“How foolish I was,” said the youngest sister, sadly. “I wonder if the river would not give them back to me if I should ask very politely?”
She began to walk along the bank, saying, “Water, water, please give me back my beads, my pretty beads!” And the water answered, “Go down the stream! Go down the stream!”
[The Alo Man made his voice sound exactly like the gurgle and splash of the ripples.]
She went on a little way and asked the river again to give back her beads. And again the river answered, “Go down the stream! Go down the stream!”
The youngest sister went along the river bank until she could no longer see the village. She had never been so far away from it before. At last she came to a place where the river leaped over a great cliff. Under the waterfall was a hut with an old woman sitting at the door. She was bent and wrinkled and very, very ugly, and she looked up as the youngest sister looked down at her from the bank.
“Do not laugh at me!” said the old woman. “I am ugly now, but once I was beautiful as you are.”
“I am not laughing at you, good mother,” said the youngest sister. “I should like to do something to help you.”
“You are very kind, my child,” said the old woman. “Will you be so good as to bind up my wounds and give me water to drink?”
The youngest sister took a strip of her garment and bound up the old woman’s wounds and fed and comforted her as if she had been the old woman’s own daughter. Scarcely had she done this when the old woman caught her by the arm. “My child,” she said, “you have come to a place where a terrible giant lives. Every one who comes down the river is in danger of falling into his hands. But do not be afraid; he shall not hurt you. Hark! there he comes now, like a great wind that brings the rain.”