Now, the sisters owned a goat, and every day Two‑Eyes took it to the meadow to graze. One morning, when she’d had hardly anything to eat, she sat in the grass and cried her two eyes out.
All at once, an old woman stood before her. But the biggest surprise was that this woman had two eyes, just like Two‑Eyes herself.
“What’s wrong, my dear?” asked the woman.
“It’s my sisters,” Two‑Eyes told her. “They never give me enough to eat.”
“Don’t worry about that!” said the woman. “You can have as much as you like. Just say to your goat,
‘Bleat, goat, bleat.
And bring me lots to eat!’
Then you’ll have plenty. When you don’t want any more, just say,
‘Bleat, goat, bleat.
I’ve had so much to eat!’
Then the rest will vanish. Just like this.”
And the old woman vanished—just like that.
Two‑Eyes couldn’t wait to try. She said to the goat,
“Bleat, goat, bleat.
And bring me lots to eat!”
The goat bleated, and a little table and chair appeared. The table was set with a tablecloth, plate, and silverware, and on it were dishes and dishes of wonderful-smelling food.
“This sure is better than leftovers!” said Two‑Eyes.
She sat down and started in hungrily. Everything tasted delicious. When she’d eaten her fill, she said,
“Bleat, goat, bleat.
I’ve had so much to eat!”
The goat bleated and the table vanished. “And that,” said Two‑Eyes, “is better than cleaning up!”
When Two‑Eyes got home, she didn’t touch her bowl of leftovers. Her sisters didn’t notice till she’d gone off to bed. Then Three‑Eyes said, “Look! Our little sister didn’t eat anything!”
“That’s strange,” said One‑Eye. “Is someone else giving her food? I’ll go tomorrow and watch her.”