So Gobbolino stayed in the cottage, and although at first the girl tossed her head whenever she saw him, by and by, having no one else to talk to, she threw a remark or two at him while she wiped the pots and pans, till presently she was chattering merrily, and seemed to have forgotten her grudge against him.
“It was bad enough in the tower,” she grumbled. “But there was my lady who talked to me, and knights who came every day, bringing such beautiful presents! My lady gave me all her old dresses to wear, but here I am with nothing at all but this patched gown that I tore sadly when I ran through the forest. Oh, if only I could have one new dress!”
And that evening she plagued her grandfather to give her the money to buy one.
“No! No! No!” said the woodcutter. “Your old gown is good enough for the present. If I give you one now, when the colder weather comes you will say it is not warm enough and ask for another one. When the berries turn brown, you may ask me again, and perhaps I will give you one then.”
But his granddaughter could not wait till the berries turned brown.
She sulked and scolded and complained until the cottage echoed with her ill temper, and at last her grandfather gave her a silver coin to keep her quiet.
“If you cannot buy yourself a gown with that you will have to wait till the berries turn brown,” he said. “For I have no more to spare.”
His granddaughter was delighted, and gave the woodcutter several kisses.
Now there was nothing to do but wait for the pedlar-woman to pass by with her silks and satins and laces, stuff for fine dresses and cloaks and petticoats.
“Stay by the door, Gobbolino!” the woodcutter’s granddaughter told him as she polished the floor and wiped the dishes. “Watch for the pedlar-woman, and don’t fail to tell me if you see her coming!”
Gobbolino waited many days in vain, but at last he saw the pedlar-woman approaching through the forest, with her bundles of silks, satins, and laces, all tied on the back of a little donkey that trotted beside her.
“Here she comes, mistress! Here she comes!” cried Gobbolino, and the next moment his mistress was at the door.
“Stop, good mistress! Stop!” she cried to the pedlar-woman. “Come in by my fire and have a bowl of milk, and show me some of your wares!”
The pedlar-woman laughed as she tied up her donkey outside the cottage door.
“No pretty girl has ever let me past her door without asking me to walk inside!” she cackled, stepping into the woodcutter’s cottage with her arms full of her wares, which she laid on the kitchen table.
There was something about the pedlar-woman’s cackle that made Gobbolino prick his ears and look at her more closely. Before he had stared at her more than a few moments he felt sure that the old woman was a witch. Only witches laughed like that, and had such long crooked fingers and such long crooked noses.
He quite made up his mind about it when the woodcutter’s granddaughter began to turn over the silks and satins.
When she exclaimed:
“Oh! How I should love that crimson silk if it were only a little shade less purple!” The old woman just passed her hand over it, and – lo and behold! – it was exactly the shade the girl had dreamed of.
“Oh!” she cried. “How beautiful is this brocade! If only it had butterflies on it instead of birds!” And the next moment the birds were gone, while in their place fluttered gorgeous butterflies as large as life.
Gobbolino knew something of these tricks, but he did not like them, or the old pedlar-woman either.
He hid himself under the kitchen table and hoped nobody would notice him there.
At last the woodcutter’s granddaughter chose a splendid material of sheer gold, so bright that it glittered in the sunlight. Once she had seen this she would look at nothing else.
“How much would it cost to make me a dress of this beautiful gold satin?” she asked.
“Oh, that would cost two silver pieces!” said the pedlar-woman.
“And I have only one!” cried the girl, bursting into tears of vexation.
“The scarlet is very pretty, or the green,” said the pedlar-woman.
“I don’t want any of them except the gold,” said the girl. “Won’t you take a little less for it, madam? Oh, do!”
“What! Do you wish me to give my wares away?” said the pedlar-woman in a huff, gathering up her stuffs.
“Oh, stop! Stop! Won’t you take something in exchange?” begged the girl. “Won’t you take my silver piece and one of those excellent dough cakes I have in the oven?”
“Dough cakes ruin my digestion!” whined the pedlar-woman. “I live on berries from the forest and clear spring water. Don’t offer me your heavy dough cakes.”
The woodcutter’s granddaughter was offended, for she was an excellent cook, but she still wanted the gold satin very badly.
“Will you take my silk counterpane, perhaps?” she offered. “I made it with my own hands.”
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” croaked the pedlar-woman. “What should I want with a silk counterpane? I sleep in the ditches, side by side with my donkey. People would laugh to see us wrapped in silk embroidery. Don’t offer me your counterpane!”
The woodcutter’s granddaughter was hurt, for the counterpane was the finest thing she possessed, but she still wanted the gold satin very much indeed.
“Perhaps you would like our cuckoo clock?” she said.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” croaked the pedlar-woman. “I tell the time by the sun and the moon! It’s the whimbrel and the lark who chime my hours. Don’t offer me your cuckoo clock!”
The woodcutter’s granddaughter was very annoyed, for she had loved her grandfather’s clock ever since she was a tiny girl, but the longer she looked at the gold satin the more she wanted it for her own.
“Well, I don’t want any of the others,” she said crossly, pushing them across the table to the pedlar-woman. “I shall just go without, that’s all.”
“Stop a moment, there is just one thing I will take in exchange!” said the old dame. “At present I have no cat. If you will give me the handsome cat that is hiding under your table, as well as your silver piece, I will let you have the gold satin for your dress.”
“I dare not! I dare not!” said the woodcutter’s granddaughter. “The cat belongs to my grandfather, and he would never forgive me if I gave him away.”
“Well, no matter,” said the pedlar-woman, walking towards the door. “Perhaps your grandfather will give you another silver coin if you ask him prettily.”
“But you will be gone by then!” wept the girl.
“Three miles on, through the forest, there is a tinker’s hut,” said the pedlar-woman. “There you can find me for the next three nights. Goodbye, my daughter.”
But when the woodcutter came home, not all his granddaughter’s tears and prayers could win another silver coin from him.
When he found out that she had let the pedlar-woman go he was very angry.
“What? You refused a red or a green gown for the sake of a gold one you could not buy? Shame on you! What is one colour more than another? Now the pedlar-woman is gone, and you will have to wait for your dress until she comes back again.”
The next day the woodcutter’s granddaughter sulked all day long. She burned the cakes, left the pots dirty, and threw a frying pan at Gobbolino.
When her grandfather came home in the evening she begged him again to give her a silver coin, but he would not listen to her.
The next day she would not eat a thing from dawn till dark, but still he would have nothing to say when he came home to his tea.
The next day she spent weeping and walking up and down the floor, for it was the third day, and by evening the pedlar-woman would be gone.
She clenched her hands and stamped on the floor, while Gobbolino trembled in a corner, for whenever she caught sight of him she exclaimed:
“Don’t look at me like that! How dare you cast your dreadful blue eyes upon me when you have brought me to such misery! It is all your fault, I tell you, all your fault!”