woodlands, and beat the walnut-trees in September.
She must make the butter and the cheese, grind the
wheat in the quern, make and bake the bread, and in
all ways earn her livelihood hard enough. Moreover,
the bowman’s craft had she learned, and at the
dame’s bidding must fare alone into the wood
now and again to slay big deer and little, and win
venison: but neither did that irk her at all,
for rest and peace were in the woods for her.
True it is, that as she wended thicket or glade or
wood-lawn, she would at whiles grow timorous, and
tread light and heedfully, lest rustling leaves or
crackling stick should arouse some strange creature
in human shape, devil, or god now damned, or woman
of the faery. But if such were there, either
they were wise and would not be seen, or kind and
had no will to scare the simple maiden; or else maybe
there were none such in those days. Anyhow, nought
evil came to her out of Evilshaw.
Lank and long is Birdalone the sweet, with legs that
come forth bare and browned from under her scant grey
coat and scantier smock beneath, which was all her
raiment save when the time was bitter, and then, forsooth,
it was a cloak of goat-skin that eked her attire:
for the dame heeded little the clothing of her; nor
did Birdalone give so much heed thereto that she cared
to risk the anger of her mistress by asking her for
aught.
But on a day of this same spring, when the witch-wife
was of sweeter temper than her wont was, and the day
was very warm and kindly, though it was but one of
the last of February days, Birdalone, blushing and
shamefaced, craved timidly some more womanly attire.
But the dame turned gruffly on her and said:
Tush, child! what needeth it? here be no men to behold
thee. I shall see to it, that when due time
comes thou shalt be whitened and sleeked to the very
utmost. But look thou! thou art a handy wench;
take the deer-skin that hangs up yonder and make thee
brogues for thy feet, if so thou wilt.
Even so did Birdalone, and shaped the skin to her
feet; but as she was sewing them a fancy came into
her head; for she had just come across some threads
of silk of divers colours; so she took them and her
shoon and her needle up into the wood, and there sat
down happily under a great spreading oak which much
she haunted, and fell to broidering the kindly deer-skin.
And she got to be long about it, and came back to
it the next day and the next, and many days, whenso
her servitude would suffer it, and yet the shoon were
scarce done.
So on a morning the dame looked on her feet as she
moved about the chamber, and cried out at her:
What! art thou barefoot as an hen yet? Hast
thou spoilt the good deer-skin and art yet but shoeless?
Nay, our lady, said Birdalone, but the shoon are not
altogether done. Show them to me, said the dame.
