So she coaxed, threatened, even beat her daughter, but all to
no purpose; the girl remained what her mother called her, "an idle
cuttie."
At last, one spring morning, the gudewife gave her seven heads of lint,
saying she would take no excuse; they must be returned in three days
spun into yarn. The girl saw her mother was in earnest, so she plied her
distaff as well as she could; but her hands were all untaught, and by
the evening of the second day only a very small part of her task was
done. She cried herself to sleep that night, and in the morning,
throwing aside her work in despair, she strolled out into the fields,
all sparkling with dew. At last she reached a knoll, at whose feet ran a
little burn, shaded with woodbine and wild roses; and there she sat
down, burying her face in her hands. When she looked up, she was
surprised to see by the margin of the stream an old woman, quite
unknown to her, drawing out the thread as she basked in the sun. There
was nothing very remarkable in her appearance, except the length and
thickness of her lips, only she was seated on a self-bored stone.
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