aware that the lion had come to the mouth of the cave, and shook
itself there, after which she heard a man coming towards the couch.
She was sure this was Hermod, because she heard him speaking to
himself about his own condition, and calling to mind Hadvor and other
things in the old days. Hadvor made no sign, but waited till he had
fallen asleep, and then crept out and burned the lion’s skin, which he
had left outside. Then she went back into the cave and wakened Hermod,
and they had a most joyful meeting.
In the morning they talked over their plans, and were most at a loss
to know how to get out of the island. Hadvor told Hermod her dream,
and said she suspected there was some one in the island who would be
able to help them. Hermod said he knew of a Witch there, who was very
ready to help anyone, and that the only plan was to go to her. So they
went to the Witch’s cave, and found her there with her fifteen young
sons, and asked her to help them to get to the mainland.
‘There are other things easier than that,’ said she, ‘for the Giant
that was buried will be waiting for you, and will attack you on the
way, as he has turned himself into a big whale. I shall lend you a
boat, however, and if you meet the whale and think your lives are in
danger, then you can name me by name.’
[Illustration: Hadvor Burns the Lion’s Skin.]
They thanked her greatly for her help and advice, and set out from the
island, but on the way they saw a huge fish coming towards them, with
great splashing and dashing of waves. They were sure of what it was,
and thought they had as good reason as ever they would have to call on
the Witch, and so they did. The next minute they saw coming after them
another huge whale, followed by fifteen smaller ones. All of these
swam past the boat and went on to meet the whale. There was a fierce
battle then, and the sea became so stormy that it was not very easy to
keep the boat from being filled by the waves. After this fight had
gone on for some time, they saw that the sea was dyed with blood; the
big whale and the fifteen smaller ones disappeared, and they got to
land safe and sound.
Now the story goes back to the King’s hall, where strange things had
happened in the meantime. The Queen and her daughter had disappeared,
but a rat and a mouse were always fighting with each other there. Ever
so many people had tried to drive them away, but no one could manage
it. Thus some time went on, while the King was almost beside himself
with sorrow and care for the loss of his Queen, and because these
monsters destroyed all mirth in the hall.
One evening, however, while they all sat dull and down-hearted, in
came Hermod with a sword by his side, and saluted the King, who
received him with the greatest joy, as if he had come back from the
dead. Before Hermod sat down, however, he went to where the rat and
the mouse were fighting, and cut them in two with his sword. All were
astonished then by seeing two witches lying dead on the floor of the
hall.
Hermod now told the whole story to the King, who was very glad to be
rid of such vile creatures. Next he asked for the hand of Hadvor,
which the King readily gave him, and being now an old man, gave the
kingdom to him as well; and so Hermod became King.
Olof married a good-looking nobleman, and that is the end of the
story.
_THE STEADFAST TIN-SOLDIER_
There were once upon a time five-and-twenty tin-soldiers—all
brothers, as they were made out of the same old tin spoon. Their
uniform was red and blue, and they shouldered their guns and looked
straight in front of them. The first words that they heard in this
world, when the lid of the box in which they lay was taken off, were:
‘Hurrah, tin-soldiers!’ This was exclaimed by a little boy, clapping
his hands; they had been given to him because it was his birthday, and
now he began setting them out on the table. Each soldier was exactly
like the other in shape, except just one, who had been made last when
the tin had run short; but there he stood as firmly on his one leg as
the others did on two, and he is the one that became famous.
There were many other playthings on the table on which they were being
set out, but the nicest of all was a pretty little castle made of
cardboard, with windows through which you could see into the rooms. In
front of the castle stood some little trees surrounding a tiny mirror
which looked like a lake. Wax swans were floating about and reflecting
themselves in it. That was all very pretty; but the most beautiful
thing was a little lady, who stood in the open doorway. She was cut
out of paper, but she had on a dress of the finest muslin, with a
scarf of narrow blue ribbon round her shoulders, fastened in the
middle with a glittering rose made of gold paper, which was as large
as her head. The little lady was stretching out both her arms, for she
was a Dancer, and was lifting up one leg so high in the air that the
Tin-soldier couldn’t find it anywhere, and thought that she, too, had
only one leg.
‘That’s the wife for me!’ he thought; ‘but she is so grand, and lives
in a castle, whilst I have only a box with four-and-twenty others.
This is no place for her! But I must make her acquaintance.’ Then he
stretched himself out behind a snuff-box that lay on the table; from
thence he could watch the dainty little lady, who continued to stand
on one leg without losing her balance.
