the long-nose began to wash away as hard as she could, but the more
she rubbed and scrubbed, the bigger the spots grew.

'Ah!' said the old hag, her mother, 'you can't wash; let me try.'

But she hadn't long taken the shirt in hand, before it got far worse
than ever, and with all her rubbing, and wringing, and scrubbing, the
spots grew bigger and blacker, and the darker and uglier was the
shirt.

Then all the other Trolls began to wash, but the longer it lasted,
the blacker and uglier the shirt grew, till at last it was as black
all over as if it had been up the chimney.

'Ah!' said the Prince, 'you're none of you worth a straw you can't
wash. Why there, outside, sits a beggar lassie, I'll be bound she
knows how to wash better than the whole lot of you. COME IN LASSIE!'
he shouted.

Well, in she came.

'Can you wash this shirt clean, lassie, you?' said he.

'I don't know', she said, 'but I think I can.'

And almost before she had taken it and dipped it in the water, it was
as white as driven snow, and whiter still.

'Yes; you are the lassie for me', said the Prince.