“I cannot find the cake,” said she. “It must have tumbled into the fire and got burnt.”
“Very well,” said the old woman, “give me another piece of dough instead and I will wait while it bakes.”
So the girl took another piece of dough, smaller than the first piece, and having put it in the oven, shut to the door. At the end of a few minutes or so she looked in again, and found there another loaf, larger than the last.
“Dear me,” said she, pretending to look about her, “I have surely lost the dough again. There’s no cake here.”
“‘Tis a pity,” said the old woman, “but never mind. I will wait while you bake me another piece.”
So the baker’s daughter took a piece of dough as small as one of her fingers and put it in the oven, while the old woman sat near. When she thought it ought to be baked, she looked into the oven and there saw a loaf, larger than either of the others.
“That is mine,” said the old woman.
“No,” replied the girl. “How could such a large loaf have grown out of a little piece of dough?”
“It is mine, it is sure,” said the woman.