When the night came all the other tin-soldiers went into their box,
and the people of the house went to bed. Then the toys began to play
at visiting, dancing, and fighting. The tin-soldiers rattled in their
box, for they wanted to be out too, but they could not raise the lid.
The nut-crackers played at leap-frog, and the slate-pencil ran about
the slate; there was such a noise that the canary woke up and began to
talk to them, in poetry too! The only two who did not stir from their
places were the Tin-soldier and the little Dancer. She remained on
tip-toe, with both arms outstretched; he stood steadfastly on his one
leg, never moving his eyes from her face.
[Illustration: Don’t Look at Things That Aren’t Intended for the Likes
of You!]
The clock struck twelve, and crack! off flew the lid of the snuff-box;
but there was no snuff inside, only a little black imp—that was the
beauty of it.
‘Hullo, Tin-soldier!’ said the imp. ‘Don’t look at things that aren’t
intended for the likes of you!’
But the Tin-soldier took no notice, and seemed not to hear.
‘Very well, wait till to-morrow!’ said the imp.
When it was morning, and the children had got up, the Tin-soldier was
put in the window; and whether it was the wind or the little black
imp, I don’t know, but all at once the window flew open and out fell
the little Tin-soldier, head over heels, from the third-storey window!
That was a terrible fall, I can tell you! He landed on his head with
his leg in the air, his gun being wedged between two paving-stones.
The nursery-maid and the little boy came down at once to look for him,
but, though they were so near him that they almost trod on him, they
did not notice him. If the Tin-soldier had only called out ‘Here I
am!’ they must have found him; but he did not think it fitting for him
to cry out, because he had on his uniform.
Soon it began to drizzle; then the drops came faster, and there was a
regular down-pour. When it was over, two little street boys came
along.
‘Just look!’ cried one. ‘Here is a Tin-soldier! He shall sail up and
down in a boat!’
[Illustration: Down the Drain]
So they made a little boat out of newspaper, put the Tin-soldier in
it, and made him sail up and down the gutter; both the boys ran along
beside him, clapping their hands. What great waves there were in the
gutter, and what a swift current! The paper-boat tossed up and down,
and in the middle of the stream it went so quick that the Tin-soldier
trembled; but he remained steadfast, showed no emotion, looked
straight in front of him, shouldering his gun. All at once the boat
passed under a long tunnel that was as dark as his box had been.
‘Where can I be coming now?’ he wondered. ‘Oh, dear! This is the black
imp’s fault! Ah, if only the little lady were sitting beside me in the
boat, it might be twice as dark for all I should care!’
Suddenly there came along a great water-rat that lived in the tunnel.
‘Have you a passport?’ asked the rat. ‘Out with your passport!’
But the Tin-soldier was silent, and grasped his gun more firmly.
The boat sped on, and the rat behind it. Ugh! how he showed his teeth,
as he cried to the chips of wood and straw: ‘Hold him, hold him! he
has not paid the toll! He has not shown his passport!’
But the current became swifter and stronger. The Tin-soldier could
already see daylight where the tunnel ended; but in his ears there
sounded a roaring enough to frighten any brave man. Only think! at the
end of the tunnel the gutter discharged itself into a great canal;
that would be just as dangerous for him as it would be for us to go
down a waterfall.
Now he was so near to it that he could not hold on any longer. On went
the boat, the poor Tin-soldier keeping himself as stiff as he could:
no one should say of him afterwards that he had flinched. The boat
whirled three, four times round, and became filled to the brim with
water: it began to sink! The Tin-soldier was standing up to his neck
in water, and deeper and deeper sank the boat, and softer and softer
grew the paper; now the water was over his head. He was thinking of
the pretty little Dancer, whose face he should never see again, and
there sounded in his ears, over and over again:
‘Forward, forward, soldier bold!
Death’s before thee, grim and cold!’
The paper came in two, and the soldier fell—but at that moment he was
swallowed by a great fish.
Oh! how dark it was inside, even darker than in the tunnel, and it was
really very close quarters! But there the steadfast little Tin-soldier
lay full length, shouldering his gun.
