The little maiden, in her digging, next broke the window of an old woman’s hut. Every morning the mistress of this hut went to mass. Feeling sorry for the old woman, the girls stole into the hut, cleaned and tidied everything, put beans on the fire to cook, broke off sufficient bread for themselves, and stole away again. When the old woman came home she was filled with surprise. Who could have been there and stolen her bread? Perhaps she could find out. She did not go to mass next day. She rolled herself in a mat, and stuck herself up, like a stick, near the door. The girls came; they thought the old woman had gone to mass, and stole into the hut one by one. The old woman watched from the mat with both her eyes, and she could scarcely believe what she saw. She saw the three maidens enter—each more beautiful than the other, all fair, as if the sun had never frowned upon them. She gazed and gazed until she could bear it no longer: she threw off the mat, seized one of them in her arms, and said: ‘Who art thou, who art so angelic? Art thou human or an angel?’ The maiden replied: ‘We are three sisters, we are human. Thus and thus has it befallen us.’ And she told their tale to the old woman, who was delighted that she had found the three sisters. She guarded them as the light of her eyes, and, when she went out, turned up baskets over them, that none should see them and take them away.
Once the woman went to mass. She left the girls under baskets, and shut the doors. Then the idea came into the girls’ heads that they would like some raisins. They rose, took off the baskets, and crept into the stable. Just as they were beginning to steal raisins, the groom hastened in, seized the three sisters, and took them before the king. The king asked them who they were, and they told him all their history. The king said: ‘Tell me, what can you do?’ The eldest sister said: ‘I can weave such a carpet that every man in thy army could sit on it, and still half of it would not be unrolled.’ The second sister said: ‘I can cook enough food in an egg-shell to feed thine army, and when they have eaten, half yet shall remain.’ The king said to the youngest: ‘What canst thou do?’ She replied: ‘I can bear golden-haired boys.’ The king was pleased with this answer, and wedded her. He tried her sisters’ skill, but the eldest could not weave a carpet large enough for one man, while the food cooked by the second sister would not have satisfied a bird. The king waxed wroth, and said to his wife: ‘If thou deceivest me too, none of you shall live.’
Some time passed, and the youngest sister was with child. At that time the king’s enemy came against him, and he prepared to go forth to battle. Before he set out he left this message: ‘If my wife bears a son, let a sword be suspended over the door; if she bears a daughter, let a spinning-wheel be hung up.’ Shortly after this his wife went to bed. Her sisters would allow no one to enter the bed-room; they tended her and nursed her themselves.
The king’s wife brought forth a golden-haired boy. Her two sisters were angry that their youngest sister should be proved truthful in the sight of the king, while they were liars; they wished her also to appear untruthful. They arose, and, without the mother’s knowledge, took away the golden-haired boy, and put in his place a puppy dog. They did not dare to kill the child, so they made a box, laid him in it, and put it in a river. The river carried it away, and it stuck in a mill-race. The race was dammed up and the mill stopped. The miller came out, and saw the box fixed in the race; he took it up and opened it. Behold, there lay a golden-haired child! He was childless, so he took it home and brought it up. In the meantime the sisters hung up a pestle over the door. The king returned from the battle and saw the pestle. He was very much surprised, and said: ‘What does this mean? what has my wife brought forth?’ They said: ‘A puppy.’ The king was very angry, but thought: ‘Perhaps some one has done this; I will wait and see if she has a son.’
A year passed, and his wife was again with child. One day, when the king was out hunting, a golden-haired boy was born. The sisters, as before, would allow no one in the room. They took the child away secretly, and put a kitten in its place. They again put the child in a box in the river, and the miller found it again. The sisters hung the pestle over the door. When the king returned from the chase, and saw the pestle, he burned with fires of rage, and sparks shot from his eyes. He took his wife out, caused her to be wrapped in a bullock’s skin, and bound to a column in front of the palace. Every one who passed by was ordered to spit in her face and strike her. Thus unjustly did he torture an innocent being! The miller loved the two golden-haired children as if they were the apple of his eye. They became very wise, brave, and handsome, and grew as much in a day as other children grow in a year.
Once when the king was out hunting, he saw a group of children playing, but among them were two who far excelled the others. The king was very much taken with these two children, and could not withdraw his eyes from them. He looked and looked, and would never have been tired of looking; he wished to gaze on them for ever. He noticed how strongly they resembled himself. He was astonished, and said to himself: ‘Who can these children be, who are so like myself?’ But he could not guess the truth. Just then, while playing, the cap fell from the head of one of the brothers, and showed his golden hair. The king was struck, and inquired: ‘Whose children are these?’ He was told they were the miller’s sons.
The next day the king gave a banquet, and invited the miller and his golden-haired sons. When the children came into the king’s courtyard, they saw a woman bound to a column, and they looked long, and knew that this must be their mother. The cook was roasting a pheasant. The elder brother went inside, took the spit from the cook, sat down by the fireside, and turned the pheasant round. When it became red and was cooked, he began to tell a tale. All ears were pricked up, and the people looked into his face. The boy began to tell his mother’s tale. After he had told how his mother bore the golden-haired boys, and how the sisters were so treacherous, he concluded by saying: ‘If this story is true, the bullock’s skin will burst, and my mother be free.’ And the bullock’s skin burst, and his mother came in.
When the story was quite finished, his younger brother came in and took the spit in his hand, and said: ‘If all my brother’s tale is true and this is indeed our mother, this roast pheasant will have feathers and fly away.’ Feathers appeared on the roast pheasant, and it flew off. The people gazed open-mouthed. The astonished king commanded the jealous sisters to be brought, bound them to horses’ tails, and had them dragged about. The king took his wife and children into the palace, and rejoiced greatly that he had learnt the truth and found his golden-haired sons.[1]
[1] Cf. Lady Charlotte Guest’s Mabinogion, p. 353. Pwll.