“Do not touch Isabella!” she said to the stepmother. “She is not in the least to blame for your children’s misfortune. Their cruel fate is their own fault. When I met Isabella at the well and asked her for a drink of water, she gave it to me gladly and willingly, but when I met your daughters and asked them for a drink they treated me proudly and unkindly.”
“You!” exclaimed the stepmother, looking upon the radiant creature with her shining fairy robes about her. “Met you, and would not give you a drink of water!”
The fairy smiled. “Ah, yes; it was I, but I did not look then as I now do. I was the ragged old woman at the well.”
“If they had known it was you—” said the stepmother.
“If they had known it was I,” the fairy said, “how could I have judged whether they were kind of heart, and polite to old people, and helpful to people in need?”
“When I met Isabella,” the fairy went on, “I looked just as when I met your daughters, and she was very polite and kind to me, and gave me a drink, holding the pail while I drank, even though she was very tired. Because only polite and kind words came from her mouth, I gave her a good fairy gift, and because only impolite and unkind words came from the mouths of your daughters, I gave them another kind of gift.”
“Oh, please take back the one you gave them,” pleaded the mother.
“Do you mean Isabella’s gift, too?” asked the fairy.
“Oh, no,” the mother said. “Let her have her gift—but please, please take away the awful gift of my daughters!”
“Let me see,” said the fairy, “what Isabella says about that. Shall I take back the gift of your stepsisters, my dear?”