Chapter VI: “Whither away, Hans?” (1)

“To Grethel, Mother.”

“Behave well, Hans.”

“I’ll behave well. Good-bye, Mother.”

“Good-bye, Hans.”

Hans comes to Grethel. “Good day, Grethel.”

“Good day, Hans. What good thing do you bring?”

“I bring nothing, but would have something given me.”

Grethel says to Hans, “I will go with you.”

Hans takes Grethel, ties her to a rope, leads her to the rack, and binds her fast. Then Hans goes to his mother.

“Good evening, Mother.”

“Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?”

“With Grethel.”

“What did you take her?”

“I took her nothing.”

“What did Grethel give you?”

“She gave me nothing, she came with me.”

“Where have you left Grethel?”

“I led her by the rope, tied her to the rack, and scattered some grass for her.”

“That was ill done, Hans, you should have cast friendly eyes on her.”

“Never mind, will do better.”

Hans went into the stable, cut out all the calves’ and sheep’s eyes, and threw them in Grethel’s face. Then Grethel became angry, tore herself lose and ran away, and became the Bride of Hans.

THE IRON STOVE

In the days when wishing was having, a King’s Son was enchanted by an old Witch, and shut up in an Iron Stove in a forest. There he passed many years, and no one could deliver him.

Then a King’s Daughter came into the forest, who had lost herself and could not find her father’s kingdom again. After she had wandered about for nine days, she at length came to the Iron Stove. Then a voice issued from it, and asked her, “Whence come you, and whither go you?”

She answered, “I have lost my father’s kingdom, and cannot get home again.”

Then a voice inside the Iron Stove said, “I will help you to get home, and that indeed most swiftly, if you will promise to do what I desire of you. I am the son of a far greater King than your father, and I will marry you.”

Then was she afraid, and thought, “Alas! What use could I have with an Iron Stove?” But as she much wished to get home to her father, she promised to do as he desired.

He said, “You shall return here, and bring a knife with you, and scrape a hole in the iron.”

Then he gave her a companion who walked near her, but did not speak. In two hours he took her home. There was great joy in the castle when the King’s Daughter came back, and the old King fell on her neck, and kissed her.

She, however, was sorely troubled, and said, “Dear Father, what I have suffered! I should never have got home again from the great wild forest, if I had not come to an Iron Stove. But I have been forced to give my word that I will go back to it, set it free, and marry it.”

Then the old King was so terrified that he all but fainted, for he had only this one daughter. They, therefore, resolved they would send, in her place, the miller’s daughter, who was very beautiful. They took her there, gave her a knife, and said she was to scrape at the Iron Stove. So she scraped at it for four-and-twenty hours, but could not bring off the least morsel of it.

When day dawned, a voice in the stove said, “It seems to me it is day outside.”

Then she answered, “It seems so to me too. I fancy I hear the noise of my father’s mill.”

“So you are a miller’s daughter! Then go your way at once. Let the King’s Daughter come here.”

She went away at once, and told the old King that the man outside there would have none of her--he wanted the King’s Daughter.

They, however, still had a swineherd’s daughter, who was even prettier than the miller’s daughter, and they determined to give her a piece of gold to go to the Iron Stove, instead of the King’s Daughter. So she was taken thither, and she also had to scrape for four-and-twenty hours. She, likewise, made nothing of it.

When day broke, a voice inside the stove cried, “It seems to me it is day outside!”

Then answered she, “So it seems to me. I fancy I hear my father’s horn blowing.”

“Then you are a swineherd’s daughter! Go away at once. Tell the King’s Daughter to come, and tell her all must be done as was promised. And if she does not come, everything in the kingdom shall be ruined, and destroyed, and not one stone be left standing on another.”

When the King’s Daughter heard that, she began to weep. But now there was nothing for it but to keep her promise. So she took leave of her father, put a knife in her pocket, and went forth to the Iron Stove in the forest.

When she got there, she began to scrape, and the iron gave way, and when two hours were over, she had already scraped a small hole. Then she peeped in, and saw a youth so handsome, and so brilliant with gold and with precious jewels, that her very soul was delighted. Therefore, she went on scraping, and made the hole so large that he was able to get out.

Then said he, “You are mine, and I am yours. You are my Bride, and have released me.”

He wanted to take her away with him to his kingdom, but she entreated him to let her go once again to her father. The King’s Son allowed her to do so, but she was not to say more to her father than three words, and then she was to come back again.

So she went home, but she spoke more than three words, and instantly the Iron Stove disappeared, and was taken far away over glass mountains and piercing swords. But the King’s Son was set free, and no longer shut up in it.

After this, she bade good-bye to her father, took some money with her, but not much, and went back to the great forest, and looked for the Iron Stove, but it was nowhere to be found. For nine days she sought it. Then her hunger grew so great that she did not know what to do, for she could no longer live.

