peared to him best to leave her awhile in her error,
Nor for her love to sue, before leading her home to his dwelling.
Ah! and the golden ring he perceived on the hand of the maiden,
Wherefore he let her speak on, and gave diligent ear to her language.

"Come," she presently said, "Let us back to the village; for maidens
Always are sure to be blamed if they tarry too long at the fountain.
Yet how delightful it is to chat by the murmuring water!"

Then from their seats they rose, and both of them turned to the fountain
One more look behind, and a tender longing possessed them.
Both of the water-jars then in silence she took by the handle,
Carried them up the steps, while behind her followed her lover.
One of the pitchers he begged her to give him to lighten the burden.
"Nay, let it be!" she said: "I carry them better so balanced.
Nor shall the master, who is to command, be doing me service.
Look not so gravely upon me, as thinking my fortune a hard one.
Early a woman should learn to serve, for that is her calling;
Since through service alone she finally comes to the headship,
Comes to the due command that is hers of right in the household.
Early the sister must wait on her brother, and wait on her parents;
Life must be always with her a perpetual coming and going,
Or be a fetching and carrying, making and doing for others.
Happy for her be she wonted to think no way is too grievous,
And if the hours of the night be to her as the hours of the daytime;
If she find never a needle too fine, nor a labor too trifling;
Wholly forgetful of self, and caring to live but in others!
For she will surely, as mother, have need of every virtue,
When, in the time of her illness, the cries of her infant arouse her
Calling for food from her weakness, and cares are to suffering added.
Twenty men bound into one were not able to bear such a burden;
Nor is it meant that they should, yet should they with gratitude view it."

Thus she spoke, and was come, meanwhile, with her silent companion,
Far as the floor of the barn, at the furthermost end of the garden,
Where was the sick woman lying, whom, glad, she had left with her
daughters,
Those late rescued maidens: fair pictures of innocence were they.
Both of them entered the barn; and, e'en as they did so, the justice,
Leading a child in each hand, came in from the other direction.
These had been lost, hitherto, from the sight of their sorr