Part 14

“If you will only get me the best shoes you can for my horse, and the grandest saddle and bridle that are to be found,” said the lad, “you may have my twelve mares that graze up on the hill yonder, and their twelve foals into the bargain.” For you must know that this year too every mare had her foal.

Yes, his brothers were ready to do that, and so the lad got such strong shoes under his horse, that the stones flew high aloft as he rode away across the hills; and he had a golden saddle and a golden bridle, which gleamed and glistened a long way off.

“Now we’re off to the king’s palace,” said Dapplegrim—that was his name; “but mind you ask the king for a good stable and good fodder for me.”

Yes! the lad said he would mind; he’d be sure not to forget; and when he rode off from his brothers’ house, you may be sure it wasn’t long, with such a horse under him, before he got to the king’s palace.

When he came there the king was standing on the steps, and stared and stared at the man who came riding along.

“Nay, nay!” said he, “such a man and such a horse I never yet saw in all my life.”

But when the lad asked if he could get a place in the king’s household, the king was so glad he was ready to jump and dance as he stood on the steps.

Well, they said, perhaps he might get a place there.

“Aye,” said the lad, “but I must have good stable-room for my horse, and fodder that one can trust.”

Yes! he should have meadow-hay and oats, as much as Dapple could cram, and all the other knights had to lead their horses out of the stable that Dapplegrim might stand alone, and have it all to himself.

But it wasn’t long before all the others in the king’s household began to be jealous of the lad, and there was no end to the bad things they would have done to him, if they had only dared. At last they thought of telling the king he had said he was man enough to set the king’s daughter free—whom the Troll had long since carried away into the hill—if he only chose. The King called the lad before him, and said he had heard the lad said he was good to do so and so; so now he must go and do it. If he did it he knew how the king had promised his daughter and half the kingdom, and that promise would be faithfully kept; if he didn’t, he should be killed.

The lad kept on saying he never said any such thing; but it was no good,—the king wouldn’t even listen to him; and so the end of it was, he was forced to say he’d go and try.

So he went into the stable, down in the mouth and heavy-hearted, and then Dapplegrim asked him at once why he was in such dumps.

Then the lad told him all, and how he couldn’t tell which way to turn,—

“For as for setting the Princess free, that’s downright stuff.”

“Oh! but it might be done, perhaps,” said Dapplegrim. “I’ll help you through; but you must first have me well shod. You must go and ask for ten pound of iron and twelve pound of steel for the shoes, and one smith to hammer and another to hold.”

Yes, the lad did that, and got for answer “Yes!” He got both the iron and the steel, and the smiths, and so Dapplegrim was shod both strong and well, and off went the lad from the court-yard in a cloud of dust.

But when he came to the hill into which the Princess had been carried, the pinch was how to get up the steep wall of rock where the Troll’s cave was, in which the Princess had been hid. For you must know the hill stood straight up and down right on end, as upright as a house-wall, and as smooth as a sheet of glass.

The first time the lad went at it he got a little way up; but then Dapple’s forelegs slipped, and down they went again, with a sound like thunder on the hill.

The second time he rode at it he got some way further up; but then one foreleg slipped, and down they went with a crash like a landslip.

But the third time Dapple said,—

“Now we must show our mettle;” and went at it again till the stones flew heaven-high about them, and so they got up.

Then the lad rode right into the cave at full speed and caught up the Princess, and threw her over his saddle-bow, and out and down again before the Troll had time even to get on his legs; and so the Princess was freed.

When the lad came back to the palace, the king was both happy and glad to get his daughter back; that you may well believe; but some how or other, though I don’t know how, the others about the court had so brought it about that the king was angry with the lad after all.

“Thanks you shall have for freeing my Princess,” said he to the lad, when he brought the Princess into the hall, and made his bow.

“She ought to be mine as well as yours; for you’re a word-fast man, I hope,” said the lad.

“Aye, aye!” said the king, “have her you shall, since I said it; but first of all, you must make the sun shine into my palace hall.”

Now you must know there was a high steep ridge of rock close outside the windows, which threw such a shade over the hall that never a sunbeam shone into it.

