One Too Many.
Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2007 10:34 am
Once upon a time a young man went into the forest to meet his true love, a woman with sly brown eyes and hair like flame.
He walked a long way, he walked a short way, and as he went he came to where an old woman sat churning butter. Whirl, twirl, thump went the churn.
“Good morning, grandmother,” he said. “What do you make?”
“Butter for the funeral breads,” she replied, and nothing more. As he looked the young man saw the ears of a fox, almost hidden in the old woman’s silver hair.
“Well, good morrow to you,” he said, and went on his way.
He walked a long way, he walked a short way, and as he went he came to where a tall man was chopping logs. Twhick, thwack, thunk went the axe.
“Good morning, cousin,” he said. “What do you gather?”
“Wood for the funeral fire,” the tall man replied, and nothing more. Where his shirt hung open the young man could see the pelt of a fox beneath his clothing.
“Well, good morrow to you,” he said, and went on his way.
He walked a long way, he walked a short way, and as he went he came to where a figure all hooded and cloaked sat spinning fine white cloth. Hum, zum, thrum went the spinning wheel.
“Good morning, stranger,” he said. “What do you spin?”
“A shroud for the funeral table,” it replied, and nothing more. Beneath where its cloak came almost to the ground the young man could see the paws of a fox.
"Well, good morrow to you," said the young man, and went on his way.
At last he came to the house where his true love lived, and she threw open the door and rushed to greet him. “Come in, come in!” she said. “We have prepared our dinner, and waited only for you to arrive to eat!”
As he stood in the doorway the young man saw the fire burning merrily in the fireplace; he saw the baked bread steaming on the windowsill; and he saw the table, laid with its fine white cloth. Last of all he looked at his true love, and saw the tip of a fox’s brush poking out from beneath her skirt.
“That’s one too many for me!” said the young man, and he took to his heels and ran all the way home.
He walked a long way, he walked a short way, and as he went he came to where an old woman sat churning butter. Whirl, twirl, thump went the churn.
“Good morning, grandmother,” he said. “What do you make?”
“Butter for the funeral breads,” she replied, and nothing more. As he looked the young man saw the ears of a fox, almost hidden in the old woman’s silver hair.
“Well, good morrow to you,” he said, and went on his way.
He walked a long way, he walked a short way, and as he went he came to where a tall man was chopping logs. Twhick, thwack, thunk went the axe.
“Good morning, cousin,” he said. “What do you gather?”
“Wood for the funeral fire,” the tall man replied, and nothing more. Where his shirt hung open the young man could see the pelt of a fox beneath his clothing.
“Well, good morrow to you,” he said, and went on his way.
He walked a long way, he walked a short way, and as he went he came to where a figure all hooded and cloaked sat spinning fine white cloth. Hum, zum, thrum went the spinning wheel.
“Good morning, stranger,” he said. “What do you spin?”
“A shroud for the funeral table,” it replied, and nothing more. Beneath where its cloak came almost to the ground the young man could see the paws of a fox.
"Well, good morrow to you," said the young man, and went on his way.
At last he came to the house where his true love lived, and she threw open the door and rushed to greet him. “Come in, come in!” she said. “We have prepared our dinner, and waited only for you to arrive to eat!”
As he stood in the doorway the young man saw the fire burning merrily in the fireplace; he saw the baked bread steaming on the windowsill; and he saw the table, laid with its fine white cloth. Last of all he looked at his true love, and saw the tip of a fox’s brush poking out from beneath her skirt.
“That’s one too many for me!” said the young man, and he took to his heels and ran all the way home.
