So she said at last, “The best food does not please me without salt,
therefore I love my father like salt.” When the King heard that, he
fell into a passion, and said, “If thou lovest me like salt, thy love
shall also be repaid thee with salt.” Then he divided the kingdom
between the two elder, but caused a sack of salt to be bound on the
back of the youngest, and two servants had to lead her forth into the
wild forest. We all begged and prayed for her, said the Queen, “but the
King’s anger was not to be appeased. How she cried when she had to
leave us! The whole road was strewn with the pearls which flowed from
her eyes. The King soon afterwards repented of his great severity, and
had the whole forest searched for the poor child, but no one could find
her. When I think that the wild beasts have devoured her, I know not
how to contain myself for sorrow; many a time I console myself with the
hope that she is still alive, and may have hidden herself in a cave, or
has found shelter with compassionate people. But picture to yourself,
when I opened your little emerald book, a pearl lay therein, of exactly
the same kind as those which used to fall from my daughter’s eyes; and
then you can also imagine how the sight of it stirred my heart. You
must tell me how you came by that pearl.” The count told her that he
had received it from the old woman in the forest, who had appeared very
strange to him, and must be a witch, but he had neither seen nor hear
anything of the Queen’s child. The King and the Queen resolved to seek
out the old woman. They thought that there where the pearl had been,
they would obtain news of their daughter. The old woman was sitting in that lonely place at her spinning-wheel,
spinning. It was already dusk, and a log which was burning on the
hearth gave a scanty light. All at once there was a noise outside, the
geese were coming home from the pasture, and uttering their hoarse
cries. Soon afterwards the daughter also entered. But the old woman
scarcely thanked her, and only shook her head a little. The daughter
sat down beside her, took her spinning-wheel, and twisted the threads
as nimbly as a young girl. Thus they both sat for two hours, and
exchanged never a word. At last something rustled at the window, and
two fiery eyes peered in. It was an old night-owl, which cried, “Uhu!”
three times. The old woman looked up just a little, then she said,
“Now, my little daughter, it is time for thee to go out and do thy
work.” She rose and went out, and where did she go? Over the meadows
ever onward into the valley. At last she came to a well, with three old
oak-trees standing beside it; meanwhile the moon had risen large and
round over the mountain, and it was so light that one could have found
a needle. She removed a skin which covered her face, then bent down to
the well, and began to wash herself. When she had finished, she dipped
the skin also in the water, and then laid it on the meadow, so that it
should bleach in the moonlight, and dry again. But how the maiden was
changed! Such a change as that was never seen before! When the gray
mask fell off, her golden hair broke forth like sunbeams, and spread
about like a mantle over her whole form. Her eyes shone out as brightly
as the stars in heaven, and her cheeks bloomed a soft red like
apple-blossom. But the fair maiden was sad. She sat down and wept bitterly. One tear
after another forced itself out of her eyes, and rolled through her
long hair to the ground. There she sat, and would have remained sitting
a long time, if there had not been a rustling and cracking in the
boughs of the neighbouring tree. She sprang up like a roe which has
been overtaken by the shot of the hunter. Just then the moon was
obscured by a dark cloud, and in an instant the maiden had put on the
old skin and vanished, like a light blown out by the wind. She ran back home, trembling like an aspen-leaf. The old woman was
standing on the threshold, and the girl was about to relate what had
befallen her, but the old woman laughed kindly, and said, “I already
know all.” She led her into the room and lighted a new log. She did
not, however, sit down to her spinning again, but fetched a broom and
began to sweep and scour, “All must be clean and sweet,” she said to
the girl. “But, mother,” said the maiden, “why do you begin work at so
late an hour? What do you expect?” “Dost thou know then what time it
is?” asked the old woman. “Not yet midnight,” answered the maiden, “but
already past eleven o’clock.” “Dost thou not remember,” continued the
old woman, “that it is three years to-day since thou camest to me? Thy
time is up, we can no longer remain together.” The girl was terrified,
and said, “Alas! dear mother, will you cast me off? Where shall I go? I
have no friends, and no home to which I can go. I have always done as
you bade me, and you have always been satisfied with me; do not send me
away.” The old woman would not tell the maiden what lay before her. “My
stay here is over,” she said to her, “but when I depart, house and
parlour must be clean: therefore do not hinder me in my work. Have no
care for thyself, thou shalt find a roof to shelter thee, and the wages
which I will give thee shall also content thee.” “But tell me what is
about to happen,” the maiden continued to entreat. “I tell thee again,
do not hinder me in my work. Do not say a word more, go to thy chamber,
take the skin off thy face, and put on the silken gown which thou hadst
on when thou camest to me, and then wait in thy chamber until I call
thee.”

But I must once more tell of the King and Queen, who had journeyed
forth with the count in order to seek out the old woman in the
wilderness. The count had strayed away from them in the wood by night,
and had to walk onwards alone. Next day it seemed to him that he was on
the right track. He still went forward, until darkness came on, then he
climbed a tree, intending to pass the night there, for he feared that
he might lose his way. When the moon illumined the surrounding country
he perceived a figure coming down the mountain. She had no stick in her
hand, but yet he could see that it was the goose-girl, whom he had seen
before in the house of the old woman. “Oho,” cried he, “there she
comes, and if I once get hold of one of the witches, the other shall
not escape me!” But how astonished he was, when she went to the well,
took off the skin and washed herself, when her golden hair fell down
all about her, and she was more beautiful than any one whom he had ever
seen in the whole world. He hardly dared to breathe, but stretched his
head as far forward through the leaves as he dared, and stared at her. Either he bent over too far, or whatever the cause might be, the bough
suddenly cracked, and that very moment the maiden slipped into the
skin, sprang away like a roe, and as the moon was suddenly covered,
disappeared from his eyes.