This game without doubt is the most curious of our collection, both on account of its own quaintness, and because of the extraordinary relation in which it stands to the child's lore of Europe. We have, in a note, endeavored to show that our American versions give the most ancient and adequate representation now existing of a childish drama which has diverged into numerous branches, and of which almost every trait has set up for itself as an independent game. Several of these offshoots are centuries old, and exist in many European tongues; while, so far as appears, their original has best maintained itself in the childish tradition of the New World. Among a great number of German forms, only one (from Suabia) nearly corresponds to ours, with the exception of a corrupted ending. In this childish drama a mother has many children, who sleep. In her absence comes "Old Urschel" with her two daughters, the "Night-maidens" (a sort of fairies), who steal three children, and carry them off to their cave (hiding them behind their extended dresses). The mother visits Urschel's abode to complain of the theft, but the "Night-maidens," with deprecating gestures, deny any knowledge of the lost. The action is then repeated, the eldest daughter (who plays the same part as in our first version) being taken last. When the mother's complaints are useless, she becomes a witch. The next day Urschel takes her stolen family for a walk. The mother comes up and pulls the dress of a child; by her magic art all feel it at the same time, and cry to Urschel, "Oh, mother, somebody is pulling my gown!" The latter replies, "It must be a dog." The mother then asks and obtains leave to join the party, but endeavors to bewitch (or disenchant) her children, who cry, "The Witch of London!" and scatter, but are captured by the latter and turned into witches.[142] In Sweden the mother is called "Lady Sun." An old woman enters, propped on a cane, goes to Lady Sun's house and knocks. "Who is that knocking at my door?" "An old woman, halt and blind, asks the way to Lady Sun; is she at home?" "Yes." The old woman points out a child, and asks, "Dear Lady Sun, may I have a chicken?" She is refused at first, but by piteous entreaties obtains her wish, and returns, until all the "chickens" are carried off. "She was not so lame as she made believe," says Lady Sun, looking after her.