When it was evening, she seated herself in a small tree, and made up her mind to spend the night there, as she was afraid of wild beasts. When midnight drew near, she saw in the distance a small light, and thought, “Ah, there I may be saved!” She got down from the tree, and went toward the light, and on the way she prayed. Then she came to a little old house, and much grass had grown all about it, and a small heap of wood lay in front of it.

She thought, “Ah, whither have I come!” and peeped in through the window. But she saw nothing inside but Toads, big and little, except a table covered with wine and roast meat, while the plates and glasses were of silver. Then she took courage, and knocked at the door. The fat Toad cried:

“_Little green Waiting-Maid,
Waiting-Maid with the limping leg,
Little Dog of the limping leg,
Hop hither and thither,
And quickly see who is without!_”

and a small Toad came along and opened the door to her.

When she entered, they all bade her welcome, and she was forced to sit down. They asked, “Where have you come from, and whither are you going?”

Then she related all that had befallen her, and how because she had disobeyed the order which had been given her not to say more than three words, the stove, and the King’s Son also, had disappeared, and now she was seeking him over hill and dale until she found him. At that, the old fat one said:

“_Little green Waiting-Maid,
Waiting-Maid with the limping leg,
Little Dog of the limping leg,
Hop hither and thither,
And bring me the great box._”

Then the little one went and brought the box. After this they gave her meat and drink, and took her to a well-made bed, which felt like silk and velvet. She laid herself therein, in God’s name, and slept.

When morning came she arose, and the old Toad gave her three needles out of the great box, which she was to take with her; they would be needed by her, for she had to cross a high Glass Mountain, and go over three piercing swords and a great lake. If she did all this, she would get her lover back again. Then she gave her three things, which she was to take the greatest care of, namely, three large needles, a plough-wheel, and three nuts.

With these she traveled onwards, and when she came to the Glass Mountain, which was so slippery, she stuck the three needles first behind her feet and then before them, and so got over it. And when she was over it, she hid them in a place which she marked carefully. After this she came to the three piercing swords, and then she seated herself on her plough-wheel, and rolled over them. At last she arrived in front of a great lake, and when she had crossed it, she came to a large and beautiful castle.

She went in and asked for a place. She knew, however, that the King’s Son whom she had released from the Iron Stove in the great forest, was in the castle. Then she was taken as a scullery-maid at low wages. But, already the King’s Son had another maiden by his side, whom he wanted to marry, for he thought that she had long been dead.

In the evening, when she had washed up and was done, she felt in her pocket and found the three nuts which the old Toad had given her. She cracked one with her teeth, and was going to eat the kernel, when, lo and behold, there was a stately royal garment in it! But when the Bride heard of this she came and asked for the dress, and wanted to buy it, and said, “It is not a dress for a servant-girl.”

She said, no, she would not sell it, but if the Bride would grant her one thing she should have it, and that was, leave to sleep one night in her Bridegroom’s chamber. The Bride gave her permission because the dress was so pretty, and she had never had one like it.

When it was evening, she said to her Bridegroom, “That silly girl will sleep in your room.”

“If you are willing so am I,” said he.

She, however, gave him a glass of wine in which she had poured a sleeping-draught. So the Bridegroom and the scullery-maid went to sleep in the room, and he slept so soundly that she could not waken him.

She wept the whole night and cried, “I set you free when you were in an Iron Stove in the wild forest. I sought you, and walked over a Glass Mountain, and three sharp swords, and a great lake before I found you, and yet you will not hear me!”

The servants sat by the chamber-door, and heard how she thus wept the whole night through, and in the morning they told it to their lord.

And the next evening, when she had washed up, she opened the second nut, and a far more beautiful dress was within it. When the Bride beheld it, she wished to buy that also. But the girl would not take money, and begged that she might once again sleep in the Bridegroom’s chamber. The Bride, however, gave him a sleeping-drink, and he slept so soundly that he could hear nothing.

But the scullery-maid wept the whole night long, and cried, “I set you free when you were in an Iron Stove in the wild forest. I sought you, and walked over a Glass Mountain, and over three sharp swords and a great lake before I found you, and yet you will not hear me!”

The servants sat by the chamber-door and heard her weeping the whole night through, and in the morning informed their lord of it.

And on the third evening, when she had washed up, she opened the third nut, and within it was a still more beautiful dress which was stiff with pure gold.

When the Bride saw that, she wanted to have it, but the maiden gave it up only on condition that she might for the third time sleep in the Bridegroom’s apartment. The King’s Son was, However, on his guard, and threw the sleeping-draught away.

Now, therefore, when she began to weep and to cry, “Dearest Love, I set you free when you were in the Iron Stove in the terrible wild forest,” the King’s Son leapt up and said, “You are the true one, you are mine, and I am yours.”

Thereupon, while it was still night, he got into a carriage with her, and they took away the false Bride’s clothes so that she could not get up. When they came to the great lake, they sailed across it, and when they reached the three sharp-cutting swords they seated themselves on the plough-wheel, and when they got to the Glass Mountain they thrust the three needles in it. And so at length they reached the little old house. But when they went inside that, it was a great castle, and the Toads were all disenchanted, and were King’s children, and full of happiness.

