22 SLAV TALES

Joyfully she thanked the months, and having filled her
apron ran happily home. Helen and her mother wondered
at seeing the strawberries, which filled the house with their
delicious fragrance.

‘Wherever did you find them?” asked Helen crossly.

“Right up among the mountains; those from under the
beech trees are not bad.”

Helen gave a few to her mother and ate the rest herself;
not one did she offer to her step-sister. Being tired of straw-
berries, on the third day she took a fancy for some fresh red
apples.

“Run, Marouckla,” said she, “and fetch me fresh red
apples from the mountain.”

“Apples in winter, sister? why, the trees have neither
leaves nor fruit.” /

“Tdle slut, go this minute,” said Helen; “unless you
bring back apples we will kill you.”

As before, the stepmother seized her roughly and turned
her out of the house. The poor girl went weeping up the
mountain, across the deep snow upon which lay no human
footprint, and on towards the fire round which were the twelve
months. Motionless sat they, and on the highest stone was
the great Setchéne.

“Men of God, may I warm myself at your fire? The
winter cold chills me,” said she, drawing near.

The great Setchéne raised his head.

“Why com’st thou here? What dost thou seek?” asked he.

“T am come to look for red apples,” replied Marouckla.

“ But this is winter, and not the season for red apples,”
observed the great Setchéne.