A determined, large and forbidding-looking midwife answered the door (she frightened away the bad guys).
Yes? she said pleasantly.
Is the farmer home, Madam? asked the weary Ansel.
He's out that-a-way in the field. Here you can take him his lunch, she added handing Ansel a dishtowel-wrapped parcel of food. What do you want, Sir?
I've come to ask for work, a place to stay and some food, he replied. You see, I'm a wandering minstrel.
Oh, a wandering minstrel, she said caringly and shut the door.
Ansel found the farmer and told him his story. The farmer agreed to let him stay the night if he would help him hay. Ansel had no idea how to hay, but he agreed to try.
We'll start haying tomorrow, said the farmer. For now, why don't you come in and meet the family.
Ansel met the midwife again and their daughter, Tricia. Tricia was so pretty, he could hardly believe. He helped her make the soup. He had never made soup before. After it was done and ready, he uttered: That was so simple! I can't believe it was so simple! Still I suppose it's a soup, not a symphony.
To Be Continued
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