Then the wedding was celebrated, and the King’s Son and the Princess remained in the castle, which was much larger than the castles of their fathers. But, as the old King grieved at being left alone, they fetched him away, and brought him to live with them. And they had two Kingdoms, and lived together happily ever afterward.

_A Mouse did run,_
_The story’s done!_

SWEET PORRIDGE

There was a poor, good little girl, who lived alone with her mother, and they had nothing more to eat.

So the child went into the forest, and an Old Woman met her, who knew of her sorrow, and gave her a Little Pot, which, when she said:

“_Boil, Little Pot, boil!_”

would cook good sweet Porridge. And when she said:

“_Stop, Little Pot, stop!_”

it ceased to cook.

The little girl took the Pot home to her mother. And now they were freed from their poverty and hunger, and ate sweet Porridge as often as they liked.

Once on a time, when the little girl had gone out, the mother said:

“_Boil, Little Pot, boil!_”

And it began to cook, and she ate till she was satisfied. Then she wanted the Pot to stop cooking, but did not know the word.

So it went on cooking, and the Porridge rose over the edge. And still it cooked on till the kitchen, and the whole house was full, and then the next house, and then the whole street, just as if it wanted to satisfy the hunger of the whole world. And there was the greatest trouble, and no one knew how to stop it. At last, when only a single house was left, the child came home and just said:

“_Stop, Little Pot, stop!_”

and it stopped cooking.

And whosoever wished to return to the town, had to eat his way back.

SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED

There was once a poor widow who lived in a lonely cottage. In front of the cottage was a garden wherein stood two rose-trees, one of which bore white and the other red roses. She had two children who were like the two rose-trees. One was called Snow-White, and the other Rose-Red.

They were as good and happy, as busy and cheerful as ever two children in the world were, only Snow-White was more quiet and gentle than Rose-Red. Rose-Red liked better to run about in the meadows and fields seeking flowers and catching butterflies. But Snow-White sat at home with her mother, and helped her with the housework, or read to her when there was nothing to do.

The two children were so fond of each other, that they always held each other by the hand when they went out together. When Snow-White said, “We will not leave each other,” Rose-Red answered, “Never so long as we live.” And their mother would add, “What one has, she must share with the other.”

They often ran about the forest alone and gathered red berries. Beasts never did them any harm, but came close to them trustfully. The little hare would eat a cabbage-leaf out of their hands, the roe grazed by their side, the stag leapt merrily by them, and the birds sat still upon the boughs, and sang whatever they knew.

No mishap overtook them. If they stayed too late in the forest, and night came on, they laid themselves down near one another upon the moss, and slept until morning. Their mother knew this, and had no worry on their account.

One day, when they had spent the night in the wood and the dawn had roused them, they saw a beautiful Child in a shining white dress sitting near their bed. He got up and looked quite kindly at them, but said nothing and went away into the forest. And when they looked round, they found that they had been sleeping quite close to a precipice, and would certainly have fallen into it in the darkness, if they had gone only a few paces farther. And their mother told them that it must have been the Angel who watches over good children.

Snow-White and Rose-Red kept their mother’s little cottage so neat, that it was a pleasure to look inside it. In the summer, Rose-Red took care of the house, and every morning laid a wreath of flowers by her mother’s bed before she awoke, in which was a rose from each tree. In the winter, Snow-White lit the fire and hung the kettle on the hook. The kettle was of copper and shone like gold, so brightly was it polished.

In the evening, when the snowflakes fell, the mother said, “Go, Snow-White, and bolt the door,” and then they sat round the hearth, and the mother took her spectacles and read aloud out of a large book. The two girls listened as they sat and span. And close by them lay a lamb upon the floor, and behind them upon a perch sat a white dove with its head hidden beneath its wings.

One evening, as they were thus sitting comfortably together, some one knocked at the door as if he wished to be let in. The mother said, “Quick, Rose-Red, open the door, it must be a traveler who is seeking shelter.”

Rose-Red went and pushed back the bolt, thinking that it was a poor man, but it was not. It was a Bear that stretched his broad, black head within the door.

Rose-Red screamed and sprang back, the lamb bleated, the dove fluttered, and Snow-White hid herself behind her mother’s bed.

But the Bear began to speak and said, “Do not be afraid. I will do you no harm! I am half-frozen, and only want to warm myself a little beside you.”

“Poor Bear,” said the mother, “lie down by the fire. Only take care that you do not burn your coat.” Then she cried, “Snow-White, Rose-Red, come out, the Bear will do you no harm, he means well.”

So they both came out, and by-and-by the lamb and dove came nearer, and were not afraid of him.

The Bear said, “Here, Children, knock the snow out of my coat a little;” so they brought the broom and swept the Bear’s hide clean. And he stretched himself by the fire and growled contentedly and comfortably.

