The galloping of soldiers up and down the road from time to time disturbed her flock, but she was evidently a patient soul, and relied valiantly upon her stick of willow.

Once or twice he had been inclined to hasten his steps, to join her, to talk, to hear the grateful sound of his own voice, which he had not heard since he passed the frontier customs; yet each time he had subdued the desire and continued to lessen none of the distance between them.
The little goose-girl was indeed tired, and the little wooden shoes grew heavier and heavier, and the little bare feet ached dully; but her heart was light and her mind sweet with happiness.

Day after day she had tended the geese in the valley and trudged back at evening alone, all told a matter of twelve miles; and now she was bringing them into the city to sell in the market on the morrow.

After that she would have little to do save an hour or two at night in a tavern called the Black Eagle, where she waited on patrons.
On the two went, the old man in tatters, the goose-girl in wooden shoes.
The man listened; she was singing brightly, and the voice was sweet and strong and true.
"She is happy; that is some recompense.

She is richer than I am." And the peasant fell into a reverie.
Presently there was a clatter of horses, a jingle of bit and spur and saber.