That the princess was willing enough to do, for she was both tired and hungry; so into the house she went to serve Mother Hildegarde for a year and a day.
But it was no common work that the princess did, I can tell you; for listen: When she blew the bellows that the fire might blaze the brighter, the wind swept over the great brown world so that every windmill turned around and around from Jacob Pfennigdrummel’s to the shores of the great black sea at the north end of the earth; and when she sprinkled the clothes, the blessed rain came tumbling down till all the gutters ran with water so that little folk had either to stay home from school or to go thither under great, wide umbrellas.
But of all this the pretty princess knew nothing whatever, but only thought that she blew the fire and sprinkled the clothes. And that is often the way of the world—at least, so Tommy Pfouce tells me.
Well, one day Mother Hildegarde said to the princess: “See, now; I am going off on a journey, and it may be a while before I am back again. Here are the keys of all of the house, and you are free to go wherever you choose. Only here is a black key that unlocks a little room into which you must not go; for if you do I will be sure to know it, and ill-luck will be certain to happen to you.” Then off she went, and the princess was left all alone.
The first day the lass went here, and the second day she went there, and the third day she had gone everywhere except into the little room where Mother Hildegarde had told her not to go; and she never wanted anything in all of her life as much as she wanted just to peep into that little room.
“I wonder,” said she to herself—“I wonder what harm there could be in it if I were only to take one little peep?” So the upshot of the matter was that she went there just to look at the outside of the door.
“I wonder,” said she, “if the key will fit the lock?”
Yes; it did fit it.
“I wonder,” said she, “if the key will turn the bolt?”