Up and down swam the fish, then he made the most dreadful contortions,
and became suddenly quite still. Then it was as if a flash of
lightning had passed through him; the daylight streamed in, and a
voice exclaimed, ‘Why, here is the little Tin-soldier!’ The fish had
been caught, taken to market, sold, and brought into the kitchen,
where the cook had cut it open with a great knife. She took up the
soldier between her finger and thumb, and carried him into the room,
where everyone wanted to see the hero who had been found inside a
fish; but the Tin-soldier was not at all proud. They put him on the
table, and—no, but what strange things do happen in this world!—the
Tin-soldier was in the same room in which he had been before! He saw
the same children, and the same toys on the table; and there was the
same grand castle with the pretty little Dancer. She was still
standing on one leg with the other high in the air; she too was
steadfast. That touched the Tin-soldier, he was nearly going to shed
tin-tears; but that would not have been fitting for a soldier. He
looked at her, but she said nothing.
All at once one of the little boys took up the Tin-soldier, and threw
him into the stove, giving no reasons; but doubtless the little black
imp in the snuff-box was at the bottom of this too.
There the Tin-soldier lay, and felt a heat that was truly terrible;
but whether he was suffering from actual fire, or from the ardour of
his passion, he did not know. All his colour had disappeared; whether
this had happened on his travels or whether it was the result of
trouble, who can say? He looked at the little lady, she looked at him,
and he felt that he was melting; but he remained steadfast, with his
gun at his shoulder. Suddenly a door opened, the draught caught up the
little Dancer, and off she flew like a sylph to the Tin-soldier in the
stove, burst into flames—and that was the end of her! Then the
Tin-soldier melted down into a little lump, and when next morning the
maid was taking out the ashes, she found him in the shape of a heart.
There was nothing left of the little Dancer but her gilt rose, burnt
as black as a cinder.
[Illustration: And That Was the End]
_BLOCKHEAD-HANS_
Far away in the country lay an old manor-house where lived an old
squire who had two sons. They thought themselves so clever, that if
they had known only half of what they did know, it would have been
quite enough. They both wanted to marry the King’s daughter, for she
had proclaimed that she would have for her husband the man who knew
best how to choose his words.
Both prepared for the wooing a whole week, which was the longest time
allowed them; but, after all, it was quite long enough, for they both
had preparatory knowledge, and everyone knows how useful that is. One
knew the whole Latin dictionary and also three years’ issue of the
daily paper of the town off by heart, so that he could repeat it all
backwards or forwards as you pleased. The other had worked at the laws
of corporation, and knew by heart what every member of the corporation
ought to know, so that he thought he could quite well speak on State
matters and give his opinion. He understood, besides this, how to
embroider braces with roses and other flowers, and scrolls, for he was
very ready with his fingers.
‘I shall win the king’s daughter!’ they both cried.
Their old father gave each of them a fine horse; the one who knew the
dictionary and the daily paper by heart had a black horse, while the
other who was so clever at corporation law had a milk-white one. Then
they oiled the corners of their mouths so that they might be able to
speak more fluently. All the servants stood in the courtyard and saw
them mount their steeds, and here by chance came the third brother;
for the squire had three sons, but nobody counted him with his
brothers, for he was not so learned as they were, and he was generally
called ‘Blockhead-Hans.’
‘Oh, oh!’ said Blockhead-Hans. ‘Where are you off to? You are in your
Sunday-best clothes!’
‘We are going to Court, to woo the Princess! Don’t you know what is
known throughout all the country side?’ And they told him all about
it.
‘Hurrah! I’ll go too!’ cried Blockhead-Hans; and the brothers laughed
at him and rode off.
‘Dear father!’ cried Blockhead-Hans, ‘I must have a horse too. What a
desire for marriage has seized me! If she will have me, she _will_
have me, and if she won’t have me, I will have her.’
‘Stop that nonsense!’ said the old man. ‘I will not give you a horse.
_You_ can’t speak; _you_ don’t know how to choose your words. Your
brothers! Ah! they are very different lads!’
[Illustration: Then They Oiled the Corners of Their Mouths]
‘Well,’ said Blockhead-Hans, ‘if I can’t have a horse, I will take the
goat which is mine; he can carry me!’
And he did so. He sat astride on the goat, struck his heels into its
side, and went rattling down the high-road like a hurricane.
Hoppetty hop! what a ride! ‘Here I come!’ shouted Blockhead-Hans,
singing so that the echoes were roused far and near. But his brothers
were riding slowly in front. They were not speaking, but they were
thinking over all the good things they were going to say, for
everything had to be thought out.
‘Hullo!’ bawled Blockhead-Hans, ‘here I am! Just look what I found on
the road!’—and he showed them a dead crow which he had picked up.
‘Blockhead!’ said his brothers, ‘what are you going to do with it?’
‘With the crow? I shall give it to the Princess!’