“That wasn’t in our bargain,” answered the lad; “but I see this is past praying against; I must e’en go and try my luck, for the Princess I must and will have.”

So down he went to Dapple, and told him what the king wanted, and Dapplegrim thought it might easily be done, but first of all he must be new shod; and for that ten pound of iron, and twelve pound of steel besides, were needed, and two smiths, one to hammer and the other to hold, and then they’d soon get the sun to shine into the palace hall.

So when the lad asked for all these things, he got them at once—the king couldn’t say nay for very shame; and so Dapplegrim got new shoes, and such shoes! Then the lad jumped upon his back, and off they went again; and for every leap that Dapplegrim gave, down sank the ridge fifteen ells into the earth, and so they went on till there was nothing left of the ridge for the king to see.

When the lad got back to the king’s palace, he asked the king if the Princess were not his now; for now no one could say that the sun didn’t shine into the hall. But then the others set the king’s back up again, and he answered the lad should have her of course, he had never thought of any thing else; but first of all he must get as grand a horse for the bride to ride on to church as the bridegroom had himself.

The lad said the king hadn’t spoken a word about this before, and that he thought he had now fairly earned the Princess; but the king held to his own; and more, if the lad couldn’t do that he should lose his life; that was what the king said. So the lad went down to the stable in doleful dumps, as you may well fancy, and there he told Dapplegrim all about it; how the king had laid that task on him, to find the bride as good a horse as the bridegroom had himself, else he would lose his life.

“But that’s not so easy,” he said, “for your match isn’t to be found in the wide world.”

“Oh yes, I have a match,” said Dapplegrim; “but ’tisn’t so easy to find him, for he abides in Hell. Still, we’ll try. And now you must go up to the king and ask for new shoes for me, ten pound of iron, and twelve pound of steel; and two smiths, one to hammer and one to hold; and mind you see that the points and ends of these shoes are sharp; and twelve sacks of rye, and twelve sacks of barley, and twelve slaughtered oxen, we must have with us; and mind, we must have the twelve ox-hides, with twelve hundred spikes driven into each; and, let me see, a big tar-barrel;—that’s all we want.”

So the lad went up to the king and asked for all that Dapplegrim had said, and the king again thought he couldn’t say nay, for shame’s sake, and so the lad got all he wanted.

Well, he jumped up on Dapplegrim’s back, and rode away from the palace, and when he had ridden far far over hill and heath, Dapple asked,—

“Do you hear anything?”

“Yes, I hear an awful hissing and rustling up in the air,” said the lad; “I think I’m getting afraid.”

“That’s all the wild birds that fly through the wood. They are sent to stop us; but just cut a hole in the corn-sacks, and then they’ll have so much to do with the corn, they’ll forget us quite.”

Yes! the lad did that; he cut holes in the corn-sacks, so that the rye and barley ran out on all sides. Then all the wild birds that were in the wood came flying round them so thick that the sunbeams grew dark; but as soon as they saw the corn, they couldn’t keep to their purpose, but flew down and began to pick and scratch at the rye and barley, and after that, they began to fight among themselves. As for Dapplegrim and the lad, they forgot all about them, and did them no harm.

So the lad rode on and on—far far over mountain and dale, over sand-hills and moor. Then Dapplegrim began to prick up his ears again, and at last he asked the lad if he heard anything?

“Yes! now I hear such an ugly roaring and howling in the wood all round, it makes me quite afraid.”

“Ah?” said Dapplegrim, “that’s all the wild beasts that range through the wood, and they’re sent out to stop us. But just cast out the twelve carcasses of the oxen, that will give them enough to do, and so they’ll forget us outright.”

Yes! the lad cast out the carcasses, and then all the wild beasts in the wood, both bears, and wolves, and lions—all fell beasts of all kinds—came after them. But when they saw the carcasses, they began to fight for them among themselves, till blood flowed in streams; but Dapplegrim and the lad they quite forgot.

So the lad rode far away, and they changed the landscape many, many times, for Dapplegrim didn’t let the grass grow under him, as you may fancy. At last Dapple gave a great neigh.

“Do you hear anything?” he said.

