There was once a witch who had two daughters: one ugly and wicked, whom she loved because she was her own child; and one beautiful and good, whom she hated because she was her step-daughter. The step-daughter had a pretty apron, which the witch's own daughter coveted. Envious, she demanded it from her mother.
"Be quiet, my child," said the witch. "You shall have it. Your step-sister deserves death. Tonight, when she is asleep, I will cut off her head. Be sure to lie on the far side of the bed and push her to the front."
The step-daughter, standing in a corner, overheard everything. That night, when the witch's daughter fell asleep, the step-daughter gently pushed her to the front and took the place by the wall. In the darkness, the witch crept in, felt for the figure on the outside, and with an axe, cut off her own daughter's head.
After the witch left, the step-daughter fled to her sweetheart, Roland. "We must fly," she urged. "My step-mother meant to kill me but killed her own child. At dawn, she will discover her mistake and come for us."
"First," advised Roland, "take her magic wand, or we cannot escape her pursuit."
The maiden fetched the wand. She took three drops of blood from the dead girl's head and let them fall: one by the bed, one in the kitchen, and one on the stairs. Then she and Roland hurried away.
In the morning, the witch called for her daughter to give her the apron. "Where are you?" she cried.
"Here, on the stairs, I am sweeping," answered the first drop of blood.
The witch saw no one and called again.
"Here in the kitchen, I am warming myself," cried the second drop.
Again, she found no one.
"Ah, here in the bed, I am sleeping," cried the third drop.
The witch went to the bed and found her own daughter, headless and bathed in blood. Enraged, she sprang to the window and saw her step-daughter fleeing with Roland in the distance.
"You shall not escape me!" she shrieked. She put on her seven-league boots and soon overtook them.
Seeing the witch approach, the girl used the magic wand to change Roland into a lake and herself into a duck swimming upon it. The witch stood on the shore, throwing breadcrumbs to entice the duck, but to no avail. At nightfall, she had to return home.
The couple resumed their forms and traveled all night. At daybreak, the maiden transformed herself into a beautiful flower within a briar hedge, and Roland into a fiddler. The witch soon arrived and asked the musician, "May I pluck that flower?"
"Oh, yes," he replied. "I will play while you do."
As she crept into the hedge to pluck the flower, Roland began to play a magical tune. The witch was forced to dance against her will. The faster he played, the more violently she danced, until the thorns tore her clothes and pierced her skin. She danced until she fell dead upon the ground.
Delivered from danger, Roland said, "Now I will go to my father to arrange our wedding."
"I will wait here," said the girl. "So that no one recognizes me, I will turn myself into a red stone landmark."
Roland departed, and the girl stood as a red stone in the field. But when Roland reached home, he fell under the spell of another and forgot his true love.
The poor maiden waited a long time. Growing sad, she transformed into a flower, thinking, "Someone will surely come and trample me down."
A shepherd found the pretty flower, plucked it, and placed it in his chest. From that day, strange things occurred in his house. Each morning, all chores were done: the room swept, the fire lit, and water fetched. At noon, a fine dinner awaited him. He saw no one and grew fearful, so he sought advice from a wise woman.
"There is enchantment at work," she said. "Listen early in the morning. If you see anything move, throw a white cloth over it, and the magic will cease."
The shepherd did as told. At dawn, he saw the chest open and the flower emerge. He swiftly threw a white cloth over it. The transformation ended, and a beautiful girl stood before him. She confessed she was the flower and had been doing his housework. She told her story. The shepherd, pleased with her, asked for her hand in marriage.
She refused, wishing to remain faithful to Roland, though he had deserted her. She promised, however, to stay and keep house for the shepherd.
Time passed, and the day of Roland's wedding to another drew near. According to custom, all maidens were to attend and sing for the bridal pair. The faithful maiden's heart was heavy, but the other girls persuaded her to go.
When her turn to sing came, she stepped back until she was the last. As her song began, Roland heard her voice and sprang up. "I know that voice! She is my true bride! I will have no other!"
All his forgotten memories rushed back to his heart. The faithful maiden and her sweetheart Roland were wed at last, and their sorrow turned to joy.