At the marsh's edge the little Wild Thing gazed for some moments
over the water to where the marsh-fires were leaping up and down,
and then pressed the soul against its left breast a little above the
heart.

Instantly it became a young and beautiful woman, who was cold and
frightened. She clad herself somehow with bundles of reeds, and went
towards the lights of a house that stood close by. And she pushed
open the door and entered, and found a farmer and a farmer's wife
sitting over their supper.

And the farmer's wife took the little Wild Thing with the soul of
the marshes up to her room, and clothed her and braided her hair,
and brought her down again, and gave her the first food that she had
ever eaten. Then the farmer's wife asked many questions.

'Where have you come from?' she said.

'Over the marshes.'

'From what direction?' said the farmer's wife.

'South,' said the little Wild Thing with the new soul.

'But none can come over the marshes from the south,' said the
farmer's wife.

'No, they can't do that,' said the farmer.