e useful to you some day. If you ever need me, rub this
scale and I'll come to you wherever you may be, as far as the water
extends around the earth."

The Poor Boy took the scale, put it carefully away, and journeyed on.
Who knows how far he walked ere he reached the seventh moor, where no
grass grew and no water flowed. There he found in his path a mole
which had been surprised above ground by the daylight, and was now
groping piteously about in its blindness, unable to find its burrow
where its children were starving, though it was only one jump away.
The youth pitied the mole, too, took it and carried it to its hill.

"Wherever you go," said the mole, "may good-luck be your companion.
Please take a claw from my right paw and keep it carefully; who knows
whether it may not be useful to you some day. But if you need me,
scratch on the ground with this claw and I will come to you in
whatever part of the earth you may be."

The Poor Boy took the claw, put it carefully away, and went on again
over the endless moor toward the invisible forest that lay on the
frontiers of the other world. How many days and nights he journeyed
over this moor heaven only knows; but one morning, when he woke, he
saw in the distance, as far off as if it were in the other world, a
streak of light like the fire shepherds build at the entrance of the
fold. This was the home of the witch who had the enchanted horse.

The Poor Boy was greatly delighted when he found himself so near the
end of the world, and his joy increased till, on the evening of the
third day, he reached the enchantress's house. Oh, dear! there he
was, in the midst of the moor, just at the edge of the forest, which
stretched far beyond his sight in the dusk of twilight, upon a wide
plain covered with green grass, through which flowed streams of clear
water, but in the middle of this plain rose a number of tall poles, on
each of which was a human skull. The witch's hut stood in the midst of
these poles, with a tall poplar in front of it, and on the right and
left a willow tree. This proved that the Wood Witch was right--life
here was by no means merry. The Poor Boy plucked up his courage and
approached to enter the hut, which stood as if deserted in the middle
of the moor.

The old witch sat on a high three-legged chair in the entry, but
before her stood a huge kettle on a big tripod, over a fire that
burned without smoke. In one hand she held the shin-bone of a giant,
whic