The Damsel and the Old Witch.—p. 5.
The next day, when the stag had again departed about his business, the Padishah’s men came and saw that the tree was larger and harder round the trunk than ever. Again they set to work hewing at the tree, and hewed and hewed till they had cut half through it; but by that time evening fell upon them again, and again they put off the rest of the work till the morrow and went home.
But all their labour was lost, for the stag came again, licked the gap in the tree with his tongue, and immediately it grew thicker and harder than ever.
Early next morning, when the stag had only just departed, the Padishah and his wood-cutters again came to the tree, and when they saw that the trunk of the tree had filled up again larger and firmer than ever, they determined to try some other means. So they went home again and sent for a famous old witch, told her of the damsel in the tree, and promised her a rich reward if she would, by subtlety, make the damsel come down. The old witch willingly took the matter in hand, and bringing with her an iron tripod, a cauldron, and sundry raw meats, placed them by the side of the spring. She placed the tripod on the ground, and the kettle on the top of it but upside down, drew water from the spring and poured it not into the kettle, but on the ground beside it, and with that she kept her eyes closed as if she were blind.
The damsel fancied she really was blind, and called to her from the tree. “Nay but, my dear elder sister! thou hast placed the kettle on the tripod upside down, and art pouring all the water on the ground.”
“Oh, my sweet little damsel!” cried the old woman, “that is because I have no eyes to see with. I have brought some dirty linen with me, and if thou dost love Allah, thou wilt come down and put the kettle right, and help me to wash the things.” Then the damsel thought of the words of the little stag, and she did not come down.
The next day the old witch came again, stumbled about the tree, laid a fire, and brought forth a heap of meal in order to sift it, but instead of meal she put ashes into the sieve. “Poor silly old granny!” cried the damsel compassionately, and then she called down from the tree to the old woman, and told her that she was sifting ashes instead of meal. “Oh, my dear damsel!” cried the old woman, weeping, “I am blind, I cannot see. Come down and help me a little in my affliction.” Now the little stag had strictly charged her that very morning not to come down from the tree whatever might be said to her, and she obeyed the words of her brother.
On the third day the old witch again came beneath the tree. This time she brought a sheep with her, and brought out a knife to flay it with, and began to jag and skin it from behind instead of cutting its throat. The poor little sheep bleated piteously, and the damsel in the tree, unable to endure the sight of the beast’s sufferings, came down from the tree to put the poor thing out of its misery. Then the Padishah, who was concealed close to the tree, rushed out and carried the damsel off to his palace.
The damsel pleased the Padishah so mightily that he wanted to be married to her without more ado; but the damsel would not consent till they had brought her her brother, the little stag: until she saw him, she said, she could have not a moment’s rest. Then the Padishah sent men out into the forest, who caught the stag and brought him to his sister. After that he never left his sister’s side. They lay down together, and together they rose up. Even when the Padishah and the damsel were wedded, the little stag was never far away from them, and in the evening when he found out where they were, he would softly stroke each of them all over with one of his front feet before going to sleep beside them, and say—