ONCE upon a time, long, and long, and very long ago, there were a King and a Queen of Ireland who had one daughter, called Maeve. And a beautiful girl she was, the loveliest in all the kingdom of Ireland, and as sweet and good as she was lovely.

Now the Queen died, and the King married again, a woman who had one daughter, called Sorcha. And an ugly girl she was, and as unlikable and ill-tempered as she was ugly. The new Queen right heartily disliked Maeve because she was so much more beautiful than— her own daughter.

Now it happened at this time that the King of Greece died, and the young Prince, his son, who was to succeed him, went traveling over Europe, searching for a fitting and beautiful girl, to be his wife and the Queen of Greece. And he reached Ireland and rode all around it on his search.

When the Queen, Maeve’s stepmother, heard that he was nearing their castle, she called on all the dressmakers and  the beautifiers, and had her daughter, Sorcha, trimmed and trigged and dressed and beautified in the grandest and best fashion, feeling sure that the Prince would pick her to be his Queen.

And to get beautiful Maeve out of the way and place her beyond all chance, she put her in a ragged dress and tied an old handkerchief on her head, and sent her out to herd the geese.

Now as the Prince rode up to the castle he caught just one glimpse of Maeve through a hedge, and was instantly smitten with love of her.

And when he came into the castle and met the Queen, he told her that as he rode up here he caught a glimpse of the most beautiful goosegirl ever he had seen in all his life, and he would like to see more of her.

“Not at all,” says the Queen, says she. “That goosegirl is only a beggar-woman’s daughter, who would disgrace you, and is one of the ugliest girls in Ireland. But,” says she, “I have here my own daughter, the most beautiful of all Ireland’s girls. You will fall in love with her the instant you see her, and she will make a proud Queen of Greece.”

But when Sorcha was brought in, and the Prince saw her, lie was disgusted with her ugliness. “I will go out,” says he, “and seek the goosegirl.”

And he found Maeve, and the instant he met her and got a good look at her, he fell still deeper in love with her, over head and heels, and he said to his attendants, “I don’t care if she is a goosegirl and a beggar-woman’s daughter. I’ll make her the Queen of Greece!”

But as he would propose to her, twenty soldiers sent out by the Queen seized her and whisked her away,, and off to the castle with her, before he knew what he was about. Then the Prince had a consultation with his Commanders and attendants, who rode with him, and with them agreed that they would go to the castle that night and carry off Maeve. From a herd boy he learned that she was the real Princess of Ireland. And he hired the herd boy, who knew where Maeve slept, to direct them to her chamber in the middle of the night.

Now the herd boy gossiped to the servants at the castle about what he was hired to do, and they told their mistress, the Queen. And lo and behold didn’t she that night put her own ugly daughter, Sorcha, to sleep in Maeve’s bedchamber and bed, while she put Maeve to sleep in Sorcha’s bed. And when the Prince and his company, directed by the herd boy, came to the castle, wasn’t it the sleeping Sorcha that they wrapped up in her bedclothes and carried off with them, instead of Maeve. The Prince had her before him on his horse as he galloped away.

All night they galloped, till, in the morning, when they felt they were safe from pursuit, they halted at another castle, and wasn’t this the castle of the bad Queen’s sister, and Sorcha’s aunt. They asked for hospitality at the castle, and when they unwrapped the girl—behold you—didn’t the Prince find that it was the ugly one he had, instead of the beautiful one he was in love with. In disgust he put her away, and told her aunt to send her home again, and that he would return and never come back without the beautiful Maeve.

At this, Sorcha’s aunt flew into a rage. Bad as was her sister, the Queen, she was a worse woman still, and a witch besides. And as the young Prince rode out of the castle gates, she cast her spells on him, changing him into a hawk. But if she changed him into a hawk, she couldn’t change his heart. And the hawk still loved the beautiful Maeve, for he flew for the King of Ireland’s castle, and lit in the trees beside it; and when Maeve came out to walk, the hawk flew down and lit on her shoulder, and gentle Maeve stroked and petted it. And it journeyed with her wherever she went. When she came back to the castle it flew up into the trees again. But every time that Maeve came abroad, the hawk always flew down upon her shoulder, and went with her. And when at length it discovered Maeve’s window, it flew in at the window at night and nestled in her bosom as she slept.

Word spread about this hawk that had come to be such a favorite with Maeve; and the Queen heard of it, and she soon suspected that the bird was the Prince of Greece himself. And she sent the news to her evil sister, the witch, who then at once turned the Prince into a hound.

But now, whenever Maeve went out, there was a beautiful hound waiting for her. It put its feet on her shoulders and licked her face, and the gentle Maeve stroked and petted it, and with Maeve it journeyed wherever she went. Always it was with her, hither and thither, and she fondling it. And at length it followed her into the castle, and lay and slept at night across the threshold of her chamber.

