altogether, and putting his face between his hands sobbed bitterly.
When this had happened three or four times, Martin hailed the youth,
who was then fairly close to the gate.

"Young master!" said he. "The baker of this crop will want no salt
to his baking, and that's flat."

The young man dropped his hands and turned his brown and
tear-stained countenance upon the Minstrel. He was so young a man
that he wanted his beard.

"They who taste of my sorrow," he replied, "will have no stomach for
bread."

And with that he fell anew to his sowing and sighing, and passed up
the field.

When he came down again Martin observed, "It must be a very bitter
sorrow that will put a man off his dinner."

"It is the bitterest," said the youth, and went his way.

At his next coming Martin inquired, "What is the name of your
sorrow?"

"Love," said the youth. By now he was somewhat distant from the gate
when he came abreast of it, and Martin Pippin did not catch the
word. So he called louder:

"What?"