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That was worse than ever; the girl did not know what her stepmother would do to her when she heard the spindle had been lost down the well. Still, she was obliged to confess.
The widow was indeed very angry.
“You good-for-nothing!” she cried. “You are the trouble of my life. Out of my sight, and do not dare to return until you can bring the spindle with you,” and she gave the girl a push so that she almost fell over.
The girl was so frightened and unhappy that she ran out of the door; without stopping to think, she jumped into the well. Down, down she sank, through the waters, just as the spindle had done, and when she reached the bottom she found herself in a broad green meadow with a road leading across it.
The girl followed the road, and presently she came to a baker’s oven that stood beside the way, and it was full of bread. The girl was about to pass by, but the loaves inside called to her, “Take us out! Take us out! If we are left in the oven any longer, we will burn.”
She was surprised to hear the bread speak to her, but she opened the door and drew the loaves out, and set them neatly on end to cool. Then she went on.
A little farther, she came to an apple-tree. It was so loaded down with fruit that the branches bent with the weight of it.
“Shake me! Shake me!” cried the apple-tree. “My apples are ripe and my boughs are like to break with the weight of them.”
The girl shook the apple-tree till the apples fell about her in a shower. She piled the apples neatly about the tree and went on her way.
After awhile she came to a little house, and an ugly old woman with long yellow teeth was looking out of the window. The girl was frightened at the old woman’s looks and was about to turn away, but the woman called to her, “Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you. I need a serving-maid. Come in, and if you serve me faithfully I will reward you well.”
The girl did not feel afraid any longer. She opened the door and went in.
The old woman took her upstairs and showed her a great feather bed. “I am Mother Hulda,” said she. “It is I who send out the frost and snow over the world. Every day you must give my bed a good beating. Then, when the feathers fly, it snows upon the earth.”
The girl stayed with Mother Hulda many months. Every day she gave the bed such a good beating that the feathers flew, and there was much snow that year. Mother Hulda was very much pleased with her. She was kind to her, and the girl had all she wanted to eat, and that of the best, and a comfortable bed to sleep in; but all the same, by the time the winter was over she began to feel sad and dull. She longed to see her home and her mother and sister, too, even though they were unkind to her.
“Now I see it is time for you to go back to the earth again,” said Mother Hulda. “You have served me well and faithfully, and you shall be rewarded as I promised you.”
She then opened a closet door and brought out the girl’s spindle and gave it to her. After that she took the girl by the hand and led her out of the house and along a road to a great gate that stood open.
The girl passed out through the gate, and as she did so a shower of gold fell all about her like rain, and stuck to her so that she glittered from head to foot with gold; even her shoes and her clothes were golden.
“That is my reward to you because you have been a good servant,” cried Mother Hulda. Then the gate closed, and the girl ran along the road and quickly came to the house of her stepmother.
As she entered the gate, the cock crowed loudly, “Cock-a-doodle-doo! Our golden girl’s come home again.”
She entered the house, and now her mother and sister were glad to see her because she was covered with gold. They asked her where she had been and who had given her all that treasure.
The girl told them. Then they were filled with envy.
“Here! Take your spindle,” cried the widow to her own daughter. “Throw it in the well and jump down after it. If Mother Hulda has rewarded your sister in this way what will she not do for you? No doubt you will come home all covered with diamonds and rubies.”
The ugly girl took her spindle and threw it down the well, as her mother bade her, and jumped in after it. Down, down she went, just as her sister had done, and there was the green meadow with the road leading across it.
The girl hurried along the road, for she was in haste to reach Mother Hulda’s house and get a reward, and presently she came to the oven.
“Take us out! Take us out!” cried the loaves inside. “We will burn if we are left in here any longer.”
“Why should I blacken my hands for you?” cried the girl. “Stay where you are, and if you burn, no one will be the worse for it but yourselves.” And so saying, she went on her way.
A little farther she came to the apple-tree, and its boughs were bent with the weight of the fruit it bore.
“Shake me! Shake me!” cried the apple-tree. “My fruit is ripe, and my boughs are like to break with the weight of it.”
“Not I!” cried the girl. “I will not shake you. Suppose one of the apples should fall upon my head. Your boughs may break for all of me!” And so she went on her way, munching an apple that she had picked up from off the ground.
It was not long before she came to Mother Hulda’s house, and there was Mother Hulda herself looking out of the window. The ugly girl was not afraid of her and her long teeth, for the good sister had already told her about them. She marched up to the door and opened it as bold as bold.
“I have come to take service with you,” she said, “and to get the reward.”
“Very well,” answered Mother Hulda. “If you serve me well and faithfully, the reward shall not be lacking.”
