reached the palace and sat down in the courtyard near the gate, Zloboha ran up to him at once.
“What do you want for that spindle?” she asked.
“Two hands,” the boy said.
“It’s a strange thing you won’t sell anything for money.”
“I have to ask what my father tells me to ask.”
Zloboha was in a quandary. She wanted the golden spindle, for it was very beautiful. It would go well with the spinning wheel and would be something to be proud of. Yet she didn’t want to be left without anything that had belonged to Dobrunka.
“But really, mother,” she whined, “I don’t see why I have to keep something of Dobrunka’s so that Dobromil will love me as he loved her. I’m sure I’m as pretty as Dobrunka ever was.”
“Well,” said the old woman, “it would be better if you kept them. I’ve often heard that’s a good way to guard a man’s love. However, do as you like.”
For a moment Zloboha was undecided. Then, tossing her head, she ran and got the hands and gave them to the boy.
Zloboha took the spindle and, delighted with her bargain, carried it into her chamber where she had the wheel and distaff. The old woman was a little troubled,
