I am David, the Miller’s son. I am 9 or 11 years old and must do the work of a grown man. I cannot lift the heavy grinding stone and if I do not lift it I get a beating from my brother Harry, who is 13 or maybe 15.

Beyond the millpond is the dark forest I’m not allowed into.

My father, brother and mother are frightened by the forest but I am not, I like the way the light plays on the ground and the birdsong at dawn.

I don’t fear the creatures my mother warns of.

It’s still warm but the days get shorter, the fields are thick for harvest.

Yesterday after a beating, I ran into the forest.

On spiky briars by the path I ate the fruit that colours your face purple, hard to pick but delicious.

Behind me I heard Harry hanging back at the forest edge.

“Come back or I’ll I’ll beat you black and blue!”

But I was already purple so I walked on carrying 500 blackberries in my cloth hat. In the distance by the river crossing I saw a strange light shining.

Behind me was Harry, following with every ounce of bravery he had. I heard his clumsy tread on the path so I climbed an oak tree, up there I can be unknown and still.

Harry walked on nervously towards the river crossing.

The light I’d seen was still shining. I looked at it from my tree and saw it was a golden goose as I have heard of in many forests.

Harry walked straight towards the goose, crackling acorns, snapping twigs, loud as men.

He saw the creature sleeping by the riverbank, saw on her that metal that makes men greedy and having learned this greed already, picked up a sharp stick. He saw only riches and those princesses who live in towers, the kind who can’t sleep if a pea is in their bed and who set men impossible tasks, princesses as worthless as shiny metal.

Harry the hero would kill the Golden Goose.

He stabbed at the goose but she awoke, honked loudly and rose to her full height tall as a soldier’s horse. She was emaciated, starving. She eyed Harry hungrily.

Harry shrieked. The golden goose beat two mighty wings and readied herself for the kill.

I came down from my tree, ran to the goose and lay before her my hatful of blackberries.

She looked upon them and then, timidly at first, tried one.

Soon she had consumed all 500 blackberries and had a purple beak.

Then she retook her place on the riverbank and returned to sleep,

I took Harry, with his wounded pride, back to the house.

Now it’s the next day and the Golden goose has worked her magic, for now Harry looks at me with respect and helps move the grindstone. I will keep our secret while he continues to treat me well.

I took the goose another 500 blackberries and an apple from the dinner table.

In return she pointed her wing towards a small nest, inside were 4 eggs, one for each of my family. I understand that as long as I feed her she will provide eggs. Not useless golden ones, but ones you can actually eat.