She then took the ugly girl upstairs and showed her the bed, and told her how she was to shake and beat it. Then she left her there.
The ugly girl began to beat the bed, but she soon tired of it and came downstairs and asked if supper were ready. Mother Hulda frowned, but she said nothing, and she gave the girl a good supper of bread and meat.
The next day the ugly girl hardly beat the bed at all, and the next day it was still worse. At the end of the week hardly a flake of snow had floated out over the world.
“You will never do for me,” said Mother Hulda. “You will have to go.”
“Very well,” answered the girl. “I am willing, but give me my reward first.”
“Yes, you shall have your reward,” said Mother Hulda, “and you deserve it.”
She opened the closet and took out the spindle and gave it to her, and led her along the road to the open gate. The girl was very much pleased. “Now in a moment,” thought she, “I will be all covered with gold the way my sister was, unless I am covered with diamonds and rubies.”
“There lies your way,” cried Mother Hulda.
The girl ran through the gate, but instead of gold or precious stones, a shower of soot fell over her so that she was black from head to foot.
“That is the reward of your services,” cried Mother Hulda to the girl, and then she banged the gate and locked it so that the girl could not come back.
So the lazy daughter ran home, crying, and as she entered the gate the cock crowed loudly, “Cock-a-doodle-doo! Our sooty girl’s come home again.”
And try as she might the ugly girl could never get the soot entirely off her. But as to the good sister she was married to a great nobleman, and lived happy ever after.
The three spinners
by Katharine Pyle
There was once a girl who was so idle and lazy that she would do nothing but sit in the sunshine all day. She would not bake, she would not brew, she would not spin, she would not sew. One morning her mother lost patience with her entirely and gave her a good beating. The girl cried out until she could be heard even into the street.
Now it so chanced the queen of the country was driving by at that time, and she heard the cries. She wished to find out what the trouble was, so she stopped her coach and entered the house. She went through one room after another, and presently she came to where the girl and her mother were.
“What is all this noise?” she asked. “Why is your daughter crying out?”
The mother was ashamed to confess what a lazy girl she had for a daughter, so she told the queen what was not true.
“Oh, your majesty,” cried she, “this girl is the worry of my life. She will do nothing but spin all day, and I have spent all my money buying flax for her. This morning she asked me for more, but I have no money left to buy it. It was because of that she began to cry, as you heard.”
The Queen was very much surprised. “This girl of yours must be a very fine spinner,” she said. “You must bring her to the palace, for there is nothing I love better than spinning. Bring her to-morrow, and if she is as wonderful a spinner as I suspect, she shall be to me as my own daughter, and shall have my eldest son as a husband.”
When the girl heard she was to go to the palace and spin she was terrified. She had never spun a thread in her life, and she feared that when the Queen found this out she would be angry and would have her punished. However, she dared say nothing.
The next day she and her mother went to the palace, and the Queen received them kindly. The mother was sent home again, but the daughter was taken to a tower where there were three great rooms all filled with flax.
“See,” said the Queen. “Here is enough flax to satisfy you for awhile at least. When you have spun this you shall marry my son, and after that you shall have all the flax you want. Now you may begin, and to-morrow I will come to see how much you have done.”
So saying the Queen went away, closing the door behind her.
No sooner was the girl alone than she burst into tears. Not if she lived a hundred years could she spin all that flax. She sat and cried and cried and cried.
The next morning the Queen came back to see how much she had done. She was very much surprised to find the flax untouched, and the girl sitting there with idle hands.
“How is this?” she asked. “Why are you not at your spinning?”
The girl began to make excuses.
“I was so sad at being parted from my mother that I could do nothing but sit and weep.”
“I see you have a tender heart,” said the Queen. “But to-morrow you must begin to work. When I come again, I shall expect to see a whole roomful done.”
After she had gone, the girl began to weep again. She did not know what was to become of her.
Suddenly the door opened, and three ugly old women slipped into the room. The first had a splayfoot. The second had a lip that hung down on her chin. The third had a hideous broad thumb.
The girl looked at them with fear and wonder. “Who are you?” she asked.
The one with the splayfoot answered. “We are three spinners. We know why you are weeping, and we have come to help you, but before we help you, you must promise us one thing: that is that when you are married to the Prince, we may come to your wedding feast, that you will let us sit at your table, and that you will call us your aunts.”
“Yes, yes; I will, I will,” cried the girl. She was ready to promise anything if they would only help her.
