The first thing she saw was the old hermit himself with his tall spare figure and long white beard. The last rays of the setting sun shone through the opening of the cave and lighted up his grave and gentle face. He looked to Dobrunka like one of God’s own saints.
“How can I ever repay you?” she said, “for all your loving kindness? Oh, that I could cover your hands with kisses!”
“Be quiet, my child,” the old man said. “If you are patient all will yet be well.”
He went out and soon returned with some delicious fruit on a wooden plate. This he carried over to the bed of leaves and moss upon which Dobrunka was lying and with his own hands he fed Dobrunka as a mother would feed her helpless child. Then he gave her a drink from a wooden cup.
Early the next morning the hermit again called three times and the boy came running at once. This time the hermit handed him a golden distaff and said:
“Take this distaff and go to the palace. Sit down in the courtyard near the gate. If any one asks you what you want for the distaff, say two feet and don’t exchange it for anything else.”
Zloboha was standing at a window of the palace looking down into the courtyard when she saw the boy with a golden distaff.
“Mother!” she cried. “Come and see! There’s that boy again sitting near the gate and this time he has a golden distaff!”
Mother and daughter at once went out to question the boy.
“What do you want for the distaff?” Zloboha asked.