There was a man who had seven sons, but he had no daughter, greatly though he longed for one. At last his wife told him that they could again expect a child and, sure enough, when it was born it was a baby girl. There was great rejoicing, but the child was weak and puny, so weak that it had to be christened at once. The father told one of the boys to go quickly to the spring and fetch christening water; the other six ran along with him, and because each of them wanted to be the first to dip the jug into the well, it fell in and sank. So there they stood and didn‘t know what to do, and none of them dared go home. When they didn‘t come back their father got impatient and said:“ I‘ll wager they‘ve been playing some game again and forgotten all about it, the godless brats.“ He was afraid the little girl would have to die unbaptized, and in his rage he cried out:“ I wish those boys would all turn into ravens.“ He‘d scarcely spoken the words when he heard a whirring of wings in the air overhead, looked up and saw seven coal-black ravens flying away.