"Then listen to my song," said the water sprite. With which she drew
some of her golden hairs over her arm, and tuning them as if they had
been the strings of a harp, she began to sing:
"Warp of woollen and woof of gold:
When seven and seven and seven are told."
But when Kind William heard that the river was running with the
cadence of the tune, he could bear it no longer, and took to his
heels. When he had run a few yards he heard a splash, as if a salmon
had jumped, and on looking back he found that the yellow-haired maiden
was gone.
Kind William was trustworthy as well as obliging, and he kept his
word. He said nothing of his adventure. He put the yellow lock into an
old china teapot that had stood untouched on the mantelpiece for
years. And fishing up the river and down the river he never again cast
net into the haunted pool. And in course of time the whole affair
passed from his mind.
Fourteen years went by, and Kind William was Kind William still. He
was as obliging as ever, and still loved the miller's daughter, who,
for her part, had not forgotten her old playmate. But the miller's
memory was not so good, for the fourteen years had been prosperous
ones with him, and he was rich, whereas they had only brought bad
trade and poverty to the weaver and his son. So the lovers were not
allowed even to speak to each other.
One evening Kind William wandered by the river-side lamenting his hard
fate.
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