ONCE on a time there was a couple, and each of them had a daughter by a
former marriage. The woman’s daughter was dull and lazy, and could never
turn her hand to anything, and the man’s daughter was brisk and ready;
but somehow or other she could never do anything to her step-mother’s
liking, and both the woman and her daughter would have been glad to be
rid of her.
So it fell one day the two girls were to go out and spin by the side of
the well, and the woman’s daughter had flax to spin, but the man’s
daughter got nothing to spin but bristles.
“I don’t know how it is,” said the woman’s daughter, “you’re always so
quick and sharp, but still I’m not afraid to spin a match with you.”
Well, they agreed that she whose thread first snapped, should go down
the well. So they span away; but just as they were hard at it, the man’s
daughter’s thread broke, and she had to go down the well. But when she
got to the bottom, she saw far and wide around her a fair green mead,
and she hadn’t hurt herself at all.
So she walked on a bit, till she came to a hedge which she had to cross.
“Ah! don’t tread hard on me, pray don’t, and I’ll help you another time,
that I will,” said the Hedge.
Then the lassie made herself as light as she could, and trode so
carefully she scarce touched a twig.
So she went on a bit further, till she came to a brindled cow, which
walked there with a milking-pail on her horns. ’Twas a large pretty cow,
and her udder was so full and round.
“Ah be so good as to milk me, pray,” said the Cow; “I’m so full of milk.
Drink as much as you please, and throw the rest over my hoofs, and see
if I don’t help you some day.”
So the man’s daughter did as the cow begged. As soon as she touched the
teats, the milk spouted out into the pail. Then she drank till her
thirst was slaked; and the rest she threw over the cow’s hoofs, and the
milking-pail she hung on her horns again.
So when she had gone a bit further, a big wether met her, which had such
thick long wool, it hung down and draggled after him on the ground, and
on one of his horns hung a great pair of shears.
“Ah, please clip off my wool,” said the Sheep, “for here I go about with
all this wool, and catch up everything I meet, and besides it’s so warm,
I’m almost choked. Take as much of the fleece as you please, and twist
the rest round my neck, and see if I don’t help you some day.”
Yes! she was willing enough, and the sheep lay down of himself on her
lap, and kept quite still, and she clipped him so neatly, there wasn’t a
scratch on his skin. Then she took as much of the wool as she chose, and
the rest she twisted round the neck of the sheep.
A little further on, she came to an apple tree, which was loaded with
apples; all its branches were bowed to the ground, and leaning against
the stem was a slender pole.
“Ah! do be so good as to pluck my apples off me,” said the Tree, “so
that my branches may straighten themselves again, for it’s bad work to
stand so crooked; but when you beat them down, don’t strike me too hard.
Then eat as many as you please, lay the rest round my root, and see if I
don’t help you some day or other.”
Yes, she plucked all she could reach with her hands, and then she took
the pole and knocked down the rest, and afterwards she ate her fill, and
the rest she laid neatly round the root.
So she walked on a long, long way, and then she came to a great
farm-house, where an old hag of the Trolls lived with her daughter.
There she turned in to ask if she could get a place.
“Oh!” said the old hag, “it’s no use your trying. We’ve had ever so many
maids, but none of them was worth her salt.”
But she begged so prettily that they would just take her on trial, that
at last they let her stay. So the old hag gave her a sieve, and bade her
go and fetch water in it. She thought it strange to fetch water in a
sieve, but still she went, and when she came to the well, the little
birds began to sing—
“Daub in clay,
Stuff in straw!
Daub in clay,
Stuff in straw.”
Yes, she did so, and found she could carry water in a sieve well enough;
but when she got home with the water, and the old witch saw the sieve,
she cried out.
“THIS YOU HAVEN’T SUCKED OUT OF YOUR OWN BREAST.”
So the old witch said, now she might go into the byre to pitch out dung
and milk kine; but when she got there, she found a pitchfork so long and
heavy, she couldn’t stir it, much less work with it. She didn’t know at
all what to do, or what to make of it; but the little birds sung again
that she should take the broom-stick and toss out a little with that,
and all the rest of the dung would fly after it. So she did that, and as
soon as ever she began with the broom-stick, the byre was as clean as if
it had been swept and washed.
Now she had to milk the kine, but they were so restless that they kicked
and frisked; there was no getting near them to milk them.