The bee-keeper.

Sara with an animated and excited face was telling whoever was close—although there was no one close... how she had gone to look for mushrooms the previous night and had lost her way in the big forest; and there in that big forest of tall and short trees and green and black ferns, she came upon many who she did not know, or was accustom to knowing in her short live.    Then within her mind or out, she came across, describing as she ventured forth... interrupting a bee keeper, dressed in a white, shoulder to toe cloak, tied at his wast, and a hat of fine netting upon his head; in one hand a hive, and the other a container—container of tin and a round handle at the top and a small spout to one side, and without help was bellowing a fine cloudy smoke nowhere up and nowhere down... then at times bellowing back towards the bee keeper's face.     

'Morning,' she said as she came abreast.   The bee keeper only stared in her direction.      He was taller than the row of red roses pegged behind him, and slower in his ways than the flying bees in front of him.

Sara heard him say.    'No, I can't! I'm not telling it right; no, you don't understand.'     'Don't understand,' asked Sara.     He was such a delightful old man, she thought.   

Being dark in the forest at this time of the year, it was difficult to confirm the healthy mushrooms from the untrustworthy.    

'No, I can't describe it,' the bee keeper was saying and now Sara was becoming vexed.

'I must go now,' she told the old bee keeper, and did leave him there; neither of them not understanding the engagement that had taken place.      Flushed red throughout her young face, and near  choking within her throat... her eyes complete in tears and over following.      

'I understand all that I have encountered here said told the bee keeper.

'Wonderful' was his reply, and with that he was gone.     Sara called after him but was—was not satisfied with her chosen words, and felt that they did not convey her deepest love for his bees.        For him, the old man who kept bees, his love towards her was empty; his love so strong and happy ... he remembered was towards his hives.   He neither saw nor understood anything of her needs, only seeing in her a pretty and fresh faced young girl, with whom he did not desire any union.