Oh, how sore and weary were her little feet; and all around looked so cold and barren. The long willow-leaves had already turned yellow, and the dew trickled down from them like water. The leaves fell off the trees, one by one; the sloe alone bore fruit, and its berries were so sharp and bitter! Cold, and grey, and sad seemed the world to her that day.
PART THE FOURTH
THE PRINCE AND THE PRINCESS
GERDA was again obliged to stop and take rest. Suddenly a large raven hopped upon the snow in front of her, saying, ‘Caw!—Caw!—Good-day!—Good-day!’ He sat for some time on the withered branch of a tree just opposite, eyeing the little maiden, and wagging his head, and he now came forward to make acquaintance and to ask her whither she was going all alone. That word ‘alone’ Gerda understood right well—she felt how sad a meaning it has. She told the raven the history of her life and fortunes, and asked if he had seen Kay.
And the raven nodded his head, half doubtfully, and said, ‘That is possible—possible.’
‘Do you think so?’ exclaimed the little girl, and she kissed the raven so vehemently that it is a wonder she did not squeeze him to death.
‘More moderately!—moderately!’ said the raven. ‘I think I know. I think it may be little Kay; but he has certainly forsaken thee for the princess.’
‘Dwells he with a princess?’ asked Gerda.