Once upon a time there was a witch who owned a nice piece of land near a river's edge. As was the habit with witches, she often went away for hundreds of years at a time. One of the times, when she was away, a good man and his wife came and built a farmhouse and made a farm on the land, never dreaming that it belonged to a witch.

Unfortunately for them, after they had lived there for some seven years, the witch returned. She was furious to find someone on her land. She stood outside the farmhouse and shouted at the farmer. She dared not go into the house because there was a cross over the door.

"You are a wicked man to farm my land," shouted the witch. "When you come out, I will take you to be my servant for life."

The farmer was afraid and would not go outdoors, but his wife said:

"We cannot stay indoors for ever. I know what to do."

She made some pastry and stuffed it with an iron weight from her scales and plenty of salt. Then she baked the whole thing, wrapped it in a cloth and threw it out to the witch. The witch snatched it up and took a hearty bite. She broke her teeth on the iron and choked on the salt, which is hateful to her kind.

"What is this dreadful thing?" she choked.

"Why, that is supper for all of us," called the wife. "If my husband is to be your servant, I will came too and do the cooking."

"No thank you!" gasped the witch and went away for another hundred years.