ew that they were fine
animals, no worthless jades. So he went through the drove, and as he
walked noticed a sick filly, which he pitied because it looked so
neglected, but he did not think of choosing it. But, no matter how
much he turned and twisted, he always stopped beside this animal, for
he was very kind-hearted and told himself that, even if he could not
make much use of it, he could at least do the poor creature some
service.

"Who knows," he said, "if I should comb, brush, and curry it, perhaps
it may yet make a good horse!"

So he chose it, and resolved to take with him the pouch containing the
comb, brush, and curry-comb, in order to carefully tend his horse.

The old witch turned green with spite when she heard that the youth
had chosen this steed, for it was the very one. But what could she do?
She was obliged to keep her promise. She merely advised him to select
another, better animal, telling him that he would soon be without a
horse, and that good work deserved good wages, but at last she gave
it to him.

Still, a witch always remains a witch, and when the Poor Boy had
mounted, taken leave of her, and ridden off, she went to the big
caldron, took it off and mounted the tripod, then she changed herself
in face and figure and hurried after with the speed of curses, to
catch him, kill him, and get her horse back. The Poor Boy felt that
something terrible was pursuing him, and set spurs to his steed.

"It's no use to spur me," said the horse, "we can't outrun her, so
long as we are on her lands. But throw the comb behind you, to put an
obstacle in her way."

Now the Poor Boy knew that he had chosen wisely when he took the sick
filly. So he drew the comb out of the bag, flung it behind him, and it
instantly became a long, high fence, which the witch could not climb
over, so she was obliged to go a long way round, and he thus gained a
start.

"Throw down the brush," said the horse, when it again heard the
trampling of the tripod near them.

The rider threw the brush, which turned into a dense growth of reeds,
through which the old hag forced her way with much difficulty and many
a groan.

"Throw the curry-comb," cried the horse for the third time. When he
had flung that down, the Poor Boy looked back and saw a whole forest
of knives and swords, and among them the witch trying to get through
and being cut into mince-meat.

When they reached the seventh forest, where the witch's kingdom ended,
the