“I am Wednesday. On Wednesday surely thou didst call. See, I have spun thy linen and woven thy web: now let us bleach it and set it in the oven. The oven is heated and the irons are ready; do thou go down to the brook and draw water.”
The woman was frightened, and thought: “What manner of thing is this?” (or, “How can that be?”) but Wednesday glared at her angrily; her eyes just did sparkle!
So the woman took a couple of pails and went for water. As soon as she was outside the door she thought: “Mayn’t something terrible happen to me? I’d better go to my neighbor’s instead of fetching the water.” So she set off. The night was dark. In the village all were still asleep. She reached a neighbor’s house, and rapped away at the window until at last she made herself heard. An aged woman let her in.
“Why, child!” says the old crone; “whatever hast thou got up so early for? What’s the matter?”
“Oh, granny, this is how it was. Wednesday has come to me, and has sent me for water to buck my linen with.”
“That doesn’t look well,” says the old crone. “On that linen she will either strangle thee or scald[256] thee.”
The old woman was evidently well acquainted with Wednesday’s ways.
“What am I to do?” says the young woman. “How can I escape from this danger?”
“Well, this is what thou must do. Go and beat thy pails together in front of the house, and cry, ‘Wednesday’s children have been burnt at sea!’[257] She will run out of the house, and do thou be sure to seize the opportunity to get into it before she comes back, and immediately slam the door to, and make the sign of the cross over it. Then don’t let her in, however much she may threaten you or implore you, but sign a cross with your hands, and draw one with a piece of chalk, and utter a prayer. The Unclean Spirit will have to disappear.”
Well, the young woman ran home, beat the pails together, and cried out beneath the window: