“Do you climb the fir-tree?” said she.
“None too well,” said the king’s son.
“Then I may help you in a hard task,” said she.
She let down the braids of her golden hair, so that it hung down all about her and upon the ground, and then she began singing to the wind. She sang and sang, and by and by the wind began to blow, and, catching up the maiden’s hair, carried it to the top of the fir-tree, and there tied it to the branches. Then the prince climbed the hair and so reached the nest. There were the three eggs; he gathered them, and then he came down as he had gone up. After that the wind came again and loosed the maiden’s hair from the branches, and she bound it up as it was before.
“Now, listen,” said she to the prince: “when the old witch asks you for the three crow’s eggs which you have gathered, tell her that they belong to the one who found them. She will not be able to take them from you, and they are worth something, I can tell you.”
At sunset the old witch came hobbling along, and there sat the prince at the foot of the fir-tree. “Have you gathered the crow’s eggs?” said she.
“Yes,” said the prince, “here they are in my handkerchief. And now may I have the one who draws the water and builds the fire?”
“Yes,” said the old witch, “you may have her; only give me my crow’s eggs.”
“No,” said the prince, “the crow’s eggs are none of yours, for they belong to him who gathered them.”
When the old witch found that she was not to get her crow’s eggs in that way, she tried another, and began using words as sweet as honey. Come, come, there should be no hard feeling between them. The prince had served her faithfully, and before he went home with what he had come for he should have a good supper, for it is ill to travel on an empty stomach.