Said he, "I would walk abroad to drink the air."

"Wilt thou into the wildwood?" said she.

"Nay, mother," he said, "I will but walk about the meadow and look on
the hay-making folk."

"For that," said the carline, "thou needest neither sword nor helm. I
was afeard that thou wert about departing, and thy departure would be a
grief to my heart: in the deep wood thou mightest be so bestead as to
need a sword in thy fist; but what shouldst thou do with it in this
Plain of Abundance, where are nought but peaceful husbandmen and frank
and kind maidens? and all these are as if they had drunk a draught of
the WELL AT THE WORLD'S END."

Ralph started as she said the word, but held his peace awhile. Then he
said: "And who is lord of this fair land?" "There is no lord, but a
lady," said the carline. "How hight she?" said Ralph. "We call her
the Lady of Abundance," said the old woman. Said Ralph: "Is she a
good lady?" "She is my lady," said the carline, "and doeth good to me,
and there is not a carle in the land but speaketh well of her--it may
be over well." "Is she fair to look on?" said Ralph. "Of women-folk
there is none fairer," said the carline; "as to men, that is another
thing."

Ralph was silent awhile, then he said: "What is the Well at the
World's End?"

"They talk of it here," said she, "many things too long to tell of now:
but there is a book in this house that telleth of it; I know it well by
the look of it though I may not read in it. I will seek it for thee
to-morrow if thou wilt."

"Have thou thanks, dame," said he; "and I pray thee forget it not; but
now I will go forth."

"Yea," said the carline, "but abide a little."

Therewith she went into the buttery, and came back bearing with her a
garland of roses of the garden, intermingled with green leaves, and she
said: "The sun is yet hot and over hot, do this on thine head to shade
thee from the burning. I knew that thou wouldst go abroad to-day, so I
made this for thee in the morning; and when I was young I was called
the garland-maker. It is better summer wear than thy basnet."

He thanked her and did it on smiling, but somewhat ruefully; for he
said to himself: "This is over old a dame that I should wear a
love-token from her." But when it was on his head, the old dame
clapped her hands and cried: "O there, there! Now art thou like the
image of St. Michael in the Choir of Our Lady of the Thorn: there is
none so lovely as thou. I wo