Nothing is fair,
So come to the slaughter.”
They were not the words, but that is what the words meant. But unpleasant as was the song, yet it worked a kind of charm, and things came to her, so that her basket net was filled again and again. The fish she cast into a kind of wicker cage, of which she had several.
Soon the croaking song chased sleep from the eyes of Stout Heart, and looking down he saw the wrinkled crone and the great pile of fish that she had cast on the bank, and his heart was grieved for two things—one that there was such waste of good life, the other that he had left his spear hidden in the grass. He grieved too, a little, because he knew that on account of his long walk he was weak from hunger and thirst. So there seemed little that could be done and he sat very still, trusting that until he was better prepared for action the old witch would not see him.
But all his stillness was of no avail. Looking at the shadow of the tree as it lay upon the surface of the water, she saw the lad’s shadow. Then she looked up and saw him. Had she had her magic green stone with her, things would have been far different and this tale all the shorter. But not having it and being quite unable to climb trees, she said:
“You are faint and hungry. Come down, come down, good lad, for I have much here that is good to eat.”
Hearing that, Stout Heart laughed, knowing that she was not to be trusted, and he told her that he was very well indeed where he was. So she tried another trick, spreading on the grass fruits and berries, and saying in a wheedling voice:
“Come, son, eat with me. I do not like to eat alone. Here are fresh fruits and here is honey. Come down that I may talk with you and treat you as a son, for I am very lonesome.”
But Stout Heart still laughed at her, although, to be sure, he was a lad of great appetite and his hungriness increased in him.
“Have you any other trap to set for me?” he asked.