A shepherd's boy, belonging to Patzig, about half a mile from Bergen,
where there are great numbers of underground people in the hills, found
one morning a little silver bell on the green heath among the giants'
graves, and fastened it on him. It happened to be the bell belonging to
the cap of one of the little brown ones, who had lost it while he was
dancing, and did not immediately miss it or observe that it was no
longer tinkling in his cap. He had gone down into the hill without his
bell, and, having discovered his loss, was filled with melancholy, for
the worst thing that can befall the underground people is to lose their
cap, or their shoes; but even to lose the bell from their caps, or the
buckle from their belts, is no trifle to them. Whoever loses his bell
must pass some sleepless nights, for not a wink of sleep can he get till
he has recovered it.
The little fellow was in the greatest trouble, and looked and searched
about everywhere. But how could he learn who had the bell? for only on a
very few days in the year may they come up to daylight, nor can they
then appear in their true form. He had turned himself into every form of
birds, beasts, and men, and he had sung and groaned and lamented about
his bell, but not the slightest tidings or trace of tidings had he been
able to get. Most unfortunately for him, the shepherd's boy had left
Patzig the very day he found the little bell, and he was now keeping
sheep at Unrich, near Gingst, so that it was not till many a day after,
and then by mere chance, that the little underground fellow recovered
his bell, and with it his peace of mind.
He had thought it not unlikely that a raven, or a crow, or a jackdaw, or
a magpie, had found his bell, and from its thievish disposition, which
attracts it to anything bright and shining, had carried it into its
nest. With this thought he turned himself into a beautiful little bird,
and searched all the nests in the island, and he'd sang before all kinds
of birds to see if they had found what he had lost, and could restore to
him his sleep. He had, however, been able to learn nothing from the
birds. As he now, one evening, was flying over the waters of Ralov and
the fields of Unrich, the shepherd's boy, whose name was John
Schlagenteufel (Smite-devil), happened to be keeping his sheep there at
the very time. Several of the sheep had bells about their necks, and
they tinkled merrily when the boy's dog set them trotting. The little
bird who was flying over them thought of his bell, and sang in a
melancholy tone----
"Little bell, little bell,
Little ram as well,
You, too, little sheep,
If you've my tingle too,
No sheep's so rich as you,
My rest you keep."
The boy looked up and listened to this strange song which came out of
the sky, and saw the pretty bird, which seemed to him still more
strange.
"If one," said he to himself, "had but that bird that's singing up
there, so plain that one of us could hardly match him! What can he mean
by that wonderful song? The whole of it is, it must be a feathered
witch. My rams have only pinchbeck bells, he calls them rich cattle; but
I have a silver bell, and he sings nothing about me."
With these words he began to fumble in his pocket, took out his bell,
and rang it.
The bird in the air instantly saw what it was, and rejoiced beyond
measure. He vanished in a second, flew behind the nearest bush,
alighted, and drew off his speckled feather dress, and turned himself
into an old woman dressed in tattered clothes. The old dame, well
supplied with sighs and groans, tottered across the field to the
shepherd-boy, who was still ringing his bell and wondering what was
become of the beautiful bird. She cleared her throat, and coughing, bid
him a kind good evening, and asked him which was the way to Bergen.
Pretending then that she had just seen the little bell, she exclaimed--
"Well now, what a charming pretty little bell! Well, in all my life, I
never beheld anything more beautiful. Hark ye, my son, will you sell me
that bell? What may be the price of it? I have a little grandson at
home, and such a nice plaything as it would make for him!"
"No," replied the boy, quite short; "the bell is not for sale. It is a
bell that there is not such another bell in the whole world. I have only
to give it a little tinkle, and my sheep run of themselves wherever I
would have them go. And what a delightful sound it has! Only listen,
mother," said he, ringing it; "is there any weariness in the world that
can hold out against this bell? I can ring with it away the longest
time, so that it will be gone in a second."