"Before Gerda's father married again," Betty reads on, "she had been allowed to manage the house as she pleased" ("I wish I was"), "but now everything is changed. Gerda loved to rise with the sun, and scour the kitchen floor with white sand before breakfast, and polish all the brass pans until they shone like gold" ("I don't sand floors or polish pans, but that's just how I feel about getting my work done early"), "but her stepmother liked hot cakes for breakfast, and as she would not rise early enough to bake them herself, Gerda had to leave her work and cook cakes instead; and because no one seemed to care for her, or notice how hard she had to work, she grew more discontented, and fretful, and unhappy every day; and meantime all around her became more difficult and sad."
"Oh, dear, that's exactly like me!" sighs Betty.
Then she goes on to read how a strange little old woman, in a big red cloak, came to the cottage door one day. Her eyes were blue as the sky, and she carried a flat basket slung over one arm.
"Gerda thought she had come to sell ribbons and pins, and turned to shut the door; but the old dame stopped her smilingly. 'I have come to give, and not to sell,' she said.
"'You have been fretting, my child, and it's troubled you are, and sore and bitter you are feeling against those who fret you. Eh, my dear, I'll soon better that!' and her blue eyes seemed to dance with the knowledge of some happy secret.
"But Gerda stood quite dumb with amazement.
"Then the old dame raised her folded hand towards Gerda, and unclasped it a little.
"'Oh, how sweet!' she cried. There, in the old woman's hand, nestled a tiny bird. Its feathers were red as the heart of a rose, and its eyes shone like diamonds.
"'It is for you. My bird will stay with you as long as you need him, and smooth all the fret of your life away.'
"Gerda stretched out eager hands towards the beautiful bird. 'Oh,' she cried, 'if that could only come true!'