It was not long before they grew quite at home, and played tricks with their clumsy guest. They tugged at his hair with their hands, put their feet upon his back and rolled him about, or they took a hazel-switch and beat him, and, when he growled, they laughed. But the Bear took it all in good part, only when they were too rough he called out, “Leave me alive, Children:

“_Snowy-white, Rosy-red,_
_Will you beat your lover dead?_”

When it was bedtime, and the others went to sleep, the mother said to the Bear, “You may lie there by the hearth, and then you will be safe from the cold and the bad weather.”

As soon as day dawned the two children let him out, and he trotted across the snow into the forest.

Henceforth the Bear came every evening at the same time, laid himself down by the hearth, and let the children amuse themselves with him as much as they liked. They got so used to him, that the doors were never fastened until their black friend had arrived.

When spring was come and all outside was green, the Bear said one morning to Snow-White, “Now I must go away, and cannot come back for the whole summer.”

“Where are you going, then, dear Bear?” asked Snow-White.

“I must go into the forest and guard my treasures from the wicked Dwarfs. In the winter, when the earth is frozen hard, they are obliged to stay below and cannot work their way through. But now, when the sun has thawed and warmed the earth, they break through it, and come out to pry and steal. And what once gets into their hands and in their caves, does not easily see daylight again.”

Snow-White was very sorry for his going away. And as she unbolted the door for him, and the Bear was hurrying out, he caught against the bolt and a piece of his hairy coat was torn off. It seemed to Snow-White as if she saw gold shining through it, but she was not sure about it. The Bear ran away quickly, and was soon out of sight behind the trees.

A short time afterward, the mother sent her children into the forest to get fire-wood. There they found a big tree which lay felled on the ground, and close by the trunk something was jumping backward and forward in the grass. But they could not make out what it was.

When they came nearer they saw a Dwarf with an old withered face and a snow-white beard a yard long. The end of the beard was caught in a crevice of the tree, and the little fellow was jumping backward and forward like a dog tied to a rope, and did not know what to do.

He glared at the girls with his fiery red eyes and cried, “Why do you stand there? Can you not come here and help me?”

“What are you about there, Little Man?” asked Rose-Red.

“You stupid, prying goose!” answered the Dwarf; “I was going to split the tree to get a little wood for cooking. The little bit of food that one of us wants gets burnt up directly with thick logs. We do not swallow so much as you coarse, greedy folk. I had just driven the wedge safely in, and everything was going as I wished; but the wretched wood was too smooth and suddenly sprang asunder, and the tree closed so quickly that I could not pull out my beautiful white beard. So now it is tight in, and I cannot get away. And you silly, sleek, milk-faced things laugh! Ugh! how odious you are!”

The children tried very hard, but they could not pull the beard out, it was caught too fast.

“I will run and fetch some one,” said Rose-Red.

“You senseless goose!” snarled the Dwarf. “Why should you fetch some one? You are already two too many for me. Can you not think of something better?”

“Don’t be impatient,” said Snow-White, “I will help you,” and she pulled her scissors out of her pocket, and cut off the end of the beard.

As soon as the Dwarf felt himself free, he grabbed a bag which lay amongst the roots of the tree, and which was full of gold, and lifted it up, grumbling to himself, “Rude people, to cut off a piece of my fine beard! Bad luck to you!” and then he swung the bag upon his back, and went off without even once looking at the children.

Some time after that Snow-White and Rose-Red went to catch a dish of fish. As they came near the brook, they saw something like a large grasshopper jumping toward the water, as if it were going to leap in. They ran to it and found it was the Dwarf.

“Where are you going?” said Rose-Red; “you surely don’t want to go into the water?”

“I am not such a fool!” cried the Dwarf; “don’t you see that the accursed fish wants to pull me in?” The Little Man had been sitting there fishing, and unluckily the wind had twisted his beard with the fishing-line. Just then a big fish bit, and the feeble creature had not strength to pull it out. The fish kept the upper hand and was pulling the Dwarf toward him. He held on to all the reeds and rushes, but it was of little good, he was forced to follow the fish, and was in great danger of being dragged into the water.

The girls came just in time. They held him fast and tried to free his beard from the line. But all in vain, beard and line were entangled fast together. Nothing was left but to bring out the scissors and cut the beard, whereby a small part of it was lost.

When the Dwarf saw that, he screamed out, “Is that civil, you toadstool, to disfigure one’s face? Was it not enough to clip off the end of my beard? Now you have cut off the best part of it. I cannot let myself be seen by my people. I wish you had been made to run the soles off your shoes!” Then he took out a sack of pearls which lay in the rushes, and, without saying a word more, he dragged it away and disappeared behind a stone.

It happened that soon afterward the mother sent the two children to the town to buy needles and thread, and laces and ribbons. The road led them across a heath upon which huge pieces of rock lay strewn about. They now noticed a large bird hovering in the air, flying slowly round and round above them. It sank lower and lower, and at last settled near a rock not far off. Directly afterward they heard a loud, piteous cry. They ran up and saw, with horror, that the eagle had seized their old acquaintance the Dwarf, and was going to carry him off.

