the poor girl stayed at home and
wept. She tried to be sure to pick up the grains of barley, but she soon
saw how useless her labour was; and so she went in her sore trouble to
the birch tree on her mother's grave, and cried and cried, because her
mother lay dead beneath the sod and could help her no longer. In the
midst of her grief she suddenly heard her mother's voice speak from the
grave, and say to her:

'Why do you weep, little daughter?'

'The witch has scattered barleycorns on the hearth, and bid me pick
them out of the ashes,' said the girl; 'that is why I weep, dear little
mother.'

'Do not weep,' said her mother consolingly. 'Break off one of my
branches, and strike the hearth with it crosswise, and all will be put
right.' The girl did so. She struck the hearth with the birchen branch,
and lo! the barleycorns flew into the pot, and the hearth was clean.
Then she went back to the birch tree and laid the branch upon the grave.
Then her mother bade her bathe on one side of the stem, dry herself on
another, and dress on the third. When the girl had done all that, she
had grown so lovely that no one on earth could rival her. Splendid
clothing was given to her, and a horse, with hair partly of gold, partly
of silver, and partly of something more precious still. The girl sprang
into the saddle, and rode as swift as an arrow to the palace. As she
turned into the courtyard of the castle the King's son came out to meet
her, tied her steed to a pillar, and led her in. He never left her side
as they passed through the castle rooms; and all the people gazed at
her, and wondered who the lovely maiden was, and from what castle
she came; but no one knew her--no one knew anything about her. At the
banquet the Prince invited her to sit next him in the place of honour;
but the witch's daughter gnawed the bones under the table. The Prince
did not see her, and thinking it was a dog, he gave her such a push
with his foot that her arm was broken. Are you not sorry for the witch's
daughter? It was not her fault that her mother was a witch.

Towards evening the good man's daughter thought it was time to go home;
but as she went, her ring caught on the latch of the door, for the
King's son had had it smeared with tar. She did not take time to pull it
off, but, hastily unfastening her horse from the pillar, she rode away
beyond the castle walls as swift as an arrow. Arrived at home, she took
off her clothes by the birch tree, left