Now it chanced upon a sunny afternoon in summer that the Goosegirl lay on her back in the long grass before the hut. Now and then she tossed a handful of corn to her quacking geese or played with a wreath of wild daisies. But her thoughts were far away. Her eyes were full of the wonder of things,--of the sun that shone, the brook that laughed, the flowers that bloomed, the birds that sang, and the blue sky over all. And her dreams were full of the World of Men, which she had never seen and to which she longed to go. Something within her whispered that happiness was to be found there, and the Goosegirl desired happiness above all things. And she desired kindness and love, too, although she had never heard of them, and did not know what they were. As far back as she could remember, ever since she was a tiny little child, the Goosegirl had lived in the wretched hut. And the hideous Witch had been her only companion. The Goosegirl wondered whether all the people in the World of Men had such gruesome bodies, such ugly faces, such evil ways, as the Witch. She had never seen any one else, so she could not tell. For fear of the Witch no one had ever come that way. Winter and summer, summer and winter, it had always been the same. The Goosegirl's dreams were suddenly interrupted by the hoarse voice of the Witch. "Where are you, good-for-naught?" came from the doorway. "Idle, I'll be bound, when there's work to be done!" The Goosegirl turned her eyes toward the figure of the Witch, and, familiar as it was, for the thousandth time she shuddered with disgust. The crooked back, the burning eyes peering out from under the tangled hair, the rags, the ugliness,--oh, must she always stay? She arose slowly and walked toward the door. With hands outstretched she begged the hideous creature to set her free and to let her go down to the World of Men to seek for happiness. "I will never become a Witch," she implored. "Oh, please let me go." The Witch's crooked mouth widened into a horrible smile. One yellow tooth stuck out. "Not make a Witch of you, indeed! Wait and see! I'll bend your proud back!" Then brandishing her cane, she muttered savagely: "Get to work. There's bread to knead!" The frightened Goosegirl ran for bowl and flour, and set to work. Meanwhile the Witch took out some dark powders. She mumbled strange words over them, and while the Goosegirl, with busy hands but unseeing eyes, kneaded and kneaded and kneaded, the Witch poured the powders into the dough. Poor Goosegirl! Her bread was soon finished, but it was a foul-smelling bread, and it contained enough poison to kill a dozen men.