“Master, it is gone!” he cried, “I fear the boggart has played you another trick, and this time it is an ill turn indeed!”
“The boggart! The boggart! What’s all this talk of boggarts?” screamed the cobbler, “so I have been teaching my trade to a thief, have I? You’re a fine fellow to keep as an apprentice, eating a poor man out of house and home! Get you gone from my door, or you shall have blows from me, and not words alone.”
Again the apprentice tried to defend himself, but his master would not listen, so he sadly put together his few belongings in a knapsack, and set out upon his travels, with none to wish him well save only his friend the yellow cat, who came and rubbed herself against his legs before the house-door closed behind him. All night he paced the streets disconsolate, and at dawn when the city gates stood open he set forth upon the king’s highway.
As dusk fell, he entered a wild, bleak hill country, and he had not gone far upon the lonely road when he heard a voice singing a plaintive refrain. Eagerly he hurried onwards, wondering who the wayfarer might be, but soon the singing ceased, and a sound of weeping took its place. Then the apprentice caught sight of a maiden seated upon the grassy bank by the roadside. She was beautifully dressed in silks and jewels, but briers clung to her rich trailing robes, and the blustering wind had disordered her golden tresses.
“Madam,” said the apprentice, “if my poor services may assist you, they are at your command.”
“I thank you with all my heart,” said she, “let us travel on together and seek a night’s lodging. But for you I should have been left friendless upon this waste hillside.” So together they took the road again, and journeyed on into the mountains.
“I am a king’s daughter,” said the maiden, “and my father and mother have accused me of witchcraft, and have driven me from my home.”
“I too have been driven away on an unjust charge,” said the apprentice, “and now I know not how I may earn my bread, for my master the cobbler would not finish teaching me my trade.” After that they both fell silent, for they were weary and sad at heart.
Now when they had gone some considerable distance, they overtook a shepherd who was driving home his flock, and of him they begged a night’s shelter.
“Come with me to my goodwife,” the kindly shepherd made reply, “and we will do all in our power to serve you both.” So saying he guided them to the sheltered hollow where his cottage stood. His wife came to greet him at the doorway, and when she saw the strangers she welcomed them also. In the kitchen a bright fire was burning, and supper was on the table, broth, and bread, and a bowl of porridge. Far back in a shadowy corner of the room sat an old, old woman, toothless and hairless, bent and shrunken with her years.