out.

"Not make a Witch of you, indeed! Wait and see! I'll bend your proud back!" Then brandishing her cane, she muttered savagely:

"Get to work. There's bread to knead!"

The frightened Goosegirl ran for bowl and flour, and set to work. Meanwhile the Witch took out some dark powders. She mumbled strange words over them, and while the Goosegirl, with busy hands but unseeing eyes, kneaded and kneaded and kneaded, the Witch poured the powders into the dough. Poor Goosegirl! Her bread was soon finished, but it was a foul-smelling bread, and it contained enough poison to kill a dozen men.

Soon afterward the Witch, chuckling fiendishly, took up her basket and hobbled away to the grim forest. But the Goosegirl, full of horror for the deed she had been made to do, sat motionless, staring straight ahead. Would her life never, never change? With a sigh she called to her geese and wandered back to her place in the grass. Ah, that there should be so much evil in such a beautiful world! She looked at the dancing shadows of the fluttering leaves. They were beautiful. There was beauty in the thin, blue line of smoke as it climbed lazily upward from the broken chimney. Two turtledoves cooed above her head. The sunlight shimmered upon the wings of the buzzing bumblebees and made them shine like gold. All, all was beautiful. Were people the only ugly things? The Goosegirl gazed toward the World of Men far, far below, and wondered.

Presently her fingers, wandering idly over the grass, found the wreath of daisies. Idly she placed it upon her head.

"Look at me, geese!" she cried. "Look at me! Am I ugly, too?"

With the geese at her heels, she ran swiftly toward the pool and peered earnestly into its clear depths. Her hair hung in long golden strands on each side of her face, her eyes shone like stars, her cheeks were flushed.

"Ah!" she exclaimed happily. "I am beautiful! Geese dear, I am beautiful, very beautiful!" And she gazed and gazed again.

Suddenly a song broke the silence. The Goosegirl started. For it was a song of youth and joy, the like of which she had never heard before in all her life.

Then, down from the mountains, out of the woods, straight to that lonely glade, came a youth, a ragged youth, but a noble youth, with a sword at his side, a bundle on his back, and a smile on his lips. His bearing was so proud, he looked so straight ahead, with eyes both fearless and true, that the Goosegirl held her breath as he halted before her.

"Hey, pretty Queen of the Geese," he said. "How goes the world with you? Have you no greeting for me?"

The Goosegirl continued to stare, saying nothing, her eyes wide with wonder. Finally she found her voice, and in a whisper just loud enough for him to hear, ventured timidly:

"Are you a man?"

"From top to toe!" exclaimed the youth, and laughed. How he laughed! He threw back his head, his white teeth gleamed, and the distant hills rang with the joyous sound. Even the Goosegirl was forced to smile at her own ignorance.

Such merriment soon made them the best of friends, and before long, seated side by side in the grass, the youth told the Goosegirl whence he had come and whither he was roving.

A King's Son was he, of noble name and fortune. High up among the mountains stood his father's castle, and there, amid the luxuries of the court, he had been reared. But when he had grown old enough to wander, the luxury had palled, the court life had fettered his free spirit. "Up and away!" cried a summons from within his heart. And so, while no one watched, he had stolen forth, with naught but a sword by his side, a bundle on his back, and a song on his lips. And he had wandered over the mountains, through the valleys, up and down, in and out, in search of adventure.

The Goosegirl heard the marvelous tale to the end. Then in faltering tones, but with shining eyes, she said slowly:

"Oh, that I might go with you!"

The youth smiled scornfully.

"King's Son and beggar maid!" exclaimed he, shaking his head. But as he looked into her face he stopped short.

The nobility of her expression, her simple beauty, drew him nearer. Ah! this was no beggar maid. There was something regal in the pose of that golden head, the glance of those clear blue eyes. What a companion she would make for now and forevermore! He forgot the rags, he forgot the geese, he forgot the hut.

"Have you courage?" he asked, gazing at her searchingly.

In answer she placed her hand in his. So he took off her wreath of white daisies and placed it within his jacket, close to his heart. And he opened his bundle and drew forth a golden crown, which he placed upon her head. Then crying:

"Up and away!" he led her to the edge of the grim wood.

At that instant, however, the sky began to darken with rushing clouds. Broad flashes of lightning blazed forth, thunder rolled, and the wind blew furiously through the trees. The geese flapped their wings in terror and gathered about the Goosegirl. She stood still, staring before her in fear. She was turned to stone. She could not move. Her feet were fixed to the ground.

"What makes you stand so still and stare?" cried the King's Son.

"Oh, I am afraid!" answered the Goosegirl. "I cannot go! I am bewitched!"

"Fear is but shame," declared the King's Son, angrily. "You have lied to me. You are not fit to wander with a King's Son. You are only a beggar maid, after all."

Then, overpowered by his wrath, he made ready to go, adding:

"Farewell. You shall never see me any more. No, never again, unless a star from heaven falls into the lily yonder." And pointing to the lone lily by the door of the hut, he rushed into the grim forest and was lost to sight.

II

The Goosegirl, saddened, disheartened, hid her golden crown and dragged herself wearily into the hut. The hideous Witch, returning with her venomous load, soon followed. And evening came. All was still. But for the thin column of smoke rising from the stovepipe one would not have known that any life was there.

Just as the golden edge of the moon peeped over the eastern mountain a loud song burst upon the air. And a moment later a Fiddler, clad in leather jacket and boots, appeared, emerging from the grim wood. He strode forth boldly as befitted an honest man who had nothing to fear. Seeing the miserable, tumbledown hut with its smoking chimney, he stopped.

"Ah, ha!" cried he. "Here's the journey's end." Then, looking back into the woods and waving his cap, he shouted at the top of his voice:

"Come on, Master Wood-cutter. Come on, Master Broom-maker. Here's the Witch's den. Come on!"

And Master Wood-cutter and Master Broom-maker came on. But how they came! They slunk out of the woods in fear and trembling, teeth chattering, knees shaking, eyes bulging. They took but one look at the tumbledown hut and then made for the nearest tree, behind which they cowered, shivering from head to toe.

"Not so loud! Not so loud! Master Fiddler, please. She may hear you," they protested.

"Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!" laughed the Fiddler. "Don't you want her to hear you? What did you come for, then, pray tell me?"

And so he half dragged, half pushed, the two cowardly braggarts toward the Witch's door.

"You may knock first," said the polite Broom-maker through his chattering teeth to the Wood-cutter.

"No, indeed. You may have the honor," responded the Wood-cutter,