“Daughter,” says she, “put them pies on to the shelf and leave ’em there awhile.  Surely they’ll come again in time.”

By that, you know, she meant that they would become softer; but her daughter said to herself, “If Mother says the pies will come again, why shouldn’t I eat these now?” So, having good, young teeth, she set to work and ate the lot, first and last.

Now when supper-time came the woman said to her daughter, “Go you and get one of the pies.  They are sure to have come again by now.”

Then the girl went and looked, but of course there was nothing but the empty dishes.

So back she came and said, “No, Mother, they ain’t come again.”

“Not one o’ them?” asked the mother, taken aback like.

“Not one o’ them,” says the daughter, quite confident.

“Well,” says the mother, “come again, or not come again, I will have one of them pies for my supper.”

“But you can’t,” says the daughter.  “How can you if they ain’t come?  And they ain’t, as sure’s sure.”

“But I can,” says the mother, getting angry.  “Go you at once, child, and bring me the best on them.  My teeth must just tackle it.”

“Best or worst is all one,” answered the daughter, quite sulky, “for I’ve ate the lot, so you can’t have one till it comes again—­so there!”

Well, the mother she bounced up to see; but half an eye told her there was nothing save the empty dishes; so she was dished up herself and done for.

So, having no supper, she sate her down on the doorstep, and, bringing out her distaff, began to spin.  And as she span she sang: 

  “My daughter ha’ ate five pies to-day,
   My daughter ha’ ate five pies to-day,
   My daughter ha’ ate five pies to-day,”

for, see you, she was quite flabbergasted and fair astonished.

Now the King of that country happened to be coming down the street, and he heard the song going on and on, but could not quite make out the words.  So he stopped his horse, and asked: 

“What is that you are singing, my good woman?”

[Illustration:  “What is that you are singing, my good woman?”]

Now the mother, though horrified at her daughter’s appetite, did not want other folk, leastwise the King, to know about it, so she sang instead: 

  “My daughter ha’ spun five skeins to-day,
   My daughter ha’ spun five skeins to-day,
   My daughter ha’ spun five skeins to-day.”

“Five skeins!” cried the King.  “By my garter and my crown, I never heard tell of any one who could do that!  Look you here, I have been searching for a maiden to wife, and your daughter who can spin five skeins a day is the very one for me.  Only, mind you, though for eleven months of the year she shall be Queen indeed, and have all she likes to eat, all the gowns she likes to get, all the company she likes to keep, and everything her heart desires, in the twelfth month she must set to work and spin five skeins a day, and if she does not she must die.  Come! is it a bargain?”