In olden times when Old Nick used to go around stealing babies it so happened that one night he didn't quite make it and all because of a flax tow.

Old Nick came in through the window, an alder log under his arm. He wanted to snatch the baby from the cradle and leave the log of wood in its stead. The flax tow in the corner of the room guessed what Old Nick was up to. So as to prevent him from taking the baby, it began to pour out all its troubles to him.

Old Nick was in a great hurry, because he had to disappear before the clock struck twelve and the cock crowed for the first time. But the flax tow kept begging him to listen to its sad story. "If only you knew how lovely I am when growing in the field," it told him. "I have beautiful blue flowers and later on I wear a golden hat. Then people come and pull me up by my hair, chop off my head and leave me standing like that."

Old Nick wanted to be off, but the flax tow took up its grievance anew. "Let me tell you what they do to me then. They drown me in the river and even roll stones upon me so that I couldn't get out again."

Old Nick was on the point of leaving but the flax tow complained, "Do listen what they do to me next. When at last they pull me out of the river, they leave me in the open, to be blown by the wind and tossed by the storm. There they tie a lot of us together and—now listen to what they do! They thrash me, pound me and rub me, and then they beat me until every bone has been separated from my flesh."

Old Nick said, "Oh, well, I'm in a hurry, I'll listen to your story some other time." But the flax tow begged him, "Do listen now. It's such a sad story. Then they shred my flesh with sharp needles into threads and the women wind me round the distaff. And last of all they twist me as much as they can and spin me, and stretch us all out on the loom where they force us through one another and weave us into cloth."

The cock was already spreading his wings. The flax tow kept talking, "Just one more minute and you'll have heard the whole story. Then be made into beautiful clothes for the young and the old, and tablecloths and bedlinen are made from me as well."

Old Nick, afraid lest he'd be late, hurried to the cradle. But just as he reached it, the cock crowed. Old Nick threw down the alder log he was carrying under his arm, and disappeared. He didn't manage to get the baby from the cradle.

So the flax tow, by telling Old Nick its sad story, saved the child's life.