The little sister wept bitterly at this mischance; but there was nothing for it but to go on as they were. They went on and on, up hill and down dale, right across the sandy waste till they came to a full spring beneath a large tree, and there they sat them down and rested. “Hearken now, little sister!” said the stag, “thou must mount up into that tree, while I go to see if I can find something to eat.” So the girl climbed up into the tree, and the stag went about his business, ran up hill and down dale, caught a hare, brought it back, and he and his sister ate it together, and so they lived from day to day and from week to week.
Now the horses of the Padishah of that country were wont to be watered at the spring beneath the large tree. One evening the horsemen led their horses up to it as usual, but, just as they were on the point of drinking, they caught sight of the reflection of the damsel in the watery mirror and reared back. The horsemen fancied that perhaps the water was not quite pure, so they drew off the trough and filled it afresh, but again the horses reared backwards and would not drink of it. The horsemen knew not what to make of it, so they went and told the Padishah.
“Perchance the water is muddy,” said the Padishah.
“Nay,” replied the horsemen, “we emptied the trough once and filled it full again with fresh water, and yet the horses would not drink of it.”
“Go again,” said their master, “and look well about you; perchance there is some one near the spring of whom they are afraid.”
The horsemen returned, and, looking well about the spring, cast their eyes at last upon the large tree, on the top of which they perceived the damsel. They immediately went back and told the Padishah. The Padishah took the trouble to go and look for himself, and raising his eyes perceived in the tree a damsel as lovely as the moon when she is fourteen days old, so that he absolutely could not take his eyes off her. “Art thou a spirit or a peri?”[3] said the Padishah to the damsel.
“I am neither a spirit nor a peri, but a mortal as thou art,” replied the damsel.
In vain the Padishah begged her to come down from the tree. In vain he implored her, nothing he could say would make her come down. Then the Padishah waxed wroth. He commanded them to cut down the tree. The men brought their axes and fell a-hewing at the tree. They hewed away at the vast tree, they hewed and hewed until only a little strip of solid trunk remained to be cut through; but, meanwhile, eventide had drawn nigh and it began to grow dark, so they left off their work, which they purposed to finish next day.
Scarcely had they departed when the stag came running out of the forest, looked at the tree, and asked the little sister what had happened. The girl told him that she would not descend from the tree, so they had tried to cut it down. “Thou didst well,” replied the stag, “and take care thou dost not come down in future, whatever they may say.” With that he went to the tree, licked it with his tongue, and immediately the tree grew bigger round the hewed trunk than before.
