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Updated: June 24, 2025
"I think the one who owns it is the stranger who is seen in the wild places hereabouts the man whom the neighbors call the Hunter-King," she said to Sheen. On another day Sheen went to gather bog-down. This time she crossed the river by the stepping-stones and went into a country where there were many cattle.
Well, the poor prince had nothing for it but to walk back to the castle; and through it and round it he walked, and the finest of eating and drinking he got, and a bed of bog-down to sleep on, and long walks he took through gardens and lawns, but not a sight could he get, high or low, of Seven Inches.
Now comes the bird of dusty hue, The loud cuckoo, the summer lover; Broad-branching trees are thick with leaves; The bitter evil time is over. Swift horses gather nigh, Where half dry the river goes; Tufted heather crowns the height; Weak and white the bog-down blows.
Then they went into their dormer-room and left Sheen to her watching. She sat at the fire and made one fagot after another blaze up. She had brought her basket of bog-down and she began to spin a thread upon the neighbor-woman's wheel. She finished the thread and put it round her neck. Then she began to search for more candles so that she might be able to light one, as another went out.
The next night she stitched the cloth and made the sixth shirt. The day after she went into the bog to gather the bog-down for the seventh shirt. She had gathered her basketful and was going through the wood about the hour of sunset. At the edge of the thin wood she saw the Hunter-King standing. He took her hands and his were warm hands.
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