At once the splayfoot sat down at the wheel and began to spin and tread. She with the hanging lip moistened the thread, and the woman with the broad thumb pressed and twisted it. They worked so fast that the thread flowed on like a swift stream. Before the next evening, they had finished the whole roomful of flax.
When the Queen came again she was delighted to find so much done. “To-morrow,” said she, “you shall begin in the second room.”
The next day the girl was taken into the second room, and it was larger than the first and was also full of flax.
Scarcely had the Queen left her when the door was pushed open, and the three old women came into the room.
“Remember your promise,” said they.
“I remember,” answered the girl.
The old women then took their places and began to spin. Before the next evening, they had finished all the flax that was in the room.
When the Queen came to look at what had been done, she was filled with wonder. Not only had all the flax in the room been spun, but she had never seen such smooth and even threads.
“To-morrow,” said she, “you shall spin the flax that is in the third room, and the day after you shall be married to my son.”
The third day all happened just as it had before. The girl was taken to the third room and it was even larger than the others. Scarcely had she been left alone when the three old women opened the door and came in.
“Remember your promise,” said they.
“I will remember,” answered the girl.
The old women took their places, and before night all the flax was spun. Then they rose. “To-morrow will be your wedding day, and we will be at the feast. If you keep your word to us, all will go well with you, but if you forget it, misfortune will surely come upon you.” Then they disappeared through the door as they had come, the eldest first.
When the Queen came that evening she was even more delighted than before. Never had she seen such thread, so smooth it was and even.
The girl was led down from the tower and dressed in silks and velvets and jewels, and when thus dressed she was so beautiful that the Prince was filled with love and joy at the sight of her. The next day they were married, and a grand feast was spread. To this feast all the noblest in the land were invited.
The bride sat beside her husband, and he could look at no one else, she was so beautiful.
Just as the feast was about to begin the door opened and the three old women who had spun the flax came in.
The Prince looked at them wonderingly. Never had he seen such hideous, ugly creatures before. “Who are these?” he asked of the girl.
“These,” said she, “are my three old aunts, and I have promised they shall sit at the table with us, for they have been so kind to me that no one could be kinder.”
The girl then rose, and went to meet the old women. “Welcome, my aunts,” she said, and led them to the table. The Prince loved the girl so dearly that all she did seemed right to him. He commanded that places should be put for the old women, and they sat at the table with him and his bride.
They were so hideous, however, that the Prince could not keep his eyes off them. At length he said to the eldest, “Forgive me, good mother, but why is your foot so broad?”
“From treading the thread, my son, from treading the thread,” she answered.
The Prince wondered; he turned to the second old woman. “And you, good mother,” he said, “why does your lip hang down?”
“From wetting the thread,” she answered. “From wetting the thread.”
The Prince was frightened. He spoke to the third old woman. “And you, why is your thumb so broad, if I may ask it?”
“From pressing and twisting,” she answered. “From pressing and twisting.”
The Prince turned pale. “If this is what comes of spinning,” said he, “never shall my bride touch the flax again.”
And so it was. Never was the girl allowed even to look at a spinning wheel again; and that did not trouble her, as you may guess.
As for the old women, they disappeared as soon as the feast was over, and no one saw them again, but the bride lived happy forever after.
The Cat that walked by himself
by Joseph Rudyard Kipling
HEAR and attend and listen; for this befell and behappened and became and was, o my Best Beloved, when the Tame animals were wild. The Dog was wild, and the Horse was wild, and the Cow was wild, and the Sheep was wild, and the Pig was wild – as wild as wild could be – and they walked in the Wet Wild Woods by their wild lones. But the wildest of all the wild animals was the Cat. He walked by himself, and all places were alike to him.
Of course, the Man was wild too. He was dreadfully wild. He didn’t even begin to be tame till he met the Woman, and she told him that she did not like living in his wild ways. She picked out a nice dry Cave, instead of a heap of wet leaves, to lie down in; and she strewed clean sand on the floor; and she lit a nice fire of wood at the back of the Cave; and she hung a dried wild-horse skin, tail-down, across the opening of the Cave; and she said, ‘‘Wipe you feet, dear, when you come in, and now we’ll keep house.’’
That night, Best Beloved, they ate wild sheep roasted on the hot stones, and flavoured with wild garlic and wild pepper; and wild duck stuffed with wild rice and wild fenugreek and wild coriander; and marrow-bones of wild oxen; and wild cherries, and wild grenadillas. Then the Man went to sleep in front of the fire ever so happy; but the Woman sat up, combing her hair. She took the bone of the shoulder of mutton – the big fat blade-bone – and she looked at the wonderful marks on it, and she threw more wood on the fire, and she made a Magic. She made the First Singing Magic in the world.