“Yes, I hear something like a colt neighing loud, a long, long way off,” answered the lad.

“That’s a full-grown colt then,” said Dapplegrim, “if we hear him neigh so loud such a long way off.”

After that they travelled a good bit, changing the landscape once or twice, maybe. Then Dapplegrim gave another neigh.

“Now listen, and tell me if you hear anything,” he said.

“Yes, now I hear a neigh like a full-grown horse,” answered the lad.

“Aye! aye!” said Dapplegrim, “you’ll hear him once again soon, and then you’ll hear he’s got a voice of his own.”

So they travelled on and on, and changed the landscape once or twice, perhaps, and then Dapplegrim neighed the third time; but before he could ask the lad if he heard anything, something gave such a neigh across the heathy hill-side, the lad thought hill and rock would surely be rent asunder.

“Now he’s here!” said Dapplegrim; “make haste, now, and throw the ox hides, with the spikes in them, over me, and throw down the tar-barrel on the plain; then climb up into that great spruce-fir yonder. When it comes, fire will flash out of both nostrils, and then the tar-barrel will catch fire. Now, mind what I say. If the flame rises, I win; if it falls, I lose; but if you see me winning, take and cast the bridle—you must take it off me—over its head, and then it will be tame enough.”

So just as the lad had done throwing the ox hides, with the spikes, over Dapplegrim, and had cast down the tar-barrel on the plain, and had got well up into the spruce-fir, up galloped a horse, with fire flashing out of his nostrils, and the flame caught the tar-barrel at once. Then Dapplegrim and the strange horse began to fight till the stones flew heaven high. They fought, and bit, and kicked, both with fore-feet and hind-feet, and sometimes the lad could see them, and sometimes he couldn’t; but at last the flame began to rise; for wherever the strange horse kicked or bit, he met the spiked hides, and at last he had to yield. When the lad saw that, he wasn’t long in getting down from the tree, and in throwing the bridle over its head, and then it was so tame you could hold it with a pack-thread.

And what do you think? that horse was dappled too, and so like Dapplegrim, you couldn’t tell which was which. Then the lad bestrode the new Dapple he had broken, and rode home to the palace, and old Dapplegrim ran loose by his side. So when he got home, there stood the king out in the yard.

“Can you tell me now,” said the lad, “which is the horse I have caught and broken, and which is the one I had before. If you can’t, I think your daughter is fairly mine.”

Then the king went and looked at both Dapples, high and low, before and behind, but there wasn’t a hair on one which wasn’t on the other as well.

“No,” said the king, “that I can’t; and since you’ve got my daughter such a grand horse for her wedding, you shall have her with all my heart. But still we’ll have one trial more, just to see whether you’re fated to have her. First, she shall hide herself twice, and then you shall hide yourself twice. If you can find out her hiding-place, and she can’t find out yours, why then you’re fated to have her, and so you shall have her.”

“That’s not in the bargain either,” said the lad; “but we must just try, since it must be so;” and so the Princess went off to hide herself first.

So she turned herself into a duck, and lay swimming on a pond that was close to the palace. But the lad only ran down to the stable, and asked Dapplegrim what she had done with herself.

“Oh, you only need to take your gun,” said Dapplegrim, “and go down to the brink of the pond, and aim at the duck which lies swimming about there, and she’ll soon show herself.”

So the lad snatched up his gun and ran off to the pond. “I’ll just take a pop at this duck,” he said, and began to aim at it.

“Nay, nay, dear friend, don’t shoot. It’s I,” said the Princess.

So he had found her once.

The second time the Princess turned herself into a loaf of bread, and laid herself on the table among four other loaves; and so like was she to the others, no one could say which was which.

But the lad went again down to the stable to Dapplegrim, and said how the Princess had hidden herself again, and he couldn’t tell at all what had become of her.

“Oh, just take and sharpen a good breadknife,” said Dapplegrim, “and do as if you were going to cut in two the third loaf on the left hand of those four loaves which are lying on the dresser in the king’s kitchen, and you’ll find her soon enough.”

