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With what may be called great aptitude, if it was not genius the grandmother had taken as it were the flavor of this and of that poet, and had added a little devilry, and then corked up the bottles for use during all future times. "Pray let me see," said the man. "Yes, but there are more important things to hear," replied the Moor-woman. "But now we are at the cupboard!" said the man.
"I suppose you know the history of 'the Girl who Trod on the Loaf, so that she might not soil her shoes'? That has been written, and printed too." "I told that story myself," said the man. "Yes, then you must know it; and you must know also that the girl sank into the earth directly, to the Moor-woman, just as Old Bogey's grandmother was paying her morning visit to inspect the brewery.
It struck twelve in the town, and before the last stroke had died away, the man was out in the yard, out in the garden, and stood in the meadow. The mist had vanished, and the Moor-woman stopped her brewing. "You've been a long time coming!" said the Moor-woman. "Witches get forward faster than men, and I'm glad that I belong to the witch folk!" "What have you to say to me now?" asked the man.
"Fortune is as good as red gold, but a new charming story would be better still," thought the man; but he could not find it here. And the sun went down, round and large; the meadow was covered with vapor. The moor-woman was at her brewing. It was evening. He stood alone in his room, and looked out upon the sea, over the meadow, over moor and coast.
The bung was in the cask, but one of the little moor-imps pulled it out in his mischief, and flung it up into the yard, where it beat against the window; and now the beer's running out of the cask, and that won't do good to anybody." "Pray tell me some more!" said the man. "Yes, wait a little," answered the Moor-woman. "I've something else to do just now." And she was gone.
That inspires respect, for that's an order that grows beside the sandy way; but that every one does not find. What have you to ask me? Don't stand there like a ridiculous oaf, for I must go back again directly to my bung and my cask." And the man asked about the Story, and inquired if the Moor-woman had met it in her journeyings.
Come to me in the moor, where my presence is necessary, and I will tell you all about it; but you must make haste, and come while your seven four-leaved shamrocks, for which one has six leaves, are still fresh, and the moon stands high!" And the Moor-woman was gone.
"The town will not take that to heart," observed the man; "that will not disturb a single person; for they will all think I'm only telling them a story if I say, 'The Will-o'-the-Wisp is in the town, says the Moor-woman. Take care of yourselves!" "Near the shores of the great Belt, which is one of the straits that connect the Cattegat with the Baltic, stands an old mansion with thick red walls.
It has now three hundred and sixty-three days to run about. I suppose you know how many days there are in a year?" And this is what the Moor-woman told: "There was a great commotion yesterday out here in the marsh! There was a christening feast!
You've your seven four-leaved shamrocks in your pocket, one of which is a six-leaved one, and so you will be able to see it." And really in the midst of the moor lay something like a great knotted block of alder, and that was the old grandmother's cupboard. The Moor-woman said that this was always open to her and to every one in the land, if they only knew where the cupboard stood.
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