a tour
through the entire country to look out for a bride. He could not marry a
poor woman, and he did not wish for a rich one.

'She shall be my wife,' said he, 'who is at once the poorest and the
richest.'

When he reached the village where the girl lived, he inquired who was
the richest and who the poorest woman in it. The richest was named
first; the poorest, he was told, was a young girl who lived alone in a
little cottage at the far end of the village.

The rich girl sat at her door dressed out in all her best clothes, and
when the King's son came near she got up, went to meet him, and made him
a low curtsey. He looked well at her, said nothing, but rode on further.

When he reached the poor girl's house he did not find her at her door,
for she was at work in her room. The Prince reined in his horse, looked
in at the window through which the sun was shining brightly, and saw the
girl sitting at her wheel busily spinning away.

She looked up, and when she saw the King's son gazing in at her, she
blushed red all over, cast down her eyes and span on. Whether the thread
was quite as even as usual I really cannot say, but she went on spinning
till the King's son had ridden off. Then she stepped to the window and
opened the lattice, saying, 'The room is so hot,' but she looked after
him as long as she could see the white plumes in his hat.

Then she sat down to her work once more and span on, and as she did so
an old saying which, she had often heard her godmother repeat whilst at
work, came into her head, and she began to sing:

'Spindle, spindle, go and see, If my love will come to me.'

Lo, and behold! the spindle leapt from her hand and rushed out of the
room, and when she had sufficiently recovered from her surprise to look
after it she saw it dancing merrily through the fields, dragging a long
golden thread after it, and soon it was lost to sight.

The girl, having lost her spindle, took up the shuttle and, seating
herself at her loom, began to weave. Meantime the spindle danced on and
on, and just as it had come to the end of the golden thread, it reached
the King's son.

'What do I see?' he cried; 'this spindle seems to wish to point out the
way to me.' So he turned his horses head and rode back beside the golden
thread.

Meantime the girl sat weaving, and sang:

'Shuttle, weave both web and woof, Bring my love beneath my roof.'

The shuttle instantly escaped from her hand, and with one bound was