She is all alone
        Like a dog-picked bone,
        The poor old crone! 
        She fain would groan,
    But she cannot find the breath. 
        She once had a fire;
        But she built it no higher,
        And only sat nigher
        Till she saw it expire;
    And now she is cold as death.

        She never will smile
        All the lonesome while. 
        Oh the mile after mile,
        And never a stile! 
    And never a tree or a stone! 
        She has not a tear: 
        Afar and anear
        It is all so drear,
        But she does not care,
    Her heart is as dry as a bone.

        None to come near her! 
        No one to cheer her! 
        No one to jeer her! 
        No one to hear her! 
    Not a thing to lift and hold! 
        She is always awake,
        But her heart will not break: 
        She can only quake,
        Shiver, and shake: 
    The old woman is very cold.

As strange as the song, was the crooning wailing tune that the wise woman sung.  At the first note almost, you would have thought she wanted to frighten the princess; and so indeed she did.  For when people will be naughty, they have to be frightened, and they are not expected to like it.  The princess grew angry, pulled her hand away, and cried,—­

“You are the ugly old woman.  I hate you!”

Therewith she stood still, expecting the wise woman to stop also, perhaps coax her to go on:  if she did, she was determined not to move a step.  But the wise woman never even looked about:  she kept walking on steadily, the same space as before.  Little Obstinate thought for certain she would turn; for she regarded herself as much too precious to be left behind.  But on and on the wise woman went, until she had vanished away in the dim moonlight.  Then all at once the princess perceived that she was left alone with the moon, looking down on her from the height of her loneliness.  She was horribly frightened, and began to run after the wise woman, calling aloud.  But the song she had just heard came back to the sound of her own running feet,—­

    All all alone,
    Like a dog-picked bone!

and again,—­

        She might call and shout,
        And no one about
    Would ever call back, “Who’s there?”

and she screamed as she ran.  How she wished she knew the old woman’s name, that she might call it after her through the moonlight!

But the wise woman had, in truth, heard the first sound of her running feet, and stopped and turned, waiting.  What with running and crying, however, and a fall or two as she ran, the princess never saw her until she fell right into her arms—­and the same moment into a fresh rage; for as soon as any trouble was over the princess was always ready to begin another.  The wise woman therefore pushed her away, and walked on; while the princess ran scolding and storming after her.  She had to run till, from very fatigue, her rudeness ceased.  Her heart gave way; she burst into tears, and ran on silently weeping.