The huntsman and his fellow-traveller journeyed on: and let us hope they reached the King of Denmark safe and sound: but, to tell the truth, I know nothing more of that part of the story.
The woodman, meantime, went to his work; and did not fail to watch at night to see whether the skrattel came, or whether he was thoroughly frightened out of his old haunt by the bear, or whatever he might take the beast to be that had handled him as he never was handled before. But three nights passed over, and no traces being seen or heard of him, the woodman began to think of moving back to his old house.
On the fourth day he was out at his work in the forest; and as he was taking shelter under a tree from a cold storm of sleet and rain that passed over, he heard a little cracked voice singing, or rather croaking in a mournful tone. So he crept along quietly, and peeped over some bushes, and there sat the very same figure that the huntsman had described to him. The goblin was sitting without any hat or cap on his head, with a woe-begone face, and with his jacket torn into shreds, and his leg scratched and smeared with blood, as if he had been creeping through a bramble-bush. The woodman listened quietly to his song, and it ran as before—
“Oh! ’tis weary enough abroad to bide,In the shivery midnight blast;And ’tis dreary enough alone to rideHungry and cold,On the wintry wold,Where the drifting snow falls fast.”
“Oh! ’tis weary enough abroad to bide,In the shivery midnight blast;And ’tis dreary enough alone to rideHungry and cold,On the wintry wold,Where the drifting snow falls fast.”
“Oh! ’tis weary enough abroad to bide,In the shivery midnight blast;And ’tis dreary enough alone to rideHungry and cold,On the wintry wold,Where the drifting snow falls fast.”
“Oh! ’tis weary enough abroad to bide,
In the shivery midnight blast;
And ’tis dreary enough alone to ride
Hungry and cold,
On the wintry wold,
Where the drifting snow falls fast.”
“Sing us the other verse, man!” cried the woodman; for he could not help cracking a joke on his old enemy, who he saw was sadly in the dumps at the loss of his good cheer and the shelter against the bad weather. But the instant his voice was heard the little imp jumped up, stamped with rage, and was out of sight in the twinkling of an eye.
The woodman finished his work and was going home in the evening, whistling by his horse’s side, when, all of a sudden, he saw, standing on a high bank by the wayside, the very same little imp, looking as grim and sulky as before. “Hark ye, bumpkin?” cried the skrattel; “canst thou hear, fellow? Is thy great cat alive, and at home still?” “My cat?” said the woodman. “Thy great white cat, man!” thundered out the little imp. “Oh, my cat!” said the woodman, at last recollecting himself. “Oh, yes to be sure! alive and well, I thank you: very happy, I’m sure, to see you and all friends, whenever you will do us the favour to call. And hark ye, friend! as you seem to be so fond of my great cat, you may like to know that she had five kittens last night.” “Five kittens?” muttered the elf. “Yes,” replied the woodman, “five of the most beautiful white kits you ever saw,—so like the old cat, it would do your heart good to see the whole family—such soft, gentle paws—such delicate whiskers—such pretty little mouths!” “Five kittens?” muttered or rather shrieked out the imp again. “Yes, to be sure!” said the woodman; “five kittens! Do look in to-night, about twelve o’clock—the time, you know, that you used to come and see us. The old cat will be so glad to show them to you, and we shall be so happy to see you once more. But where can you have been all this time?”
“I come? not I, indeed!” shrieked the skrattel. “What do I want with the little wretches? Did not I see the mother once? Keep your kittens to yourself: I mustbe off,—this is no place for me. Five kittens! So there are six of them now! Good-bye to you, you’ll see me no more; so bad luck to your ugly cat and your beggarly house!” “And bad luck to you, Mr Crookback!” cried the woodman, as he threw him the red cap he had left behind in his battle with Bruin. “Keep clear of my cat, and let us hear no more of your pranks, and be hanged to you!”
So, now that he knew his troublesome guest had takenhis leave, the woodman soon moved back all his goods, and his wife and children into their snug old house. And there they lived happily, for the elf never came to see them any more; and the woodman every day after dinner drank, “Long life to the King of Norway,” for sending the cat that cleared his house of vermin.
When the Norwegian Red-cap had finished his story Titania thought it time that someone should tell another love tale, and a second German Fairy came forward and said,
“Would your majesty like to hear again the story of the goose-girl princess and the horse Falada?”
“Oh, yes,” answered the Queen, who if she really liked a story was always glad to hear it told to her several times, “Oh, yes, the pretty story of the goose-girl is one of my favourites.”
The second German Fairy then stepped on to the stool and quietly began to recount the sad experiences of the princess who became