The children, full of pity, at once took tight hold of the Little Man, and pulled against the eagle so long that at last he let his booty go.

As soon as the Dwarf had recovered from his first fright, he cried with his shrill voice, “Could you not have done it more carefully! You dragged at my brown coat, so that it is all torn and full of holes. You helpless, clumsy creatures!” Then he took up a sack full of precious stones, and slipped away again under the rock into his hole.

The girls, who by this time were used to his thanklessness, went on their way and did their business in the town.

As they crossed the heath again on their way home they surprised the Dwarf, who had emptied out his bag of precious stones in a clean spot, and had not thought that any one would come there at such a late hour. The evening sun shone upon the brilliant stones. They glittered and sparkled with all colors so beautifully, that the children stood still and looked at them.

“Why do you stand gaping there?” cried the Dwarf, and his ashen-gray face became copper-red with rage. He was going on with his bad words, when a loud growling was heard, and a black Bear came trotting toward them out of the forest. The Dwarf sprang up in a fright, but he could not get to his cave, for the Bear was already close.

Then in the fear of his heart he cried, “Dear Mr. Bear, spare me! I will give you all my treasures! Look, the beautiful jewels lying there! Grant me my life. What do you want with such a slender little fellow as I? You would not feel me between your teeth. Come, take these two wicked girls, they are tender morsels for you, fat as young quails. For mercy’s sake eat them!”

The Bear took no heed of his words, but gave the wicked creature a single blow with his paw, and he did not move again.

The girls had run away, but the Bear called to them, “Snow-White and Rose-Red, do not be afraid. Wait, I will come with you.”

Then they knew his voice and waited. And when he came up to them, suddenly his bear-skin fell off, and he stood there a handsome man, clothed all in gold.

“I am a King’s Son,” he said, “and I was bewitched by that wicked Dwarf, who had stolen my treasures. I have had to run about the forest as a savage bear until I was freed by his death. Now he has got his well-deserved punishment.”

Snow-White was married to him, and Rose-Red to his brother. They divided between them the great treasure which the Dwarf had gathered together in his cave. The old mother lived peacefully and happily with her children for many years. She took the two rose-trees with her, and they stood before her window, and every year bore the most beautiful roses, white and red.

THE HEDGE-KING

In former days, every sound had its meaning, the birds also had their own language which every one understood. Now it only sounds like chirping, screeching, and whistling, and to some, like music without words.

It came into the birds’ mind, however, that they would no longer be without a ruler, and would choose one of themselves to be King.

One alone amongst them, the green plover, was opposed to this. He had lived free and would die free, and anxiously flying hither and thither, he cried, “Where shall I go? where shall I go?” He retired into a lonely and unfrequented marsh, and showed himself no more among his fellows.

The birds now wished to discuss the matter, and on a fine May morning they all gathered together from the woods and fields: eagles and chaffinches, owls and crows, larks and sparrows, how can I name them all? Even the cuckoo came, and the hoopoe, his clerk, who is so called because he is always heard a few days before him, and a very small bird which as yet had no name, mingled with the band.

The hen, which by some accident had heard nothing of the whole matter, was astonished at the great assemblage. “What, what, what is going to be done?” she cackled. But the cock calmed his beloved hen, and said, “Only rich people,” and told her what they had on hand.

It was decided, however, that the one who could fly the highest should be King. A tree-frog which was sitting among the bushes, when he heard that, cried a warning, “No, no, no! no!” because he thought that many tears would be shed because of this. But the crow said, “Caw, caw,” and that all would pass off peaceably.

It was now determined that, on this fine morning, they should at once begin to ascend, so that hereafter no one should be able to say, “I could easily have flown much higher, but the evening came on, and I could do no more.”

On a given signal, therefore, the whole troop rose up in the air. The dust ascended from the land, and there was tremendous fluttering and whirring and beating of wings. It looked as if a black cloud was rising up. The little birds were, however, soon left behind. They could go no farther, and fell back to the ground.

The larger birds held out longer, but none could equal the eagle, who mounted so high that he could have picked the eyes out of the sun. And when he saw that the others could not get up to him, he thought, “Why should I fly any higher, I am the King?” and began to let himself down again.

The birds beneath him at once cried to him, “You must be our King, no one has flown so high as you.”

“Except me,” screamed the little fellow without a name, who had crept into the breast-feathers of the eagle. And as he was not at all tired, he rose up and mounted so high that he reached heaven itself. When, however, he had gone as far as this, he folded his wings together, and called down with clear and penetrating voice:

“_I am King! I am King!_”

“You, our King?” cried the birds angrily. “You have done this by trick and cunning!”

So they made another condition. He should be King who could go down lowest in the ground. How the goose did flap about with its broad breast when it was once more on the land! How quickly the cock scratched a hole! The duck came off the worst of all, for she leapt into a ditch, but sprained her legs, and waddled away to a neighboring pond, crying, “Cheating, cheating!”

