er looked down in her lap,
and the tears ran down over her cheeks; her head became so heavy--she
had not closed her eyes for three days and nights; and now she slept,
but only for a minute, when she started up and trembled with cold.

"What is that?" said she, and looked on all sides; but the old man was
gone, and her little child was gone--he had taken it with him; and the
old clock in the corner burred, and burred, the great leaden weight ran
down to the floor, bump! and then the clock also stood still.

But the poor mother ran out of the house and cried aloud for her child.

Out there, in the midst of the snow, there sat a woman in long, black
clothes; and she said, "Death has been in thy chamber, and I saw him
hasten away with thy little child; he goes faster than the wind, and he
never brings back what he takes!"

"Oh, only tell me which way he went!" said the mother. "Tell me the way,
and I shall find him!"

"I know it!" said the woman in the black clothes. "But before I tell it,
thou must first sing for me all the songs thou hast sung for thy child!
I am fond of them. I have heard them before; I am Night; I saw thy tears
whilst thou sang'st them!"

"I will sing them all, all!" said the mother. "But do not stop me now--I
may overtake him--I may find my child!"

But Night stood still and mute. Then the mother wrung her hands, sang
and wept, and there were many songs, but yet many more tears; and then
Night said, "Go to the right, into the dark pine forest; thither I saw
Death take his way with thy little child!"

The roads crossed each other in the depths of the forest, and she no
longer knew whither she should go! then there stood a thorn-bush;
there was neither leaf nor flower on it, it was also in the cold winter
season, and ice-flakes hung on the branches.

"Hast thou not seen Death go past with my little child?" said the
mother.

"Yes," said the thorn-bush; "but I will not tell thee which way he took,
unless thou wilt first warm me up at thy heart. I am freezing to death;
I shall become a lump of ice!"

And she pressed the thorn-bush to her breast, so firmly, that it might
be thoroughly warmed, and the thorns went right into her flesh, and her
blood flowed in large drops, but the thornbush shot forth fresh green
leaves, and there came flowers on it in the cold winter night, the heart
of the afflicted mother was so warm; and the thorn-bush told her the way
she should go.

She then came to a large