“It does not please me,” said the fiddler, “to hear you always wishing for another husband. Am I not good enough for you?” At last they came to a very little hut, and she said, “Oh, goodness! what a small house! To whom does this miserable, mean hovel belong?” The fiddler answered, “That is my house and yours, where we shall live together.” She had to stoop in order to go in at the low door. “Where are the servants?” said the King’s Daughter. “What servants?” answered the beggar man. “You must do what you wish to have done. Just make a fire at once, and set on water to cook my supper. I am quite tired.” But the King’s Daughter knew nothing about lighting fires or cooking, and the beggar man had to lend a hand himself to get anything fairly done. When they had finished their scanty meal they went to bed; but he forced her to get up quite early in the morning in order to look after the house. For a few days, they lived in this way as well as might be, and ate up all the food in the house. Then the man said, “Wife, we cannot go on any longer eating and drinking here and earning nothing. You must weave baskets.” He went out, cut some willows, and brought them home. Then she began to weave, but the tough willows wounded her delicate hands. “I see that this will not do,” said the man; “you had better spin; perhaps you can do that.” She sat down and tried to spin, but the hard thread soon cut her soft fingers so that the blood ran down. “See,” said the man, “you are fit for no sort of work. I have made a bad bargain with you. Now, I will try to earn a living by selling pots and earthenware. You must sit in the market-place and sell the ware.” “Alas,” thought she, “if any of the people from my father’s kingdom come to the market and see me sitting there, selling, how they will mock me!” But it was of no use, she had to yield unless she chose to die of hunger. For the first time, she succeeded well, for the people were glad to buy the woman’s wares because she was good-looking, and they paid her what she asked. Many even gave her the money and left the pots with her as well. So they lived on what she had earned as long as it lasted. Then the husband bought a lot of new crockery. With this she sat down at the corner of the market-place, and set it around her ready for sale. But suddenly there came a drunken soldier galloping along, and he rode right amongst the pots, so that they were all broken into a thousand bits. She began to weep, and did not know what to do for fear. “Alas! what will happen to me?” cried she; “what will my husband say to this?” She ran home and told him of the misfortune. “Who would seat herself at a corner of the market-place with crockery?” said the man. “Leave off crying. I see very well that you cannot do ordinary work, so I have been to our King’s palace and have asked whether they cannot find a place for a kitchen-maid. They have promised me to take you. In that way, you will get your food for nothing.”