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Updated: June 26, 2025
It was precisely ten minutes to three when the little company reached the top of the hill at the foot of which nestled old Jean's cottage, and halted for a moment before descending. "Sound the call of the Elf's Horn, Tom," demanded Grace. "I only wish I could sound it. I've tried over and over again, but I can't do it."
"I dare say it might seem so," continued the raven, "but this time I believe that you will be grateful to me for telling you that the elf's words were to this effect: You were to become a normal human being again if you would bring back Morten Goosey-Gander that your mother might lay him on the block and chop his head off." The boy leaped up.
This was because he had the elf's good eyesight now, and could see in the dark. He saw both lake and shore just as clearly as if it had been daylight. Smirre Fox left the ice where it touched the shore. And just as he was working his way up to the land-edge, the boy shouted: "Drop that goose, you sneak!"
David's laughing admission was never finished. Over the monotonous complaint of the rain rose a sound which made their hearts stand still. From the very depths of the narrow valley floated up to them that unmistakable trumpet call, the Elf's Horn. "Did you hear that, Jean?" David's voice sunk to a sibilant whisper. He was trembling violently as he asked the question.
For answer, Jean raised shaking hands to his mouth. Again the call of the Elf's Horn shrilled above the murmuring rain, and again, this time clearer and louder, came the answer. "Le bon Dieu hav' hear!" came the hunter's reverent exclamation. Stopping only to make the sign of the cross, the old man plunged down the perilous steep, David Nesbit at his heels.
His joy and pride infected all as he exhibited his prize and boasted of what he would catch in the river next, and when, on the return, Old Mok saluted him as the "Great Fisherman," the elf's elation became too great for any expression.
"Never mind their hurting your wrists, young Hempseed," chuckled one of the scaldpated constable rogues who was guarding us. "You'll have enough to tighten your gullet after 'Sizes, as sure as eggs is eggs." "Nay, brother Grimstock, the elf's too young to be hanged," puts in another constable, with somewhat of a charitable visage. "Too young!" echoes he addressed as Grimstock.
Then she was so terrified at the thought of talking with an elf that she could not say thank you or anything else, but quickly shut the door. As she did that she thought she saw an expression of pain flash across the elf's face, but she could not help what she did, for she was beside herself with fright. She crept into bed as quickly as she could and drew the covers over her head.
The big white gander was so brave and generous that he might do something rash were he to learn of the elf's stipulations. Later the boy sat on the goose-back, glum and silent, and hung his head.
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