“Hold your tongue, worm; don’t answer me; if I don’t have my strawberries I will kill you.”

Then the stepmother pushed her into the yard and bolted the door.  The unhappy girl made her way towards the mountain and to the large fire round which sat the twelve months.  The great Setchene occupied the highest place.

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

The great Setchene raised his head and asked: 

“Why comest thou here?  What dost thou seek?”

“I am looking for strawberries,” said she.

“We are in the midst of winter,” replied Setchene; strawberries do not grow in the snow.”

“I know,” said the girl sadly, “but my sister and stepmother have ordered me to bring them strawberries; if I do not they will kill me.  Pray, good shepherds, tell me where to find them.”

The great Setchene arose, crossed over to the month opposite him, and putting the wand into his hand, said: 

“Brother Tchervene (June), do thou take the highest place.”

Tchervene obeyed, and as he waved his wand over the fire the flames leapt towards the sky.  Instantly the snow melted, the earth was covered with verdure, trees were clothed with leaves, birds began to sing, and various flowers blossomed in the forest.  It was summer.  Under the bushes masses of star-shaped flowers changed into ripening strawberries.  Before Marouckla had time to cross herself they covered the glade, making it look like a sea of blood.

“Gather them quickly, Marouckla,” said Tchervene.

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 stepsister.  Being tired of strawberries, 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.”

“Idle creature, 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 Setchene.

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

The great Setchene raised his head.

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