All the castle began to talk about the hound, and in a short time it reached the ears of the Queen, and she knew that it was the Prince of Greece. So she sent word to her sister, the witch, who then turned him into a green linnet. And, at the same time, she ordered the Queen to imprison Maeve in the topmost room of the highest tower of the castle, where she would pine away and die. And poor Maeve was imprisoned in the topmost room of the highest tower, where the Queen expected every day to hear of her death.

Now the linnet flew into the trees around the castle, and ,sang there, and waited to see Maeve come out for a walk. But Maeve never came out. And the linnet kept flying and flying around the castle, and watching and watching, and singing and singing, in hope to see or to attract Maeve—but never once could it catch a glimpse of her. Until at last, one day, sitting and singing on a tree underneath the tower, it looked up and caught a glimpse of Maeve’s small white hand fluttering a handkerchief to it from between the bars of the highest tower window.

Now it happened that there was one very, very tall poplar tree that grew by the tower, and whose top reached close to Maeve’s window. Up into the top branches of the poplar the green linnet flew, rejoicing, and sang and sang all day to Maeve, and flew in through her window at night, and slept nestling in her bosom. And every day and every night after this, the same it did. And the green linnet and Maeve were as happy as the day was long, and as happy as the night was peaceful.

Every day the Queen was inquiring of the servant who brought bread and water for food twice a day to the Princess if Maeve was losing her color, or pining away and dying. But to her surprise and anger, she was hearing the servant every new day report that Maeve, instead of losing her color, was getting redder and rosier, and brighter and lovelier than she had ever been before, and the eyes of her sparkling with joy.

Then the Queen had a watch set, and soon discovered that the linnet was sitting and singing to Maeve from the poplar tree, through the day, and nestling in her bosom at night. Terribly angry at this, she sent word of it at once to her witch sister. And her sister then cast her spells, and turned the poplar tree into a great, hissing, biting serpent, and every branch into a little serpent, hissing and biting. And when the linnet would perch on the tree to sing to Maeve,, the tree and all its branches hissed and dabbed and bit the poor linnet sorely, till the blood flowed from twenty wounds. Maeve tried to persuade the linnet to go away, but so great was its love for Maeve that it wouldn’t do so. When it looked as if the poor linnet would bleed to death, Maeve remembered the Yellow River of All-Healing, that flowed in the mountains a hundred miles from the castle, and told the linnet of it, and sent it off to get healed.

The linnet flew off to the Yellow River of All-Healing; and when it was bathing in the river, the Queen’s evil sister came to it, and offered, if it would, give up Maeve and marry Sorcha, to turn it back into its own shape again—and on the marriage day she would bestow on the Prince a rare gold mine in the mountains. But the linnet would not listen, and said it would sooner suffer a hundred years and sing to its true love Maeve, than marry Sorcha and get with her a world full of gold.

After bathing in the River of All-Healing, the linnet was completely recovered again, and flew back to the castle and to the hissing poplar tree, where it sat and sang sweeter than ever to Maeve in her tower room. But the tree hissed and darted and dabbed, and bit the poor linnet, till it was covered with wounds worse than before, and ready to drop. Then Maeve begged of it to go away again to the Yellow River of All-Healing.

Away to the River it flew; and when it was bathing itself in the River of All-Healing, the evil woman came to it again and tried to bribe and to tempt it, and offered to give it not only its own shape as Prince of Greece again, but likewise a rare gold mine and a mountain of gold on the day it would marry Sorcha. But the linnet scorned her offer and would not listen; and when it had bathed and was completely recovered, it flew back once more to the castle and to the poplar tree, where it lit on the topmost branch and began singing more sweetly than ever to Maeve in her tower room.

The poplar tree and its branches hissed and dabbed and darted and bit and tore at the poor linnet, till it could stand it no longer and was ready to drop down dead. And on Maeve’s advice it started off once more for the Yellow River of All-Healing. But so weak and so ill it was from loss of blood, and so sorely suffering, that it dropped and fell a hundred times on the way, and only just barely reached the river, for the last mile trailing itself along the ground with its wings dragging. And barely the last drop of life was left in it, and the last drop of blood in its heart when it reached the river.

Now, when the evil woman tempted it, this day, it was weary and worn and heart-sore indeed, yet it refused her offer, telling her that as Maeve was its heart’s love, Maeve it could never forget; and if it ever married another, it would never know a happy hour because of its thoughts and regrets for Maeve.

Then the evil woman told it that she would relieve it of its heart pain, too, because by her powers she could give it forgetfulness, so that the thought of Maeve would never again trouble its mind.

So weary and worn and heart-sore the linnet was, and so sure that it never could survive another hour on the cruel poplar tree, that at length it gave in to be turned back into its own shape again as Prince of Greece and take Sorcha to that country. But on condition that he was not to marry Sorcha for seven years and a day after, in order to make sure that thoughts of Maeve would not come to trouble him and make him unhappy again. The evil woman agreed to this, and turned him into his own shape as the handsome young Prince of Greece, and he took Sorcha away with him to his own country.