The Halcyon Fairy Book

was given on the fourth day, and all the people were invited to the palace. The witch got ready to go too. She tied a wooden beetle on where her child’s foot should have been, a log of wood instead of an arm, and stuck a bit of dirt in the empty socket for an eye, and took the child with her to the castle.
“Ivan! That child has the foot-beetles!”
“Well, don’t stare. I’m sure it’s not her fault.”
When all the people were gathered together, the king’s son stepped in among the crowd and cried, “The maiden whose finger this ring slips over, whose head this golden hoop encircles, and whose foot this shoe fits, shall be my bride.”
What a great trying on there was now among them all! The things would fit no one, however.
“The cinder wench is not here,” said the prince at last; “go and fetch her, and let her try on the things.”
I happen to know all the people in my kingdom, from my late-night tarring expeditions.
So the girl was fetched, and the prince was just going to hand the ornaments to her, when the witch held him back, saying, “Don’t give them to her; she soils everything with cinders; give them to my daughter rather.”
Well, then the prince gave the witch’s daughter the ring, and the woman filed and pared away at her daughter’s finger till the ring fitted. It was the same with the circlet and the shoes of gold. The witch would not allow them to be handed to the cinder wench; she worked at her own daughter’s head and feet till she got the things forced on.
The really odd thing about this is that the prince listens to all this. He specifically asks for the cinder wench, and then as soon as she shows up, ignores her and hands over the items to what is supposed to be a peasant woman, despite the fact that this poor dog-girl has FOOT-BEETLES. And a dirt clod for an eye, and apparently an unfinished wooden log for an arm.
I really hope that the ring went on the log, which could presumably be lathed into proper size quite easily, but this being a fairy tale, you know that it wasn’t. That poor girl.
What was to be done now? The prince had to take the witch’s daughter for his bride whether he would or no; he sneaked away to her father’s house with her, however, for he was ashamed to hold the wedding festivities at the palace with so strange a bride.
I bet she doesn’t like you either, dog-kicker.
Some days passed, and at last he had to take his bride home to the palace, and he got ready to do so. Just as they were taking leave, the kitchen wench sprang down from her place by the stove, on the pretext of fetching something from the cow-house, and in going by she whispered in the prince’s ear as he stood in the yard, “Alas! dear prince, do not rob me of my silver and my gold.”
Thereupon the king’s son recognized the cinder wench; so he took both the girls with him, and set out. After they had gone some little way they came to the bank of a river, and the prince threw the witch’s daughter across to serve as a bridge, and so got over with the cinder wench.
You know, all she wanted was to maybe herd a few sheep, maybe get a pat on the head, get told that she did a good job, get a nice bone with some scraps left on it. You’ve kicked her arm and leg in, somebody stabbed her in the eye with their high heels, and now you’re flinging her across the river and walking on her.
This girl cannot catch a break.
There lay the witch’s daughter then, like a bridge over the river, and could not stir, though her heart was consumed with grief. No help was near, so she cried at last in her anguish, “May there grow a golden hemlock out of my body! Perhaps my mother will know me by that token.”
Scarcely had she spoken when a golden hemlock sprang up from her, and stood upon the bridge.
Posthumous trees were the preferred form of communication in Russia at that time.
Now, as soon as the prince had got rid of the witch’s daughter he greeted the cinder wench as his bride, and they wandered together to the birch tree which grew upon the mother’s grave.
That this is directly outside of the hut where the witch lives apparently doesn’t trouble them in the least. And seriously, I realize that the witch was mean to you, but we’ve never heard about your half-sister doing anything mean to anyone, ever—and if there is anyone in the entire world who should know to be nice to a magic tree, it’s YOU, honey! Can’t you give the hemlock a pat? Tell it you’re sorry it came to this?
There they received all sorts of treasures and riches, three sacks full of gold, and as much silver, and a splendid steed, which bore them home to the palace. There they lived a long time together, and the young wife bore a son to the prince. Immediately word was brought to the witch that her daughter had borne a son — for they all believed the young king’s wife to be the witch’s daughter.
“So, so,” said the witch to herself; “I had better away with my gift for the infant, then.”
And so saying she set out. Thus it happened that she came to the bank of the river, and there she saw the beautiful golden hemlock growing in the middle of the bridge, and when she began to cut it down to take to her grandchild,
Infants love trees. Well-known fact.
she heard a voice moaning, “Alas! dear mother, do not cut me so!”
“Are you here?” demanded the witch.
“Indeed I am, dear little mother,” answered the daughter. “They threw me across the river to make