"Oh! " said the old hag; "it's no use your trying. We've had ever so many maids, but none of them was worth her salt."
But she begged so prettily that they would just take her on trial, that at last they let her stay. So the old hag gave her a sieve, and bade her go and fetch water in it. She thought it strange to fetch water in a sieve, but still she went, and when see came to the well, the little birds began to sing—
"Daub in clay,
Stuff in straw;
Daub in clay,
Stuff in straw."
Yes, she did so, and found she could carry water in a sieve well enough; but when she got home with the water, and the old witch saw the sieve, she cried out,—
"This you haven't sucked out of your own breast."
So the old witch said, now she might go into the byre to pitch out dung and milk kine; but when she got there she found a pitchfork so long and heavy she couldn't stir it, much less work with it. She didn't know at all what to do, or what to make of it; but the little birds sang again that she should take the broomstick and toss out a little with that, and all the rest of the dung would fly after it. So she did that, and as soon as ever she began with the broomstick, the byre was as clean as if it had been swept and washed.
Now she had to milk the kine, but they were so restless that they kicked and frisked: there was no getting near them to milk them.
