“O sister, O sister, then reach me your glove!” she cried, as she floated further away, “and you shall have your William again.”

“Sink on,” cried the cruel princess, “no hand or glove of mine you’ll touch. Sweet William will be all mine when you are sunk beneath the bonny mill-stream of Binnorie.” And she turned and went home to the king’s castle.

And the princess floated down the mill-stream, sometimes swimming and sometimes sinking, till she came near the mill. Now the miller’s daughter was cooking that day, and needed water for her cooking. And as she went to draw it from the stream, she saw something floating towards the mill-dam, and she called out, “Father! father! draw your dam. There’s something white–a merry maid or a milk-white swan– coming down the stream.” So the miller hastened to the dam and stopped the heavy cruel mill-wheels. And then they took out the princess and laid her on the bank.

Fair and beautiful she looked as she lay there. In her golden hair were pearls and precious stones; you could not see her waist for her golden girdle; and the golden fringe of her white dress came down over her lily feet. But she was drowned, drowned!

And as she lay there in her beauty a famous harper passed by the mill- dam of Binnorie, and saw her sweet pale face. And though he travelled on far away he never forgot that face, and after many days he came back to the bonny mill-stream of Binnorie. But then all he could find of her where they had put her to rest were her bones and her golden hair. So he made a harp out of her breast-bone and her hair, and travelled on up the hill from the mill-dam of Binnorie, till he came to the castle of the king her father.

That night they were all gathered in the castle hall to hear the great harper–king and queen, their daughter and son, Sir William and all their Court. And first the harper sang to his old harp, making them joy and be glad or sorrow and weep just as he liked. But while he sang he put the harp he had made that day on a stone in the hall. And presently it began to sing by itself, low and clear, and the harper stopped and all were hushed.

And this was what the harp sung:

Then they all wondered, and the harper told them how he had seen the princess lying drowned on the bank near the bonny mill-dams o’ Binnorie, and how he had afterwards made this harp out of her hair and breast-bone. Just then the harp began singing again, and this was what it sang out loud and clear:

And the harp snapped and broke, and never sang more.

The Mouse went to visit the Cat, and found her sitting behind the hall door, spinning.

MOUSE. What are you doing, my lady, my lady, What are you doing, my lady?

CAT (sharply). I’m spinning old breeches, good body, good body I’m spinning old breeches, good body.

MOUSE. Long may you wear them, my lady, my lady, Long may you wear them, my lady.

CAT (gruffly). I’ll wear’ em and tear ’em, good body, good body. I’ll wear ’em and tear ’em, good body.

MOUSE. I was sweeping my room, my lady, my lady, I was sweeping my room, my lady.

CAT. The cleaner you’d be, good body, good body, The cleaner you’d be, good body.

MOUSE. I found a silver sixpence, my lady, my lady, I found a silver sixpence, my lady.

CAT. The richer you were, good body, good body, The richer you were, good body.

MOUSE. I went to the market, my lady, my lady, I went to the market, my lady.

CAT. The further you went, good body, good body The further you went, good body.

MOUSE. I bought me a pudding, my lady, my lady, I bought me a pudding, my lady.

CAT (snarling). The more meat you had, good body, good body, The more meat you had, good body.

MOUSE. I put it in the window to cool, my lady, I put it in the window to cool.

CAT. (sharply). The faster you’d eat it, good body, good body, The faster you’d eat it, good body.

MOUSE (timidly). The cat came and ate it, my lady, my lady, The cat came and ate it, my lady.

CAT (pouncingly). And I’ll eat you, good body, good body, And I’ll eat you, good body.

(Springs upon the mouse and kills it.)

Well, there was once a very rich gentleman, and he’d three daughters, and he thought he’d see how fond they were of him. So he says to the first, “How much do you love me, my dear?”

“Why,” says she, “as I love my life.”

“That’s good,” says he.

So he says to the second, “How much do you love me, my dear?”

“Why,” says she, “better nor all the world.”

“That’s good,” says he.

So he says to the third, “How much do you love me, my dear?”

“Why, I love you as fresh meat loves salt,” says she.

Well, he was that angry. “You don’t love me at all,” says he, “and in my house you stay no more.” So he drove her out there and then, and shut the door in her face.

Well, she went away on and on till she came to a fen, and there she gathered a lot of rushes and made them into a kind of a sort of a cloak with a hood, to cover her from head to foot, and to hide her fine clothes. And then she went on and on till she came to a great house.

“Do you want a maid?” says she.

“No, we don’t,” said they.

“I haven’t nowhere to go,” says she; “and I ask no wages, and do any sort of work,” says she.

“Well,” says they, “if you like to wash the pots and scrape the saucepans you may stay,” said they.

So she stayed there and washed the pots and scraped the saucepans and did all the dirty work. And because she gave no name they called her "Cap o’ Rushes.”

Well, one day there was to be a great dance a little way off, and the servants were allowed to go and look on at the grand people. Cap o’ Rushes said she was too tired to go, so she stayed at home.

But when they were gone she offed with her cap o’ rushes, and cleaned herself, and went to the dance. And no one there was so finely dressed as her.

Well, who should be there but her master’s son, and what should he do but fall in love with her the minute he set eyes on her. He wouldn’t dance with any one else.

But before the dance was done Cap o’ Rushes slipt off, and away she went home. And when the other maids came back she was pretending to be asleep with her cap o’ rushes on.

Well, next morning they said to her, “You did miss a sight, Cap o’ Rushes!”

“What was that?” says she.

“Why, the beautifullest lady you ever see, dressed right gay and ga’. The young master, he never took his eyes off her.”

“Well, I should have liked to have seen her,” says Cap o’ Rushes.

“Well, there’s to be another dance this evening, and perhaps she’ll be there.”

But, come the evening, Cap o’ Rushes said she was too tired to go with them. Howsoever, when they were gone, she offed with her cap o’ rushes and cleaned herself, and away she went to the dance.

The master’s son had been reckoning on seeing her, and he danced with no one else, and never took his eyes off her. But, before the dance was over, she slipt off, and home she went, and when the maids came back she, pretended to be asleep with her cap o’ rushes on.