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Updated: May 16, 2025
These twelve figures, gazing at the fire in silence, were the Twelve Months of the year. Dobrunka knew January by his long white beard. He was the only one that had a staff in his hand. The poor girl was terribly frightened. She drew near, saying, in a timid voice, "My good sirs, please to let me warm myself by your fire; I am freezing with cold." January nodded his head.
If you do not go to the forest and bring me back a bunch of violets I will beat you to a jelly." Upon this the mother took Dobrunka by the arm, put her out of the door, and drew the bolt on her. The poor girl went to the forest weeping bitterly. Everything was covered with snow; there was not even a footpath.
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