Once upon a time there was an old man and an old woman; the old man had a daughter, and the old woman also had a daughter.
The old woman's daughter was ugly, lazy, sullen, and mean at heart; but because she was her mother's child, she was spoiled like a crow tangled in a snare, leaving all the hard work to the old man's daughter. The old man's daughter, however, was beautiful, hardworking, obedient, and kind-hearted. God had adorned her with every good and lovely gift. But this good girl was tormented both by her brash stepsister and her wicked stepmother; fortunately for her, God had also given her strength and patience—otherwise, woe to her skin.
The old man's daughter went uphill, the old man's daughter went downhill; she gathered sticks in the forest, carried the little grain sack to the mill, and went everywhere to do chores. From dawn to dusk she never rested; from one task she came, to another she went. Meanwhile, the old woman and her precious daughter complained and grumbled endlessly. To the old woman, the old man's daughter was a millstone in the house; her own girl, in contrast, was a basil plant fit to be set before icons.
When the two girls went together in the evenings to the village spinning-bee, the old man's daughter spun a whole sieve full of spindles, while the old woman's daughter managed, with great effort, barely one. Then, when they came home late at night, the old woman's daughter would jump quickly over the fence and tell the old man's daughter to hand her the sieve so she could hold it until she herself got over. Cunning as she was, she would then run into the house with the sieve and tell her mother and the old man that she had spun it all. In vain did the old man's daughter protest—it only earned her slaps from the old woman and her daughter, and she always had to give in.
On Sundays and holidays, the old woman's daughter was adorned and smoothed down like a calf had licked her head. She never missed a dance or a gathering in the village, while the old man's daughter was strictly forbidden from all such pleasures. And when the old man came home from wherever he had been, the old woman's mouth rattled on like a flax-breaker: that his daughter didn't listen, that she was insolent, lazy, bad-tempered… that she was this, that, and worse; and that he should drive her from the house and send her to work somewhere else, before she spoiled her own daughter.
The old man, being rather gullible—call him what you like—believed her every word. In his heart he might have wanted to speak up, but in his house the hen was now singing and the rooster had no say; and woe betide him if he dared contradict his wife, for both she and her daughter would fill his ears with endless reproaches.
One day, troubled by the old woman's constant complaints, he called his daughter and said:
"My dear child, this is what your stepmother keeps saying about you: that you don't obey, that you're disrespectful and insolent, and that you can't stay in my house anymore. So go wherever God directs you, so there's no more quarrelling here because of you. But take my advice, as your father: wherever you go, be obedient, gentle, and diligent. Here at home you've gotten by somehow—there was still a father's mercy in the balance! But among strangers, God knows what kind of people you'll meet, and they won't put up with what we have endured."
Seeing that her stepmother and stepsister would stop at nothing to drive her away, the poor girl kissed her father's hand and, with tears in her eyes, set out into the world, leaving her home behind with no hope of return.
She walked on and on, until one day she came across a sickly little dog, so thin you could count its ribs. Seeing the girl, the dog said:
"Beautiful and hardworking girl, take pity on me and care for me, and I'll repay you someday!"
The girl, moved with compassion, washed and tended the little dog until it was clean and comfortable. Then she went on her way, happy to have done a good deed.
Not long after, she came to a beautiful flowering pear tree, but it was covered with caterpillars. Seeing her, the pear tree said:
"Beautiful and hardworking girl, please tend to me and rid me of these pests, and I'll repay you someday!"
Diligent as ever, she cleaned the tree carefully of all the dead wood and caterpillars, then went on her way.
Further along, she came to a muddy, neglected well. The well said:
"Beautiful and hardworking girl, please clean and care for me, and I'll repay you someday!"
She cleared the well and made it fresh again, then walked on. Later she found a crumbling oven, nearly falling apart. The oven said:
"Beautiful and hardworking girl, please patch and tend me, and I might repay you someday!"
She rolled up her sleeves, mixed clay, repaired, and smoothed the oven until it looked brand new. Then she washed her hands and continued on.
Walking day and night, she eventually lost her way. Yet she kept her trust in God and went forward until, one morning, she came to a lovely clearing in a dark forest, where stood a little cottage shaded by willows. An old woman greeted her kindly:
"What are you doing here, child, and who are you?"
"Who am I, auntie? Just a poor girl, without mother or father—only the Lord above knows what I've suffered since my own mother folded her hands across her chest. I seek a master to serve, and, wandering from place to place, I've lost my way. God must have guided me to your house, so I beg you to shelter me."
"Poor girl!" said the old woman. "Indeed, God Himself must have brought you here to spare you from danger. I am Saint Sunday. Serve me today, and tomorrow you will not leave my house empty-handed."
The girl agreed. Saint Sunday told her: "Wash my children, who are sleeping now, and feed them; then cook for me, so that when I return from church the food will be neither cold nor too hot, but just right."
The girl set to work—first making the bath ready, then calling:
"Children, children, come to mother for a wash!"
When she looked outside, she saw the yard and forest swarming with dragons and all sorts of strange creatures! But trusting in God, she bathed and tended each one with care, then cooked a fine meal. When Saint Sunday returned and saw her children washed and the house in order, she rejoiced. After eating, she told the girl to go up into the attic and choose any chest she liked as her payment—but not to open it until she was home.
In the attic there were many chests, some new and beautiful, others old and ugly. Not greedy, the girl chose the oldest, plainest one. Saint Sunday frowned slightly, but blessed her. The girl hoisted the chest onto her back and headed home.
On the way back, the oven she had repaired was full of golden, fragrant pies. She ate her fill and took some with her. At the well she found crystal-clear, ice-cold water, with two silver cups; she drank and took the cups along. The pear tree she had tended was laden with golden pears, sweet as honey; she ate and carried some away. The little dog she had helped was now healthy and beautiful, with a necklace of gold coins, which it gave to her in thanks.
She reached her father's house, and he wept with joy. She gave him the gold necklace and silver cups; then they opened the chest—and out poured herds of horses, cattle, and sheep, enriching the old man on the spot. The old woman was boiling with envy.
Her daughter then declared: "Don't worry, mother, I'll bring back even more!"
She set out on the same road, but when the sick dog, the infested pear tree, the muddy well, and the broken oven asked for help, she mocked them:
"As if I'd soil my pretty little hands for you! Have you ever had a servant like me?"
They let her pass. At Saint Sunday's she behaved rudely, scalded the children in their bath, and ruined the food. Still, Saint Sunday told her to choose a chest. Greedy, she picked the newest and prettiest one, and ran off without even saying goodbye.
On the way home, the oven was full of pies—but when she reached for one, the fire burned her. The well's cups sank, and the water vanished. The pear tree grew so tall its fruit was far beyond reach. The dog bit her fingers when she tried to take its gold necklace.
Finally home, she and her mother opened the chest—and out rushed a swarm of dragons that devoured them both, chest and all.