The forester climbed up, brought the child down, and thought to
himself, “Thou wilt take him home with thee, and bring him up with thy
Lina.” He took it home, therefore, and the two children grew up
together. The one, however, which he had found on a tree was called
Fundevogel, because a bird had carried it away. Fundevogel and Lina
loved each other so dearly that when they did not see each other they
were sad. The forester, however, had an old cook, who one evening took two pails
and began to fetch water, and did not go once only, but many times, out
to the spring. Lina saw this and said, “Hark you, old Sanna, why are
you fetching so much water?” “If thou wilt never repeat it to anyone, I
will tell thee why.” So Lina said, no, she would never repeat it to
anyone, and then the cook said, “Early to-morrow morning, when the
forester is out hunting, I will heat the water, and when it is boiling
in the kettle, I will throw in Fundevogel, and will boil him in it.”

Betimes next morning the forester got up and went out hunting, and when
he was gone the children were still in bed. Then Lina said to
Fundevogel, “If thou wilt never leave me, I too will never leave thee.”
Fundevogel said, “Neither now, nor ever will I leave thee.” Then said
Lina, “Then I will tell thee. Last night, old Sanna carried so many
buckets of water into the house that I asked her why she was doing
that, and she said that if I would promise not to tell any one she
would tell me, and I said I would be sure not to tell any one, and she
said that early to-morrow morning when father was out hunting, she
would set the kettle full of water, throw thee into it and boil thee;
but we will get up quickly, dress ourselves, and go away together.”

The two children therefore got up, dressed themselves quickly, and went
away. When the water in the kettle was boiling, the cook went into the
bed-room to fetch Fundevogel and throw him into it. But when she came
in, and went to the beds, both the children were gone. Then she was
terribly alarmed, and she said to herself, “What shall I say now when
the forester comes home and sees that the children are gone? They must
be followed instantly to get them back again.”

Then the cook sent three servants after them, who were to run and
overtake the children. The children, however, were sitting outside the
forest, and when they saw from afar the three servants running, Lina
said to Fundevogel, “Never leave me, and I will never leave thee.”
Fundevogel said, “Neither now, nor ever.” Then said Lina, “Do thou
become a rose-tree, and I the rose upon it.” When the three servants
came to the forest, nothing was there but a rose-tree and one rose on
it, but the children were nowhere. Then said they, “There is nothing to
be done here,” and they went home and told the cook that they had seen
nothing in the forest but a little rose-bush with one rose on it. Then
the old cook scolded and said, “You simpletons, you should have cut the
rose-bush in two, and have broken off the rose and brought it home with
you; go, and do it once.” They had therefore to go out and look for the
second time. The children, however, saw them coming from a distance. Then Lina said, “Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will never leave
thee.” Fundevogel said, “Neither now, nor ever.” Said Lina, “Then do
thou become a church, and I’ll be the chandelier in it.” So when the
three servants came, nothing was there but a church, with a chandelier
in it. They said therefore to each other, “What can we do here, let us
go home.” When they got home, the cook asked if they had not found
them; so they said no, they had found nothing but a church, and that
there was a chandelier in it. And the cook scolded them and said, “You
fools! why did you not pull the church to pieces, and bring the
chandelier home with you?” And now the old cook herself got on her
legs, and went with the three servants in pursuit of the children. The
children, however, saw from afar that the three servants were coming,
and the cook waddling after them. Then said Lina, “Fundevogel, never
leave me, and I will never leave thee.” Then said Fundevogel, “Neither
now, nor ever.” Said Lina, “Be a fishpond, and I will be the duck upon
it.” The cook, however, came up to them, and when she saw the pond she
lay down by it, and was about to drink it up. But the duck swam quickly
to her, seized her head in its beak and drew her into the water, and
there the old witch had to drown. Then the children went home together,
and were heartily delighted, and if they are not dead, they are living
still. 52 King Thrushbeard

A King had a daughter who was beautiful beyond all measure, but so
proud and haughty withal that no suitor was good enough for her. She
sent away one after the other, and ridiculed them as well. Once the King made a great feast and invited thereto, from far and
near, all the young men likely to marry. They were all marshalled in a
row according to their rank and standing; first came the kings, then
the grand-dukes, then the princes, the earls, the barons, and the
gentry. Then the King’s daughter was led through the ranks, but to
every one she had some objection to make; one was too fat, “The
wine-cask,” she said. Another was too tall, “Long and thin has little
in.” The third was too short, “Short and thick is never quick.” The
fourth was too pale, “As pale as death.” The fifth too red, “A
fighting-cock.” The sixth was not straight enough, “A green log dried
behind the stove.”

So she had something to say against every one, but she made herself
especially merry over a good king who stood quite high up in the row,
and whose chin had grown a little crooked. “Well,” she cried and
laughed, “he has a chin like a thrush’s beak!” and from that time he
got the name of King Thrushbeard. But the old King, when he saw that his daugher did nothing but mock the
people, and despised all the suitors who were gathered there, was very
angry, and swore that she should have for her husband the very first
beggar that came to his doors. A few days afterwards a fiddler came and sang beneath the windows,
trying to earn a small alms. When the King heard him he said, “Let him
come up.” So the fiddler came in, in his dirty, ragged clothes, and
sang before the King and his daughter, and when he had ended he asked
for a trifling gift. The King said, “Your song has pleased me so well
that I will give you my daughter there, to wife.”

The King’s daughter shuddered, but the King said, “I have taken an oath
to give you to the very first beggar-man, and I will keep it.” All she
could say was in vain; the priest was brought, and she had to let
herself be wedded to the fiddler on the spot. When that was done the
King said, “Now it is not proper for you, a beggar-woman, to stay any
longer in my palace, you may just go away with your husband.”

The beggar-man led her out by the hand, and she was obliged to walk
away on foot with him.