In a great palace by the sea, there once dwelt a very rich old lord, who had neither wife nor children living, only one little granddaughter, whose face he had never seen in all her life. He hated her bitterly, because at her birth his favorite daughter died. When the old nurse brought him the baby, he swore that it might live or die as it liked, but he would never look on its face as long as it lived.
So he turned his back and sat by his window looking out over the sea and weeping great tears for his lost daughter, ‘til his white hair and beard grew down over his shoulders and twined round his chair and crept into the chinks of the floor, and his tears, dropping on to the window-ledge, wore a channel through the stone, and ran away in a little river to the great sea. Meanwhile, his granddaughter grew up with no one to care for her or clothe her; only the old nurse, when no one was by, would sometimes give her a dish of scraps from the kitchen, or a torn petticoat from the rag-bag. The other servants of the palace would drive her from the house with blows and mocking words, calling her “Tattercoats” and pointing at her bare feet and shoulders, ‘til she ran away crying, to hide among the bushes.
And so she grew up with little to eat or wear, spending her days in the fields and lanes with only the gooseherd for a companion. He would play to her so merrily on his little pipe when she was hungry, cold or tired that she forgot all her troubles and fell to dancing, with his flock of noisy geese for partners.
But one day, people told each other that the king was traveling through the land, and in the town nearby was to give a great ball to all the lords and ladies of the country. There, the prince, his only son, was to choose a wife.
One of the royal invitations was brought to the palace by the sea, and the servants carried it up to the old lord, who still sat by his window, wrapped in his long white hair and weeping into the little river that was fed by his tears.
But when he heard the king’s command, he dried his eyes and bade them bring shears to cut him loose, for his hair had bound him a fast prisoner and he could not move. And then he sent them for rich clothes and jewels, which he put on; and he ordered them to saddle the white horse, with gold and silk, that he might ride to meet the king.
Meanwhile, Tattercoats had heard of the great doings in the town, and she sat by the kitchen door weeping because she could not go to see them. And when the old nurse heard her crying she went to the lord of the palace, and begged him to take his granddaughter with him to the king’s ball.
But he only frowned and told her to be silent, while the servants laughed and said:
“Tattercoats is happy in her rags, playing with the gooseherd. Let her be—it is all she is fit for.”
A second and then a third time, the old nurse begged him to let the girl go with him, but she was answered only by black looks and fierce words, ‘til she was driven from the room by the jeering servants with blows and mocking words.