cuckoo-flower and primrose, daffodil and celandine, silver
windflower and sweet violets blue and white, spangling the gay
grass. The twisted apple-trees were in young leaf.

"Go away!" cried all the milkmaids in a breath. "Go away!"

"My green maidens," said Martin, "may I not come into your orchard?
The sun is up, and the shadow lies fresh on the grass. Let me in to
rest a little, dear maidens--if maidens indeed you be, and not six
leaflets blown from the apple-branches."

"You cannot come in," said Joscelyn, "because we are guarding our
master's daughter, who sits yonder weeping in the Well-House."

"That is a noble and a tender duty," said Martin. "From what do you
guard her?"

The milkmaids looked primly at one another, and little Joan said,
"It is a secret."

Martin: I will ask no more. And what do you do all day long?

Joyce: Nothing, and it is very dull.

Martin: It must be still duller for your master's daughter.

Joan: Oh, no, she has her thoughts to play with.

Martin: And what of your thoughts?