Joringel looked for Jorinda. She was changed into a nightingale, and sang, “ jug, jug, jug. ” A screech-owl with glowing eyes flew three times round about her, and three times cried, “ to-whoo, to-whoo, to-whoo! ”

Joringel could not move: he stood there like a stone, and could neither weep nor speak, nor move hand or foot.

The sun had now set. The owl flew into the thicket, and directly afterwards there came out of it a crooked old woman, yellow and lean, with large red eyes and a hooked nose, the point of which reached to her chin. She muttered to herself, caught the nightingale, and took it away in her hand.