sha'n't tell you.

Martin: Joscelyn, you are the tallest of the milkmaids, but you can't help that. How old are you?

Joscelyn: Mind your own business.

Martin: Joscelyn, the first three times I saw you, you had your hair down your back. But ever since I told you my first story you have done it up, like beautiful dark flowers, on each side of your head. And it is my belief that you have no business to have it up at all.

Joscelyn (very angrily): How dare you! Of course I have! Am I not nearly sixteen?

Martin: Nearly?

Joscelyn: Well, next June.