Yes! the lad was down in the kitchen in no time, and began to sharpen the biggest breadknife he could lay hands on; then he caught hold of the third loaf on the left hand, and put the knife to it, as though he was going to cut it in two.

“I’ll just have a slice off this loaf,” he said.

“Nay, dear friend,” said the Princess, “don’t cut. It’s I.”

So he had found her twice.

Then he was to go and hide; but he and Dapplegrim had settled it all so well beforehand, it wasn’t easy to find him. First he turned himself into a tick, and hid himself in Dapplegrim’s left nostril; and the Princess went about hunting him everywhere, high and low; at last she wanted to go into Dapplegrim’s stall, but he began to bite and kick, so that she daren’t go near him, and so she couldn’t find the lad.

“Well,” she said, “since I can’t find you, you must show where you are yourself;” and in a trice the lad stood there on the stable floor.

The second time Dapplegrim told him again what to do; and then he turned himself into a clod of earth, and stuck himself between Dapple’s hoof and shoe on the near forefoot. So the Princess hunted up and down, out and in, everywhere; at last she came into the stable, and wanted to go into Dapplegrim’s loose-box. This time he let her come up to him, and she pried high and low, but under his hoofs she couldn’t come, for he stood firm as a rock on his feet, and so she couldn’t find the lad.

“Well; you must just show yourself, for I’m sure I can’t find you,” said the Princess, and as she spoke the lad stood by her side on the stable floor.

“Now you are mine indeed,” said the lad; “for now you can see I’m fated to have you.” This he said both to the father and daughter.

“Yes; it is so fated,” said the king; “so it must be.”

Then they got ready the wedding in right down earnest, and lost no time about it; and the lad got on Dapplegrim, and the Princess on Dapplegrim’s match, and then you may fancy they were not long on their way to the church.

THE SEVEN FOALS.

ONCE on a time there was a poor couple who lived in a wretched hut, far, far away in the wood. How they lived I can’t tell, but I’m sure it was from hand to mouth, and hard work even then; but they had three sons, and the youngest of them was Boots, of course, for he did little else than lie there and poke about in the ashes.

So one day the eldest lad said he would go out to earn his bread, and he soon got leave, and wandered out into the world. There he walked and walked the whole day, and when evening drew in, he came to a king’s palace, and there stood the king out on the steps, and asked whither he was bound.

“Oh, I’m going about, looking after a place,” said the lad.

“Will you serve me?” asked the king, “and watch my seven foals. If you can watch them one whole day, and tell me at night what they eat and what they drink, you shall have the Princess to wife, and half my kingdom; but if you can’t, I’ll cut three red stripes out of your back. Do you hear?”

Yes! that was an easy task, the lad thought, he’d do that fast enough, never fear.

So next morning, as soon as the first peep of dawn came, the king’s coachman let out the seven foals. Away they went and the lad after them. You may fancy how they tore over hill and dale, through bush and bog. When the lad had run so a long time, he began to get weary, and when he had held on a while longer, he had more than enough of his watching, and just there, he came to a cleft in a rock, where an old hag sat and spun with a distaff. As soon as she saw the lad who was running after the foals till the sweat ran down his brow, this old hag bawled out,—

“Come hither, come hither, my pretty son, and let me comb your hair.”

Yes! the lad was willing enough; so he sat down in the cleft of the rock with the old hag, and laid his head on her lap, and she combed his hair all day whilst he lay there, and stretched his lazy bones.

So, when evening drew on, the lad wanted to go away.

“I may just as well toddle straight home now,” said he, “for it’s no use my going back to the palace.”

“Stop a bit till it’s dark,” said the old hag, “and then the king’s foals will pass by here again, and then you can run home with them, and then no one will know that you have lain here all day long, instead of watching the foals.”

So, when they came, she gave the lad a flask of water and a clod of turf. Those he was to show to the king, and say that was what his seven foals ate and drank.

“Have you watched true and well the whole day, now?” asked the King, when the lad came before him in the evening.

“Yes, I should think so,” said the lad.

“Then you can tell me what my seven foals eat and drink,” said the King.

“Yes!” and so the lad pulled out the flask of water and the clod of turf, which the old hag had given him.

