“O Oven!  Oven! hide me
   So as the witch can’t find me,
   For if she does she’ll pick my bones,
   And bury them under the garden stones.”

Then the oven said, “I am afraid there is no room for you, as another batch of bread is baking; but there is the baker—­ask him.”

So she asked the baker, and he said, “Of course I will.  You saved my last batch from being burnt; so run into the bakehouse, you will be quite safe there, and I will settle the witch for you.”

So she hid in the bakehouse, only just in time, for there was the old witch calling angrily: 

  “O Man of mine!  Man of mine! 
   Have you seen my naughty little maid
   With a willy willy wag and a great big bag,
   Who’s stole my money—­all I had?”

Then the baker replied, “Look in the oven.  She may be there.”

And the witch alighted from her broomstick and peered into the oven:  but she could see no one.

“Creep in and look in the farthest corner,” said the baker slyly, and the witch crept in, when——­

Bang!——­

he shut the door in her face, and there she was roasting.  And when she came out with the bread she was all crisp and brown, and had to go home as best she could and put cold cream all over her!

But the kind, obliging little girl got safe home with her bag of money.

Now the ill-tempered elder sister was very jealous of this good luck, and determined to get a bag of gold for herself.  So she in her turn packed up a bundle and started to seek service by the same road.  But when she came to the oven, and the loaves begged her to take them out because they had been baking seven years and were nigh to burning, she tossed her head and said: 

“A likely story indeed, that I should burn my fingers to save your crusts.  No, thank you!”

And with that she went on till she came across the cow standing waiting to be milked beside the pail.  But when the cow said: 

“Little girl!  Little girl!  Milk me!  Please milk me, I’ve waited seven years to be milked——­”

She only laughed and replied, “You may wait another seven years for all I care.  I’m not your dairymaid!”

And with that she went on till she came to the apple tree, all overburdened by its fruit.  But when it begged her to shake its branches, she only giggled, and plucking one ripe apple, said: 

“One is enough for me:  you can keep the rest yourself.”  And with that she went on munching the apple, till she came to the witch-woman’s house.

Now the witch-woman, though she had got over being crisp and brown from the oven, was dreadfully angry with all little maid-servants, and made up her mind this one should not trick her.  So for a long time she never went out of the house; thus the ill-tempered sister never had a chance of looking up the chimney, as she had meant to do at once.  And she had to dust, and clean, and brush, and sweep ever so hard, until she was quite tired out.