The prince saw nothing familiar in the face of the tearful young woman, one shoe off, one shoe on, displayed to him in triumph by her mother, but he said: "I promised I would marry whoever the shoe fitted so I will marry you," and they rode off together.

"Look! Look!" cried the turtle dove in triumph, even while the bird betrayed its ghostly nature by becoming progressively more and more immaterial as Ashputtle stood up in the shoe and commenced to walk around. Squelch, went the stump of the foot in the shoe. Squelch. "Look!" sang out the turtle dove. "Her foot fits the shoe like a corpse fits the coffin!

So now Ashputtle must put her foot into the hideous receptacle, this open wound, still slick and warm as it is, for nothing in any of the many texts of this tale suggests the prince washed the shoe out between the fittings. It was an ordeal in itself to put a naked foot into the bloody shoe, but her mother, the turtle dove, urged her to do so in a soft, cooing croon that could not be denied.

"No," said the girl. She shuddered.

"It isnt raining, it isnt snowing, its too early for the dew. My tears are falling on your grave, mother."

A burned child lived in the ashes. No, not really burned -- more charred, a little bit charred, like a stick half-burned and picked off the fire. She looked like charcoal and ashes because she lived in the ashes since her mother died and the hot ashes burned her so she was scabbed and scarred. The burned child lived on tread.99csw.comhe hearth, covered in ashes, as if she were still mourning.

"Milk the cow, burned child, and bring back all the milk," said the stepmother, who used to rake the ashes and milk the cow, once upon a time, but the burned child did all that, now.

3 TRAVELLING CLOTHES

Back came the nagging turtle dove: "Look!" And, sure enough, the shoe was full of blood again.

The search for the foot that fits the slipper is essential to the enactment of this ritual humiliation.

Imagine.

The cow let down more milk, and more, and more, enough for the girl to have a drink and wash her face and wash her hands. When she washed her face, she washed the scabs off and now she was not burned at all, but the cow was empty.

"Come home with me and let your stepmother stay and rake the ashes," he said to her and off they went. He gave her a house and money. She did all right.

"Now I can go to sleep," said the ghost of the mother. "Now everything is all right."

There was a man the stepmother wanted and she asked him into the kitchen to get his dinner, but she made the burned child cook it, although the stepmother did all the cooking before. After the burned child cooked the dinner the stepmother sent her off to milk the cow.

The turtle dove was mad for that, for her daughter to marry the prince. You might have thought her own experience of marriage might have taught her to be wary, but no, needs must, what else is a girl to do? The turtle dove was mad for her daughter to mread.99csw.comarry so she flew in and picked up the new silk dress with her beak, dragged it to the open window, threw it down to Ashputtle. She did the same with the string of pearls. Ashputtle had a good wash under the pump in the yard, put on her stolen finery and crept out the back way, secretly, to the dancing grounds, but the stepsisters had to stay home and sulk because they had nothing to wear.

"Your hair wants doing," said the cat. "Lie down."

"See how well I look after you, my darling!"

The little cat came by. The ghost of the mother went into the cat.

2 THE BURNED CHILD

The little cat unpicked her raggy lugs with its clever paws until the burned childs hair hung down nicely, but it had been so snagged and tangled that the cats claws were all pulled out before it was finished.

"Give your own milk, next time," said the ghost of the mother inside the cow. "Youve milked me dry."

The girl put the red dress on. The dead woman took worms from her eyesockets; they turned into jewels. The girl put on a diamond ring.

After her mother died and was buried, her father forgot the mother and forgot the child and married the woman who used to rake the ashes, and that was why the child lived in the unraked ashes, and there was nobody to brush her hair, so it stuck out like a mat, nor to wipe the dirt off her scabbed face, and she had no heart to do it for herself, but she raked the ashes and slept beside the little cat and got the burned bits from the bottom of the ｒｅａｄ.９9ｃsw•compot to eat, scraping them out, squatting on the floor, by herself in front of the fire, not as if she were human, because she was still mourning.

Her mother was dead and buried, but felt perfect exquisite pain of love when she looked up through the earth and saw the burned child covered in ashes.

The burned child was clean and combed, but stark naked.

The girl stepped into the coffin although she thought it would be the death of her. It turned into a coach and horses. The horses stamped, eager to be gone.

"Step into my coffin."

The burned child went into the kitchen to show herself to the man. She was not burned any more, but lovely. The man left off looking at the stepmother and looked at the girl.

"Drink milk, grow fat," said the mothers ghost.

The turtle dove came flying round and did not croon or coo to the bridal pair but sang a horrid song: "Look! Look! Theres blood in the shoe!"

They went together to the grave.

"Make your own dress, next time," said the bird. "I"m through with that bloody business."

The prince returned the ersatz ex-fiancee at once, angry at the trick, but the stepmother hastily lopped off her other daughters heel and pushed that poor foot into the bloody shoe as soon as it was vacant so, nothing for it, a man of his word, the prince helped up the new girl and once again he rode away.

There was a bird sitting in the apple tree. The ghost of the mother left the cat and went into the bird. The bird struck its own breast with ihttpｓ://ｒｅａｄ•9９ｃsｗ.ｃoｍts beak. Blood poured down on to the burned child under the tree. It ran over her shoulders and covered her front and covered her back. When the bird had no more blood, the burned child got a red silk dress.

The other woman wants that young man desperately. She would do anything to catch him. Not losing a daughter, but gaining a son. She wants a son so badly she is prepared to cripple her daughters. She takes up a carving knife and chops off her elder daughters big toe, so that her foot will fit the little shoe.

If she does not plunge without revulsion into this open wound, she wont be fit to marry. That is the song of the turtle dove, while the other mad mother stood impotently by.

"I stepped into my mothers coffin when I was your age."

The stepmother took the red-hot poker and burned the orphans face with it because she had not raked the ashes. The girl went to her mothers grave. In the earth her mother said: "It must be raining. Or else it is snowing. Unless there is a heavy dew tonight."

The dead woman waited until night came. Then she climbed out and went to the house. The stepmother slept on a feather bed, but the burned child slept on the hearth among the ashes. When the dead woman kissed her, the scar vanished. The girl woke up. The dead woman gave her a red dress.

Mother love, which winds about these daughters like a shroud.

Ashputtles foot, the size of the bound foot of a Chinese woman, a stump. Almost an amputee already, she put her tiny foot in it.

"Go and seek your fortuneread.99csw.com, darling."

The turtle dove stayed close to Ashputtle, pecking her ears to make her dance vivaciously, so that the prince would see her, so that the prince would love her, so that he would follow her and find the clue of the fallen slipper, for the story is not complete without the ritual humiliation of the other woman and the mutilation of her daughters.

The ghost of the mother went into the cow.

Came the time for that curious fair they used to hold in that country, when all the resident virgins went to dance in front of the kings son so that he could pick out the girl he wanted to marry.

"I want that man for myself," said the burned child to the cow.

"Comb your own hair, next time," said the cat. "Youve maimed me."

"Let Ashputtle try," said the eager turtle dove.

The burned child pulled on the udder and drank enough milk before she took the bucket back and nobody saw, and time passed, she drank milk every day, she grew fat, she grew breasts, she grew up.

"I had it when I was your age."

"I had it when I was your age."

Brandishing the carving knife, the woman bears down on her child, who is as distraught as if she had not been a girl but a boy and the old woman was after a more essential portion than a toe. "No!" she screams. "Mother! No! Not the knife! No!" But off it comes, all the same, and she throws it in the fire, among the ashes, where Ashputtle finds it, wonders at it, and feels both awe and fear at the phenomenon of mother love.