‘Little ones, are you asleep?’
And again the little drake answered for his sisters:
‘We cannot sleep, we wake and weep,
Sharp is the knife, to take our life;
The fire is hot, now boils the pot,
And so we wake, and lie and quake.’
‘Just the same answer,’ muttered the witch; ‘I think I’ll go in and see.’ So she opened the door gently, and seeing the two little ducklings sound asleep, she there and then killed them.
The next morning the White Duck wandered round the pond in a distracted manner, looking for her little ones; she called and she searched, but could find no trace of them. And in her heart she had a foreboding that evil had befallen them, and she fluttered up out of the water and flew to the palace. And there, laid out on the marble floor of the court, dead and stone cold, were her three children. The White Duck threw herself upon them, and, covering up their little bodies with her wings, she cried:
‘Quack, quack—my little loves!
Quack, quack—my turtle-doves!
I brought you up with grief and pain,
And now before my eyes you’re slain.
I gave you always of the best;
I kept you warm in my soft nest.
I loved and watched you day and night—
You were my joy, my one delight.’
The King catches the White Duck
The King heard the sad complaint of the White Duck, and called to the witch: ‘Wife, what a wonder is this? Listen to that White Duck.’