The little bird without a name, however, sought out a mouse-hole, slipped down into it, and cried out of it, with his small voice:

“_I am King! I am King!_”

“You our King!” cried the birds still more angrily. “Do you think your cunning shall prevail?”

They determined to keep him a prisoner in the hole and starve him out. The owl was placed as sentinel in front of it, and was not to let the rascal out if she had any value for her life. When evening was come all the birds were feeling very tired after exerting their wings so much that they went to bed with their wives and children.

The owl alone remained standing by the mouse-hole, gazing steadfastly into it with her great eyes. In the meantime she, too, had grown tired and thought to herself, “You might certainly shut one eye, you will still watch with the other, and the little miscreant shall not come out of his hole.” So she shut one eye, and with the other looked straight at the mouse-hole.

The little fellow put his head out and peeped, and wanted to slip away, but the owl came forward, and he drew his head back. Then the owl opened the one eye again, and shut the other, intending to shut them in turn all through the night.

But when she next shut the one eye, she forgot to open the other. And as soon as both her eyes were shut, she fell asleep. The little fellow soon saw that, and slipped away.

From that day forth, the owl has never dared to show herself by daylight, for if she does the other birds chase her and pluck her feathers out. She only flies out by night, but hates and pursues mice because they make such ugly holes.

The little bird, too, is very unwilling to let himself be seen, because he is afraid it will cost him his life if he is caught. He steals about in the hedges, and when he is quite safe, he sometimes cries, “I am King,” and for this reason, the other birds call him in mockery, “Hedge-King.”

No one, however, was so happy as the lark at not having to obey the little King. As soon as the sun appears, she ascends high in the air and cries, “Ah, how beautiful that is! beautiful that is! beautiful, beautiful! ah, how beautiful that is!”

ONE-EYE, TWO-EYES, AND THREE-EYES

There was once a woman who had three daughters, the eldest of whom was called One-Eye, because she had only one eye in the middle of her forehead, and the second, Two-Eyes, because she had two eyes like other folks, and the youngest, Three-Eyes, because she had three eyes; and her third eye was in the centre of her forehead.

Now, as Two-Eyes saw just as other human beings did, her sisters and her mother could not endure her. They said to her, “You, with your two eyes, are no better than common folk. You do not belong to us!”

They pushed her about, and threw old clothes to her, and gave her nothing to eat but what they left, and did everything that they could to make her unhappy.

It came to pass that Two-Eyes had to go out into the fields and tend the goat, but she was still very hungry, because her sisters had given her so little to eat. She sat down on a ridge and began to weep, and so bitterly that two streams ran down from her eyes.

And one day, when she looked up in her grief, a woman was standing beside her, who said, “Why are you weeping, little Two-Eyes?”

Two-Eyes answered, “Have I not reason to weep, when I have two eyes like other people, and my sisters and mother hate me for it, and push me from one corner to another, throw old clothes at me, and give me nothing to eat but the scraps they leave? To-day, they have given me so little that I am still very hungry.”

Then the Wise Woman said, “Wipe away your tears, Two-Eyes, and I will tell you something to stop your ever suffering from hunger again; just say to your goat:

“‘_Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat!_’

and then a clean well-spread little table will stand before you, with the most delicious food upon it, of which you may eat as much as you are inclined. And when you have had enough, and have no more need of the little table, just say:

“‘_Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away!_’

and then it will vanish again from your sight.”

Hereupon the Wise Woman departed.

But Two-Eyes thought, “I must instantly make a trial, and see if what she said is true, for I am far too hungry,” and she said:

“_Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat!_”

and scarcely had she spoken the words than a little table, covered with a white cloth, was standing there, and on it was a plate with a knife and fork, and a silver spoon; and the most delicious food was there also, warm and smoking as if it had just come out of the kitchen.

Then Two-Eyes said a little prayer she knew, “Lord God, be with us always, Amen,” and helped herself to some food, and enjoyed it. And when she was satisfied, she said, as the Wise Woman had taught her:

“_Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away!_”

and immediately the little table and everything on it was gone again.

“That is a delightful way of keeping house!” thought Two-Eyes, and was quite glad and happy.

In the evening, when she went home with her goat, she found a small earthenware dish with some food, which her sisters had set ready for her, but she did not touch it. Next day, she again went out with her goat, and left the few bits of broken bread which had been handed to her, lying untouched.

The first and second time that she did this, her sisters did not notice it, but as it happened every time, they did observe it, and said, “There is something wrong about Two-Eyes, she always leaves her food untasted. She used to eat up everything that was given her. She must have discovered other ways of getting food.”

In order that they might learn the truth, they resolved to send One-Eye with Two-Eyes, when she went to drive her goat to the pasture, to watch what Two-Eyes did while she was there, and whether any one brought her things to eat and drink. So when Two-Eyes set out the next time, One-Eye went to her and said, “I will go with you to the pasture, and see that the goat is well taken care of, and driven where there is food.”

