The Princess ascended a narrow, winding staircase and reached a little door. A rusty key was sticking in the lock, and when she turned it the door flew open. In a little room sat an old woman with a spindle, spinning her flax busily.
And a rumor went abroad in all that country of the beautiful sleeping Rosamond, for so was the Princess called; and from time to time many Kings' sons came and tried to force their way through the hedge.
The Princess had no sooner taken the spindle than it ran into her hand, and she fell down in a swoon.
Silver-Locks peeped in, and soon found the place was empty; so the saucy puss made up her mind to go in boldly.
The red-hot fire is built, the bubbling pot is hung, the steely knives are sharpened.