Hans listened awhile, laid down his axe, and thought to himself, "What can that be?" "What indeed can it be?" said he at last; "it is only a singing in your ears, Hans! pluck up your heart, man!" So he raised up his axe again, and took hold of the bough, but once more the voice sang:
"Bend not the bough;
He who bends it shall die!
Reel not the reel;
He who reels it shall die!"
Once more he stopped his hand; fear came over him, and he began pondering what it could mean. After awhile, however, he plucked up his courage again, and took up his axe and began for the third time to cut the wood; again the third time began the song—
"Bend not the bough;
He who bends it shall die!
Reel not the reel;
He who reels it shall die!"
At this he could hold no longer, down he dropped from the tree and set off homewards as fast as he could. Away too ran Grettel by a shorter cut, so as to reach home first, and when he opened the door met him quite innocently, as if nothing had happened, and said, "Well! have you brought a good piece of wood for the reel?" "No," said he, "I see plainly that no luck comes of that reel;" and then he told her all that had happened, and left her for that time in peace.
But soon afterwards Hans began again to reproach her with the untidiness of her house. "Wife," said he; "is it not a sin and a shame that the spun yarn should lie all about in that way?" "It may be so," said she; "but you know very well that we have no reel; if it must be done, lie down there and hold up your hands and legs,
