There was not a blade of grass nor a bit of green to be seen on the hill, but only a great lot of round, black stones scattered from top to bottom. That was all that was left of the lads who had come that way before to find the White Bird. [Illustration: The Prince finds the sword of brightness where sits an old man. ∥] On the top of the mountain sat an old witch with golden hair, and in her hand was the White Bird. The prince opened his Book of Knowledge, and there he read that if one would gain the White Bird one would have to catch the witch by her golden hair, for then she would be compelled to grant whatever was asked of her; only he would have to be very careful in his doings, for if the witch caught sight of him upon the black hill she would change him into a stone just as she had all the rest who had come that way. But how was he to climb the hill without the witch seeing him? That was what the prince would like to know. So he turned over another leaf of the Book of Knowledge, and there it was all in plain black and white. This was what it said: “_Crack the egg of the white hen and put on the cap._” The prince cracked the egg, and, sure enough, inside of it was a little cap of feathers. He put on the feather cap and—whisk!—as quick as a wink he was changed into a titmouse, which is the least of all the birds in that land. He spread his wings and flew and flew and flew, until he was close behind the witch where she sat on the black mountain. He took off his cap and there he was in his own shape again. He caught the old witch by her golden hair and held her fast. And you should have heard how she screamed and scolded, and you should have seen how she twisted and turned! But the prince just held fast, and she could make nothing of it for all her trying. “And what do you want, that you come here to torment me?” said she at last. “I want the White Bird,” said the prince; “and I will be satisfied with nothing else.” It was all to no purpose that the old witch stormed and scolded, for what he had said he had said, and he would be satisfied with nothing else. So at last, willy-nilly, she had to give him what he asked for. The prince took it in his hands, and it was a white bird no longer, but the prettiest lass that ever a body’s eyes looked upon, with cheeks as red as roses and a skin as white as snow. But still the prince held tight to the old witch’s hair, and now what else was it he was wanting. Why, before he would let her go, she must change all the round stones back again into the lads of flesh and blood they had been before. So the old witch had to do that also, and there stood so many good stout lads in the place of the hard, round stones. But still the prince held fast to her golden hair. And what else was it he was wanting?