Suddenly another horseman pranced by on his way. He was all in black, on a jet-black horse, with a jet-black cloak. He sprang to the door and vanished as though the earth had swallowed him up: and it was night. But the darkness did not last long, for the eyes in all the skeletons on the fence glistened, and it became as light as day all over the green.
Vasilísa trembled with fear, but remained standing, for she did not know how she could escape. Suddenly a terrible noise was heard in the forest, and the tree-boughs creaked and the dry leaves crackled. And out of the wood Bába Yagá drove in inside the mortar with the pestle, and with the broom swept away every trace of her steps. At the door she stopped, sniffed all the way round, and cried out:
“Fee, Fo, Fi, Fum, I smell the blood of a Russian mum!
Who is there?”
Vasilísa, shuddering with dread, stepped up to her, bowed low to the ground, and said: “Mother, I am here. My stepmother’s daughters sent me to you to ask for fire.”
“Very well,” said Bába Yagá: “I know them. Stay with me, work for me, and I will give you fire. Otherwise I shall eat you up.”
Then she went to the door, and she cried out: “Ho! my strong bolts, draw back, my strong door, spring open!” And the door sprang open, and Bába Yagá went in whistling and whirring, and Vasilísa followed her.
Then the door closed, and Bába Yagá stretched herself in the room and said to Vasilísa: “Give me whatever there is in the oven. I am hungry.”
So Vasilísa lit a splinter from the skulls on the hedge and fetched Bába Yagá food out of the oven, and there was food enough there for ten men. Out of a cellar she fetched kvass, mead, and wine. Bába Yagá ate and drank it all up. But all there was left for Vasilísa was a little of some kind of soup, and a crust of bread, and a snippet of pork.
Bába Yagá lay down to sleep and said: “In the morning, tomorrow, when I go away you must clean the courtyard, brush out the room, get dinner ready, do the washing, go to the field, get a quarter of oats, sift it all out, and see that it is all done before I come home. Otherwise I will eat you up.”
And, as soon as ever she had given all the orders, she began snoring.
Vasilísa put the rest of the dinner in front of the doll and said: “Dollet, eat it up and listen to my woe. Heavy are the tasks which the Bába Yagá has given me, and she threatens to eat me up if I don’t carry them all out. Help me!”
“Have no fear, Vasilísa, thou fair maiden. Eat, pray, and lie down to sleep, for the morning is wiser than the evening.”
Very early next day Vasilísa woke up. Bába Yagá was already up and was looking out of the window. The glimmer in the eyes of the skulls had dimmed; the white horseman raced by: and it dawned. Bába Yagá went into the courtyard, and whistled, and the mortar, the pestle, and the besom appeared at once, and the red horseman came by: and the sun rose. Bába Yagá sat in the mortar and went by, thrusting the mortar with the pestle, and with the besom she removed every trace of her steps.
Vasilísa, left all by herself, looked over the house of the Bába Yagá, wondered at all the wealth gathered in, and began to consider what she should start with. But all the work was already done, and the doll had sifted out the very last of the ears of oats.
“Oh, my saviour!” said Vasilísa. “You have helped me in my great need.”
“You now have only to get dinner ready,” the doll answered, and clambered back into Vasilísa’s pocket. “With God’s help get it ready, and stay here quietly waiting.”
In the evening Vasilísa laid the cloth and waited for Bába Yagá. The gloaming came, and the black horseman reached by: and it at once became dark, but the eyes in the skulls glowed. The trees shuddered, the leaves crackled, Bába Yagá drove in, and Vasilísa met her.
“Is it all done?” Bába Yagá asked.
“Yes, grandmother: look!” said Vasilísa.
Bába Yagá looked round everywhere, and was rather angry that she had nothing to find fault with and said: “Very well.” Then she cried out: “Ye my faithful servants, friends of my heart! Store up my oats.” Then three pairs of hands appeared, seized the oats and carried them off.
Bába Yagá had her supper, and, before she went to sleep, once more commanded Vasilísa: “Tomorrow do the same as you did today, but also take the hay which is lying on my field, clean it from every trace of soil, every single ear. Somebody has, out of spite, mixed earth with it.”
And, as soon as she had said it, she turned round to the wall and was snoring.
Vasilísa at once fetched her doll, who ate, and said as she had the day before: “Pray and lie down to sleep, for the morning is wiser than the evening. Everything shall be done, Vasilísushka.”
Next morning Bába Yagá got up and stood at the window, and then went into the courtyard and whistled; and the mortar, the besom, and the pestle appeared at once, and the red horseman came by: and the sun rose. Bába Yagá sat in the mortar and went off, sweeping away her traces as before.
Vasilísa got everything ready with the help of her doll. Then the old woman came back, looked over everything, and said: “Ho, my faithful servants, friends of my heart! Make me some poppy-oil.” Then three pairs of hands came, laid hold of the
