The woman thought, ‘if only this fine yam were a daughter, how happy I should be.’ To her astonishment the yam answered, ‘If I were to become your daughter, would you promise never to reproach me with having been a yam?’
He had already married several wives, and nobody knew what had become of them.
‘This small key belongs to one small room on the ground‑floor, and this you must not open, or you will repent it sore.’
The lassie set out on her way, and walked many, many days, till she came to a lofty rock. Under it sat an old hag, and played with a gold apple which she tossed about.
Koschei the Deathless seized Marya Morevna and carried her off, and Prince Ivan sat down on a stone and wept. He wept and wept and started off in search of Marya Morevna.
‘What will you give me if I spin all this straw into gold for you?’ ‘My necklace,’ said the girl.
The uncle could not help thinking that he wished the little boy and girl would die, for then he should have all their money for himself.
‘Your pearls and jewels, and your golden crown are not for me,’ answered the frog; ‘but if you would love me, and have me for your companion, then would I dive below the water and fetch you your golden ball again.’
The Frog, as soon as he had received the King’s daughter's promise, drew his head under the water and dived down, swam up again with the ball in his mouth, and threw it on the grass.
There sat some giants by the fire, and each had a roasted sheep in his hand. The little tailor looked round and thought, ‘There is more elbow-room here than in my workshop.’
The King had an only daughter who was so serious that no one could make her laugh; therefore he had given out that whoever should make her laugh should have her in marriage.
‘Perhaps I can help thee, if thou wilt promise to give me the first thing that rubs itself against thy leg when thou art at home again, and to bring it here in twelve years' time, thou shalt have as much money as thou wilt.’
‘Be happy,’ cried the Nightingale, ‘be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover.’