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When the old witch got up next morning, she called her daughter,

and wanted to give her the apron, but she did not come. Then the

witch cried: 'Where are you?' 'Here, on the stairs, I am

sweeping,' answered the first drop of blood. The old woman went

out, but saw no one on the stairs, and cried again: 'Where are

you?' 'Here in the kitchen, I am warming myself,' cried the

second drop of blood. She went into the kitchen, but found no

one. Then she cried again: 'Where are you?' 'Ah, here in the bed,

I am sleeping,' cried the third drop of blood. She went into the

room to the bed. What did she see there? Her own child, whose

head she had cut off, bathed in her blood. The witch fell into a

passion, sprang to the window, and as she could look forth quite

far into the world, she perceived her stepdaughter hurrying away

with her sweetheart Roland.