But Two-Eyes knew what was in One-Eye’s mind, and drove the goat into high grass and said, “Come, One-Eye, we will sit down, and I will sing something to you.”

One-Eye sat down, and was tired with the unaccustomed walk and the heat of the sun, and Two-Eyes sang constantly:

“_One-Eye, wakest thou?
One-Eye, sleepest thou?_”

until One-Eye shut her one eye, and fell asleep. As soon as Two-Eyes saw that One-Eye was fast asleep, and could discover nothing, she said:

“_Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat!_”

and seated herself at her table, and ate and drank until she was satisfied. Then she again cried:

“_Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away!_”

and in an instant all was gone.

Two-Eyes now awakened One-Eye, and said, “One-Eye, you want to take care of the goat, and yet go to sleep while you are doing it! In the meantime, the goat might run all over the world. Come, let us go home again.”

So they went home, and again Two-Eyes let her little dish stand untouched, and One-Eye could not tell her mother why she would not eat it, and to excuse herself said, “I fell asleep when I was out.”

Next day, the mother said to Three-Eyes, “This time you shall go and watch if Two-Eyes eats anything when she is out, and if any one fetches her food and drink, for she must eat and drink in secret.”

So Three-Eyes went to Two-Eyes, and said, “I will go with you and see if the goat is taken proper care of, and driven where there is food.”

But Two-Eyes knew what was in Three-Eyes’ mind, and drove the goat into high grass and said, “We will sit down, and I will sing something to you, Three-Eyes.”

Three-Eyes sat down and was tired with the walk and with the heat of the sun, and Two-Eyes began the same song as before, and sang:

“_Three-Eyes, are you waking?_”

but then, instead of singing,

“_Three-Eyes, are you sleeping?_”

as she ought to have done, she thoughtlessly sang:

“_Two-Eyes, are you sleeping?_”

and sang all the time,

“_Three-Eyes, are you waking?
Two-Eyes, are you sleeping?_”

Then two of the eyes which Three-Eyes had, shut and fell asleep, but the third, as it had not been named in the song, did not sleep. It is true that Three-Eyes shut it, but only in her cunning, to pretend it was asleep too. But it blinked, and could see everything very well. And when Two-Eyes thought that Three-eyes was fast asleep, she used her little charm:

“_Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat!_”

and ate and drank as much as her heart desired, and then ordered the table to go away again:

“_Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away!_”

and Three-Eyes had seen everything.

Then Two-Eyes came to her, waked her and said, “Have you been asleep, Three-Eyes? You are a good caretaker! Come, we will go home.”

And when they got home, Two-Eyes again did not eat, and Three-Eyes said to the mother, “Now, I know why that proud thing there does not eat. When she is out, she says to the goat:

“‘_Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat!_’

and then a little table appears before her covered with the best of food, much better than any we have here. When she has eaten all she wants, she says:

“‘_Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away!_’

and all disappears. I watched everything closely. She put two of my eyes to sleep by using a charm, but luckily the one in my forehead kept awake.”

Then the envious mother cried, “Do you want to fare better than we do? The desire shall pass away!” and she fetched a butcher’s knife, and thrust it into the heart of the goat, which fell down dead.

When Two-Eyes saw that, full of sorrow, she went outside, and seated herself on the ridge of grass at the edge of the field, and wept bitter tears.

Suddenly the Wise Woman once more stood by her side, and said, “Two-Eyes, why are you weeping?”

“Have I not reason to weep?” she answered. “The goat, which covered the table for me every day when I spoke your charm, has been killed by my mother, and now I shall again have to bear hunger and want.”

The Wise Woman said, “Two-Eyes, I will give you a piece of good advice. Ask your sisters to give you the entrails of the slaughtered goat, and bury them in the ground in front of the house, and your fortune will be made.”

Then she vanished, and Two-Eyes went home and said to her sisters, “Dear Sisters, do give me some part of my goat. I don’t wish for what is good, but give me the entrails.”

Then they laughed and said, “If that’s all you want, you may have it.”

So Two-Eyes took the entrails and buried them quietly, at evening, in front of the house-door, as the Wise Woman had counseled her to do.

Next morning, when they all awoke, and went to the house-door, there stood a wonderful, magnificent tree with leaves of silver, and fruit of gold hanging among them, so that in all the wide world there was nothing more beautiful or precious. They did not know how the tree could have come there during the night, but Two-Eyes saw that it had grown up out of the entrails of the goat, for it was standing on the exact spot where she had buried them.

Then the mother said to One-Eye, “Climb up, my Child, and gather some of the fruit of the tree for us.”

One-Eye climbed up, but when she was about to lay hold of one of the golden apples, the branch escaped from her hands. And that happened each time, so that she could not pluck a single apple, let her do what she might.

Then said the mother, “Three-Eyes, do you climb up. You with your three eyes can look about you better than One-Eye.”

One-Eye slipped down, and Three-Eyes climbed up. Three-Eyes was not more skillful, and might search as she liked, but the golden apples always escaped her.

