behind the flock walked, stick in hand, an old wench, strong and big, but ugly as night. "good mother," said she to the old woman, "has anything happened to you, you have stayed away so long?" "by no means, my dear daughter," answered she, "i have met with nothing bad, but, on the contrary, with this kind gentleman, who has carried my burthen for me; only think, he even took me on his back when i was tired. the way, too, has not seemed long to us; we have been merry, and have been cracking jokes with each other all the time." at last the old woman slid down, took the bundle off the young man’s back, and the baskets from his arm, looked at him quite kindly, and said, "now seat yourself on the bench before the door, and rest. you have fairly earned your wages, and they shall not be wanting." then she said to the goose-girl, "go into the house, my dear daughter, it is not becoming for thee to be alone with a young gentleman; one must not pour oil on to the fire, he might fall in love with thee." the count knew not whether to laugh or to cry. "such a sweetheart as that," thought he, "could not touch my heart, even if she were thirty years younger." in the meantime the old woman stroked and fondled her geese as if they were children, and then went into the house with her daughter. the youth lay down on the bench, under a wild apple-tree. the air was warm and mild; on all sides stretched a green meadow, which was set with cowslips, wild thyme, and a thousand other flowers; through the midst of it rippled a clear brook on which the sun sparkled, and the white geese went walking backwards and forwards, or paddled in the water. "it is quite delightful here,"