‘Do so, certainly!’ they said, laughing loudly and riding on.
‘Slap! bang! here I am again! Look what I have just found! You don’t
find such things every day on the road!’
[Illustration: Hans Fills his Pocket with the Mud]
And the brothers turned round to see what in the world he could have
found.
‘Blockhead!’ said they, ‘that is an old wooden shoe without the top!
Are you going to send that, too, to the Princess?’
‘Of course I shall!’ returned Blockhead-Hans; and the brothers laughed
and rode on a good way.
‘Slap! bang! here I am!’ cried Blockhead-Hans; ‘better and better—it
is really famous!’
‘What have you found now?’ asked the brothers.
‘Oh,’ said Blockhead-Hans, ‘it is really too good! How pleased the
Princess will be!’
‘Why!’ said the brothers, ‘this is pure mud, straight from the ditch.’
‘Of course it is!’ said Blockhead-Hans, ‘and it is the best kind! Look
how it runs through one’s fingers!’ and, so saying, he filled his
pocket with the mud.
But the brothers rode on so fast that dust and sparks flew all around,
and they reached the gate of the town a good hour before
Blockhead-Hans. Here came the suitors numbered according to their
arrival, and they were ranged in rows, six in each row, and they were
so tightly packed that they could not move their arms. This was a very
good thing, for otherwise they would have torn each other in pieces,
merely because the one was in front of the other.
All the country people were standing round the King’s throne, and were
crowded together in thick masses almost out of the windows to see the
Princess receive the suitors; and as each one came into the room all
his fine phrases went out like a candle!
‘It doesn’t matter!’ said the Princess. ‘Away! out with him!’
At last she came to the row in which the brother who knew the
dictionary by heart was, but he did not know it any longer; he had
quite forgotten it in the rank and file. And the floor creaked, and
the ceiling was all made of glass mirrors, so that he saw himself
standing on his head, and by each window were standing three reporters
and an editor; and each of them was writing down what was said, to
publish it in the paper that came out and was sold at the street
corners for a penny. It was fearful, and they had made up the fire so
hot that it was grilling.
‘It is hot in here, isn’t it!’ said the suitor.
‘Of course it is! My father is roasting young chickens to-day!’ said
the Princess.
‘Ahem!’ There he stood like an idiot. He was not prepared for such a
speech; he did not know what to say, although he wanted to say
something witty. ‘Ahem!’
‘It doesn’t matter!’ said the Princess. ‘Take him out!’ and out he had
to go.
Now the other brother entered.
‘How hot it is!’ he said.
‘Of course! We are roasting young chickens to-day!’ remarked the
Princess.
‘How do you—um!’ he said, and the reporters wrote down. ‘How do
you—um.’
‘It doesn’t matter!’ said the Princess. ‘Take him out!’
Now Blockhead-Hans came in; he rode his goat right into the hall.
‘I say! How roasting hot it is here!’ said he.
‘Of course! I am roasting young chickens to-day!’ said the Princess.
‘That’s good!’ replied Blockhead-Hans; ‘then can I roast a crow with
them?’
‘With the greatest of pleasure!’ said the Princess; ‘but have you
anything you can roast them in? for I have neither pot nor saucepan.’
[Illustration: The Reporters giggled & each
dropped a blot of ink on the floor
Then I will give the Editor the best! said Blockhead-Hans
That was neatly done! said the Princess]
‘Oh, rather!’ said Blockhead-Hans. ‘Here is a cooking implement with
tin rings,’ and he drew out the old wooden shoe, and laid the crow in
it.
‘That is quite a meal!’ said the Princess; ‘but where shall we get the
soup from?’
‘I’ve got that in my pocket!’ said Blockhead-Hans. ‘I have so much
that I can quite well throw some away!’ and he poured some mud out of
his pocket.
‘I like you!’ said the Princess. ‘You can answer, and you can speak,
and I will marry you; but do you know that every word which we are
saying and have said has been taken down and will be in the paper
to-morrow? By each window do you see there are standing three
reporters and an old editor, and this old editor is the worst, for he
doesn’t understand anything!’ but she only said this to tease
Blockhead-Hans. And the reporters giggled, and each dropped a blot of
ink on the floor.
‘Ah! are those the great people?’ said Blockhead-Hans. ‘Then I will
give the editor the best!’ So saying, he turned his pockets inside
out, and threw the mud right in his face.
‘That was neatly done!’ said the Princess. ‘I couldn’t have done it;
but I will soon learn how to!’
