“Wretched girl! what honest man can have any more to do with thee now?”
But in a moment the tables were turned, and he found himself in an unexpected position. “Wretched!” cried she. “I? whom thou hast spied upon, stolen a march upon, from whose magic glass thou hast dared drink, and but for whose care thou wouldst have been crushed to powder last night, thou foolhardy meddler!”
“’Twas not thou, but my dragon-wort, that saved me,” began the unlucky fellow.
“Nonsense!” screamed mother and daughter, now both together. “Dost think that could have availed thee at all had we raised our voices against thee? Nay, ’twas we who saved thee; and hadst thou not been kept out of sight and put to sleep, thou couldst never have lived through the terrible hour of the ‘witches’ sprinkling.’”
“At any rate,” complained the brow-beaten man, trying to keep up his dignity, “I should have been warned it was a witch I was taking for my bride. But it is time yet,” he added angrily, “and take such a bride I will not—I will not, I say!”
“Warned!” shouted mother and daughter at once; “he, a common mortal, warned of the honour we did him in stooping to mate with his like! Nay, ’tis plain he is only fit for one lot—a donkey’s! And a donkey he shall be; let that be his punishment.”
So before the hapless bridegroom could defend himself, or take refuge in flight, the magic words were pronounced, and he went forth, an ugly, rough, braying donkey, a terrible example of man’s folly in attempting, with however much right on his side, to argue with a witch—or a woman.
But in a moment the tables were turned, and he found himself in an unexpected position.
Down the road the poor donkey ambled, trying to express his deep sense of injury by piteous brayings. Presently a neighbour heard him, and though far from recognising in him an old comrade of the workshop and the ale-house, he still had pity on him, and noticing, besides, that he was a fine donkey, he drove him into a stall and put fresh hay before him. But the donkey could neither eat nor drink, nor bear to be put to work, so at last the farmer lost patience and drove it out of his stable. And now the wretched donkey wandered about the country, munching such dusty grass and thistles as he could find by the wayside, but driven out of every green paddock as a useless beast, and receiving more kicks than kind handling. At last, half starved and hopeless, he determined to swallow his pride, and return to beg the cruel witches for mercy.