He spread his wings and flew and flew and flew, until he was close behind the witch where she sat on the black mountain. He took off his cap and there he was in his own shape again. He caught the old witch by her golden hair and held her fast. And you should have heard how she screamed and scolded, and you should have seen how she twisted and turned!
But the prince just held fast, and she could make nothing of it for all her trying.
“And what do you want, that you come here to torment me?” said she at last.
“I want the White Bird,” said the prince; “and I will be satisfied with nothing else.” It was all to no purpose that the old witch stormed and scolded, for what he had said he had said, and he would be satisfied with nothing else. So at last, willy-nilly, she had to give him what he asked for.
The prince took it in his hands, and it was a white bird no longer, but the prettiest lass that ever a body’s eyes looked upon, with cheeks as red as roses and a skin as white as snow.
But still the prince held tight to the old witch’s hair, and now what else was it he was wanting.
Why, before he would let her go, she must change all the round stones back again into the lads of flesh and blood they had been before.
So the old witch had to do that also, and there stood so many good stout lads in the place of the hard, round stones.
But still the prince held fast to her golden hair. And what else was it he was wanting?
Why, this! The old witch must promise to do no harm to him or to anybody else who should come that way. The old witch had to promise. And then he let go of her hair, and you can guess what a rage she was in.