He was Long Beard who lived in the mountains and of whom Lenka had often heard stories.
He came in dragging after him a heavy bag of golden ducats.
“I was that old beggar,” he said, “whose face you washed and with whom you shared your supper. These ducats are to reward you for your kindness. Now go into your bedroom and lie down comfortably.”
As he said this he vanished.
Lenka went into her bedroom and there, instead of her few rags on the floor, was a fine feather bed and coverlets and a painted chest full of clothes. Lenka lay down on the feather bed and instantly fell asleep.
On the third day her father came, supposing by that time Lenka had either died of hunger or been devoured by wild beasts. At least, he thought, he would gather together her bones.
But when he reached the hut he rubbed his eyes in surprise. Instead of the rough hut, there was a pretty little cottage and instead of a handful of bones there was a happy girl singing away at her spinning.
“My daughter, my daughter!” he cried. “How are you?”
“Very well, dear father. You couldn’t have found a better place for me.”
