For days, for weeks, and then for months, Jackass trudged back and forth over the same half-fathom of land, carrying a dripping bucket toward town, turning and carrying an empty bucket back to the spring. It was no longer a secret spring. His hooves beat a trail to the hiding place. It no longer flowed with clear water. His hooves churned the bank to mud and trampled the roses. Indeed, the spring no longer ran with Holy Water, as the Virgin’s white doves abandoned it, refusing to drink from its fouled depths.
The wives of the barnyard did not like this state of affairs one little bit. ”Look what happens when you listen to a spinster,” they told him. “A spinster can't dance, so she makes everyone around her dance to death.”
But Jackass kept his heart pure and stayed true to his quest. One by one, the good wives tried to talk sense to him.
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Hen said, “The Virgin gets these whims because she's never known a rooster.”
Sow said, “The Virgin gets these notions because she’s never wallowed in mud.”
Ewe said, “The Virgin gets these delusions because she's Queen of Heaven, and she thinks that makes her boss of the barnyard.”
In the end, the females gave up harassing Jackass. His silent and stoical behavior seemed to merit respect. Besides, they were busy with their own lives.