Mother Holle and the Feather Pillows in the Clouds

In a small village at the edge of the forest lived a girl named Elin. She was kind and hard-working, and every morning she sat by the old well in the yard to spin her flax. The sun wandered across the sky, the wind hummed in the alder trees, and her spinning wheel whirred like a sleepy bumblebee. Elin sang softly to herself as the thread grew between her fingers.

One day Elin worked so eagerly that she pricked her finger on the spindle, and a small red drop fell onto the thread. She leaned over the edge of the well to rinse the spindle clean in the cool water. But the spindle slipped from her hand, glinted once in the sun, and vanished into the deep, dark water. Elin held her breath and stared down into the well.

She knew she could not go home without her spindle. Elin took a deep breath, leaned forward, and jumped straight down into the well. The water closed around her, but it was not cold, it was soft as moss and quiet as a dream. She fell slowly, slowly, as if an invisible hand were carrying her downward, and her eyelids grew heavy.

When Elin opened her eyes again, she was lying in the loveliest meadow she had ever seen. The grass was green as a summer field, the flowers glowed in every color, and the sky was a soft, clear blue that stretched as far as the eye could see. The air smelled of fresh-baked bread and ripe apples. Elin stood up slowly and looked around, quite amazed.

She wandered across the meadow and soon came to a stone oven where loaves of bread were baking. The loaves called out in small, warm voices: 'Take us out, take us out, or we'll burn!' Elin did not hesitate. She took a long baker's paddle and gently drew out one golden loaf after another, setting them on a mossy stone to cool.

A little further on, Elin saw an apple tree heavy with red, shining apples. The tree rustled its branches softly and said: 'Shake me, shake me, my apples are all ripe!' Elin wrapped her arms around the knotted trunk and shook as gently as she could. The apples fell like a soft rain shower, and she gathered them into a neat little pile beneath the branches.