THE PRINCE WITH THE GOLDEN HAND 217

So they agreed to let him go. Weeping they bade him
farewell, blessing him and the road he was to travel.

A pleasant tale is soon told, but events do not pass so Vo
quickly.

The young prince crossed deep rivers and climbed high
mountains, till he came to a dark forest. In the distance he
saw a cottage supported on a cock’s foot, and standing in the
midst of a field full of poppies. As he made his ways towards
it he was suddenly seized by an overpowering longing to sleep,
but he urged on his horse, and breaking off the poppy heads
as he galloped through the field, came up close to the house.
Then he called out:

“ Little cot, turn around, on thy foot turn thou free ;
To the forest set thy back, let thy door be wide to me.”

The cottage turned round with a great creaking noise, the
door facing the prince. He entered, and found an old woman
with thin white hair and a face covered with wrinkles, truly
frightful to look upon. She was sitting at a table, her head
resting on her hands, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, lost in
deep thought. Near her were two beautiful girls, their
complexions like lilies and roses, and in every way sweet
to the eye.

“Ah, how do you do, Prince with Moustache of Gold,
Hero with the Golden Fist?” said old Yaga; “what has
brought you here?”

Having told her the object of his journey, she replied,
“Your elder brothers perished on the mountain that touches
the clouds, while in search of the Princess with the Golden
Hair, who was carried off by Vikher, the hurricane.”