THE KNOT-GRASS
Once upon a time an old hag got up early and went out among the mountains to gather all sorts of green herbs and practise her sorceries.
About midday she set out upon her return, and met some Knot-grass hastening to the mountains.
“Hi! whither away?” asked the witch. “What bad luck sends you on this rough road?”
“Upon my word, little mother, I can’t stand it down there any longer! Wherever the moujik digs or ploughs he does his best to root me out, tearing and clawing me with all his might. There is nothing left for me but to flee away and seek some quiet place where I can grow and spread in peace.”
“Go back to your home, little grass,” replied the old hag. “Mark my words, the more they dig and hoe about a plant the better it thrives and the more it spreads. What does the proverb say? ‘Woe to the thing that never is harvested!’”
The Knot-grass turned about, and ever since that day it has been found in meadow and field, in vineyard and garden—everywhere, indeed, where it is not wanted; and it is a hard matter to root it out.