enable me to proceed on my journey with my child. Look at this string of pearls round my neck: when we part I will divide it with you.”—“Noble lady,” mumbled out the toothless old crone, “it becomes not you to criticise my table; no mistress of a house will endure this from a stranger. I know perfectly well how to make soups, and to make them nice and tasty too; I should think I’ve cooked as often as you, at all events. My soups I particularly regard as faultless, and they are especially adapted for you. As to my hen, you’ll certainly not have that; ’tis my friend, my sole companion in this solitude; it feeds out of my dish, and goes to roost on my bed. Keep your pearls; I will receive no reward for what I have done.” The lady in the straw, seeing clearly that her hostess was offended, said no more, and, by way of appeasing her, did her best to eat with apparent relish the soup that was placed before her. Next morning the old woman took her large basket and hawthorn walking-stick, saying: “All our bread is gone but this loaf, which I will share with you; I am going to the baker’s to get a supply; look well to the house during my absence; take great care of my hen, and think not of killing her; her eggs are yours, if you can find any; but she is very much addicted to hiding them. Await my return for seven days; the nearest village is not, indeed, more than a league distant, but for me that