Blockhead-Hans became King, got a wife and a crown, and sat on the
throne; and this we have still damp from the newspaper of the editor
and the reporters—and they are not to be believed for a moment.
_A STORY ABOUT A DARNING-NEEDLE_
There was once a Darning-needle who thought herself so fine that she
believed she was an embroidery-needle. ‘Take great care to hold me
tight!’ said the Darning-needle to the Fingers who were holding her.
‘Don’t let me fall! If I once fall on the ground I shall never be
found again, I am so fine!’
‘It is all right!’ said the Fingers, seizing her round the waist.
‘Look, I am coming with my train!’ said the Darning-needle as she drew
a long thread after her; but there was no knot at the end of the
thread.
The Fingers were using the needle on the cook’s shoe. The upper
leather was unstitched and had to be sewn together.
‘This is common work!’ said the Darning-needle. ‘I shall never get
through it. I am breaking! I am breaking!’ And in fact she did break.
‘Didn’t I tell you so!’ said the Darning-needle. ‘I am too fine!’
‘Now she is good for nothing!’ said the Fingers; but they had to hold
her tight while the cook dropped some sealing-wax on the needle and
stuck it in the front of her dress.
‘Now I am a breast-pin!’ said the Darning-needle. ‘I always knew I
should be promoted. When one is something, one will become something!’
And she laughed to herself; you can never see when a Darning-needle is
laughing. Then she sat up as proudly as if she were in a State coach,
and looked all round her.
‘May I be allowed to ask if you are gold?’ she said to her neighbour,
the Pin. ‘You have a very nice appearance, and a peculiar head; but it
is too small! You must take pains to make it grow, for it is not
everyone who has a head of sealing-wax.’ And so saying the
Darning-needle raised herself up so proudly that she fell out of the
dress, right into the sink which the cook was rinsing out.
‘Now I am off on my travels!’ said the Darning-needle. ‘I do hope I
sha’n’t get lost!’ She did indeed get lost.
‘I am too fine for this world!’ said she as she lay in the gutter;
‘but I know who I am, and that is always a little satisfaction!’
And the Darning-needle kept her proud bearing and did not lose her
good-temper.
All kinds of things swam over her—shavings, bits of straw, and scraps
of old newspapers.
‘Just look how they sail along!’ said the Darning-needle. ‘They don’t
know what is underneath them! Here I am sticking fast! There goes a
shaving thinking of nothing in the world but of itself, a mere chip!
There goes a straw—well, how it does twist and twirl, to be sure!
Don’t think so much about yourself, or you will be knocked against a
stone. There floats a bit of newspaper. What is written on it is long
ago forgotten, and yet how proud it is! I am sitting patient and
quiet. I know who I am, and that is enough for me!’
One day something thick lay near her which glittered so brightly that
the Darning-needle thought it must be a diamond. But it was a bit of
bottle-glass, and because it sparkled the Darning-needle spoke to it,
and gave herself out as a breast-pin.
‘No doubt you are a diamond?’
‘Yes, something of that kind!’ And each believed that the other was
something very costly; and they both said how very proud the world
must be of them.
‘I have come from a lady’s work-box,’ said Darning-needle, ‘and this
lady was a cook; she had five fingers on each hand; anything so proud
as these fingers I have never seen! And yet they were only there to
take me out of the work-box and to put me back again!’
‘Were they of noble birth, then?’ asked the bit of bottle-glass.
‘Of noble birth!’ said the Darning-needle; ‘no indeed, but proud! They
were five brothers, all called “Fingers.” They held themselves proudly
one against the other, although they were of different sizes. The
outside one, the Thumb, was short and fat; he was outside the rank,
and had only one bend in his back, and could only make one bow; but he
said that if he were cut off from a man that he was no longer any use
as a soldier. Dip-into-everything, the second finger, dipped into
sweet things as well as sour things, pointed to the sun and the moon,
and guided the pen when they wrote. Longman, the third, looked at the
others over his shoulder. Goldband, the fourth, had a gold sash round
his waist; and little Playman did nothing at all, and was the more
proud. There was too much ostentation, and so I came away.’
‘And now we are sitting and shining here!’ said the bit of
bottle-glass.
At that moment more water came into the gutter; it streamed over the
edges and washed the bit of bottle-glass away.
‘Ah! now he has been promoted!’ said the Darning-needle. ‘I remain
here; I am too fine. But that is my pride, which is a sign of
respectability!’ And she sat there very proudly, thinking lofty
thoughts.