“Here you see their meat, and here you see their drink,” said the lad.

But then the king saw plain enough how he had watched, and he got so wroth, he ordered his men to chase him away home on the spot; but first they were to cut three red stripes out of his back, and rub salt into them. So when the lad got home again, you may fancy what a temper he was in. He’d gone out once to get a place, he said, but he’d never do so again.

Next day the second son said he would go out into the world to try his luck. His father and mother said “No,” and bade him look at his brother’s back; but the lad wouldn’t give in; he held to his own, and at last he got leave to go, and set off. So when he had walked the whole day, he, too, came to the king’s palace. There stood the King out on the steps, and asked whither he was bound? and when the lad said he was looking about for a place, the King said he might have a place there, and watch his seven foals. But the king laid down the same punishment, and the same reward, as he had settled for his brother. Well, the lad was willing enough; he took the place at once with the King, for he thought he’d soon watch the foals, and tell the king what they ate and drank.

So, in the gray of the morning, the coachman let out the seven foals, and off they went again over hill and dale, and the lad after them. But the same thing happened to him as had befallen his brother. When he had run after the foals a long long time, till he was both warm and weary, he passed by the cleft in a rock, where an old hag sat and spun with a distaff, and she bawled out to the lad,—

“Come hither, come hither, my pretty son, and let me comb your hair.”

That the lad thought a good offer, so he let the foals run on their way, and sat down in the cleft with the old hag. There he sat, and there he lay, taking his ease, and stretching his lazy bones the whole day.

When the foals came back at nightfall, he too got a flask of water and clod of turf from the old hag to show to the king. But when the king asked the lad,—

“Can you tell me now, what my seven foals eat and drink?” and the lad pulled out the flask and the clod, and said,—

“Here you see their meat, and here you see their drink.”

Then the king got wroth again, and ordered them to cut three red stripes out of the lad’s back, and rub salt in, and chase him home that very minute. And so when the lad got home, he also told how he had fared, and said, he had gone out once to get a place, but he’d never do so any more.

The third day Boots wanted to set out; he had a great mind to try and watch the seven foals, he said. The others laughed at him, and made game of him, saying,—

“When we fared so ill, you’ll do it better—a fine joke; you look like it—you who have never done anything but lie there and poke about in the ashes.”

“Yes!” said Boots, “I don’t see why I shouldn’t go, for I’ve got it into my head, and can’t get it out again.”

And so, in spite of all the jeers of the others and the prayers of the old people, there was no help for it, and Boots set out.

So after he had walked the whole day, he too came at dusk to the king’s palace. There stood the king out on the steps, and asked whither he was bound.

“Oh,” said Boots, “I’m going about seeing if I can hear of a place.”

“Whence do you come, then?” said the King, for he wanted to know a little more about them before he took any one into his service.

So Boots said whence he came, and how he was brother to those two who had watched the king’s seven foals, and ended by asking if he might try to watch them next day.

“Oh, stuff!” said the King, for he got quite cross if he even thought of them; “if you’re brother to those two, you’re not worth much, I’ll be bound. I’ve had enough of such scamps.”

“Well,” said Boots; “but since I’ve come so far, I may just as well get leave to try, I too.”

“Oh, very well; with all my heart,” said the King, “if you _will_ have your back flayed, you’re quite welcome.”

“I’d much rather have the Princess,” said Boots.

So next morning, at gray of dawn, the coachman let out the seven foals again, and away they went over hill and dale, through bush and bog, and Boots behind them. And so, when he too had run a long while, he came to the cleft in the rock, where the old hag sat, spinning at her distaft. So she bawled out to Boots,—

“Come hither, come hither, my pretty son, and let me comb your hair.”

“Don’t you wish you may catch me,” said Boots. “Don’t you wish you may catch me,” as he ran along, leaping and jumping, and holding on by one of the foals’ tails. And when he had got well past the cleft in the rock, the youngest foal said,—

“Jump up on my back, my lad, for we’ve a long way before us still.”

So Boots jumped up on his back.

So they went on, and on, a long long way.

“Do you see anything now?” said the Foal.

“No,” said Boots.

So they went on a good bit farther.