"She lives by the waterfall in the wood that skirts the edge of your garden," said the little page; "and she appears to those who call her name three times, and grants them but one wish. At least that is what folk say, but I have never dared to seek her myself, your Highness."
So Princess Gyldea sent her page back to play with the other pages in the anteroom, and she slipped out of the palace, and hastened across to the wood, away from the high prickly hedge with the hole in it, and arrived at last before the shimmering, glistening waterfall. Then she raised her voice and called three times for the White Witch. And out of the rushing, dancing water came a white mist, and out of the white mist, stepped a wonderful, tall witch-woman, who looked as though the rivers and the dew and the sunshine had all helped one another to make her.
"Only one wish I can grant you, Princess, so think well before you ask," she said.
But the Princess Gyldea answered at once, without thinking at all.
"Turn my silk robes into an old dress so that I can go and dig potatoes," she begged.
"As you like," answered the White Witch; "but for that you must give me one of three gifts."
"Tell me," said the Princess, "is it my crown, or my jewels, or my wealth? You may have them all if you care for them, only give me an old dress quickly."
"I must have either your beauty or your strength or your happiness," said the White Witch, with a smile. "That is my price for an old dress."
"Will not all my wealth do as well?" she asked.
"No," said the witch-woman, "for that is of no use to me, nor is it yours to give. I must have something that is your very own."