The next morning, as they were going through the dark gate, the poor girl looked up at Falada’s head, and cried—
“Falada, Falada, there thou hangest!”
and it answered—
“Bride, bride, there thou gangest!
Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.”
Then she drove on the geese, and sat down again in the meadow, and began to comb out her hair as before; and Curdken ran up to her, and wanted to take hold of it; but she cried out quickly—
“Blow, breezes, blow!
Let Curdken’s hat go!
Blow, breezes, blow!