At length, the mother grew impatient, and climbed up herself, but could grasp the fruit no better than One-Eye and Three-Eyes, for she always clutched empty air.

Then said Two-Eyes, “I will go up, perhaps I may succeed better.”

The sisters cried, “You, indeed, with your two eyes! What can you do?”

But Two-Eyes climbed up, and the golden apples did not get out of her way, but came into her hand of their own accord, so that she could pluck them one after the other. And she brought a whole apronful down with her. The mother took them away from her, and instead of treating poor Two-Eyes any better for this, she and One-Eye and Three-Eyes were only envious, because Two-Eyes alone had been able to get the fruit. They treated her still more cruelly.

It so befell that once, when they were all standing together by the tree, a young Knight came up. “Quick, Two-Eyes,” cried the two sisters, “creep under this and don’t disgrace us!” and with all speed they turned an empty barrel, which was standing close by the tree, over poor Two-Eyes, and they pushed the golden apples which she had been gathering, under it too.

When the Knight came nearer he was a handsome lord, who stopped and admired the magnificent gold and silver tree, and said to the two sisters, “To whom does this fine tree belong? Any one who will bestow one branch of it on me may, in return for it, ask whatsoever he desires.”

Then One-Eye and Three-Eyes replied that the tree belonged to them, and that they would give him a branch. They both tried very hard, but they were not able to do it, for every time the branches and fruit moved away from them.

Then said the Knight, “It is very strange that the tree should belong to you, and yet you should still not be able to break a piece off.”

They again insisted that the tree was their property. Whilst they were saying so, Two-Eyes rolled a couple of golden apples from under the barrel to the feet of the Knight, for she was vexed with One-Eye and Three-Eyes, for not speaking the truth.

When the Knight saw the apples he was astonished, and asked from whence they came. One-Eye and Three-Eyes answered that they had another sister, who was not allowed to show herself, for she had only two eyes like any common person.

The Knight, however, desired to see her, and cried, “Two-Eyes, come hither!”

Then Two-Eyes, quite cheered, came from beneath the barrel, and the Knight was surprised at her great beauty, and said, “You, Two-Eyes, can certainly break off a branch from the tree for me.”

“Yes,” replied Two-Eyes, “that I certainly shall be able to do, for the tree belongs to me.” And she climbed up, and with the greatest ease broke off a branch with beautiful silver leaves and golden fruit, and gave it to the Knight.

Then said the Knight, “Two-Eyes, what shall I give you for it?”

“Alas!” answered Two-Eyes, “I suffer from hunger and thirst, grief and want, from early morning till late night. If you would take me with you, and deliver me from these things, I should be happy.”

So the Knight lifted Two-Eyes on his horse, and took her home with him to his father’s castle. There he gave her beautiful clothes and meat and drink to her heart’s content. And as he loved her so much he married her, and the wedding was solemnized with great rejoicing.

When Two-Eyes was thus carried away by the handsome Knight, her two sisters grudged her good fortune in downright earnest. “The wonderful tree, however, remains with us,” thought they, “and even if we can gather no fruit from it, every one will stand still and look at it, and come to us and admire it. Who knows what good things may be in store for us?”

But next morning, the tree had vanished, and all their hopes were at an end. And when Two-Eyes looked out of the window of her own little room, to her great delight it was standing in front of it. And so it had followed her.

Two-Eyes lived a long time in happiness. One day, two poor women came to her castle, and begged for alms. She looked in their faces, and recognized her sisters, One-Eye, and Three-Eyes, who had fallen into such poverty that they had to wander about and beg their bread from door to door. Two-Eyes made them welcome, and was kind to them, and took care of them, so that they both, with all their hearts, repented of the evil that they had done in their youth to their sister.

THE GOOSE-GIRL AT THE WELL

_The Old Witch_

There was once upon a time, a very old woman, who lived with her flock of geese in a waste place among the mountains, and there had a little house. The waste was surrounded by a large forest, and every morning the Old Woman took her crutch and hobbled into it.

There, however, the dame was quite active, more so than any one would have thought, considering her age, and collected grass for her geese, picked all the wild fruit she could reach, and carried everything home on her back. Any one would have thought that the heavy load would have weighed her to the ground, but she always brought it safely home.

If any one met her, she greeted him quite courteously. “Good day, dear Countryman, it is a fine day. Ah! you wonder that I should drag grass about, but every one must take his burthen on his back.”

Nevertheless, people did not like to meet her if they could help it, and took by preference a roundabout way. And when a father with his boys passed her, he whispered to them, “Beware of the Old Woman. She has claws beneath her gloves. She is a Witch.”

One morning, a handsome young man was going through the forest. The sun shone bright, the birds sang, a cool breeze crept through the leaves, and he was full of joy and gladness. He had as yet met no one, when he suddenly perceived the old Witch kneeling on the ground cutting grass with a sickle. She had already thrust a whole load into her cloth, and near it stood two baskets, which were filled with wild apples and pears.

“But, good little Mother,” said he, “how can you carry all that away?”