I was busy near the chimney, and she was
employed near the door of the apartment, when some one knocked.
The door was opened by her, and she was immediately addressed with,
"Prythee, good girl, canst thou supply a thirsty man with a glass
of buttermilk?" She answered that there was none in the house.
"Aye, but there is some in the dairy yonder. Thou knowest as well
as I, though Hermes never taught thee, that, though every dairy be
a house, every house is not a dairy." To this speech, though she
understood only a part of it, she replied by repeating her
assurances that she had none to give. "Well, then," rejoined the
stranger, "for charity's sweet sake, hand me forth a cup of cold
water." The girl said she would go to the spring and fetch it.
"Nay, give me the cup, and suffer me to help myself. Neither
manacled nor lame, I should merit burial in the maw of carrion
crows if I laid this task upon thee." She gave him the cup, and he
turned to go to the spring.
I listened to this dialogue in silence. The words uttered by the
person without affected me as somewhat singular; but what chiefly
rendered them remarkable was the tone that accompanied them.
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