"Old man," the captain blustered, In haste to meet the foe, "My troops are seeking forage; Come! show us where to go." A mile he led them onward, To where, in beauty spread, They saw a field of barley. "The very thing!" they said. "Not here!" the old man urged them; "Have patience for a while." And sturdily he led them Another weary mile. The barley field he showed them They speedily despoiled; Ah, little need of reapers, Where such a troop has toiled! But "Fie on all this pother!" The angry captain cursed; "Old man, this second barley Is poorer than the first." "Perhaps," the good man answered, "It may not be so fine; But that field is another's, And this field, sir, is mine." |