ng her health; for he did
not drink much.

Now came the fourth daughter, with a large harp to play upon;
and when she struck the first chord, every one lifted up the left
leg (for the goblins are left-legged), and at the second chord they
found they must all do just what she wanted.

"That is a dangerous woman," said the old goblin; and the two sons
walked out of the hill; they had had enough of it. "And what can the
next daughter do?" asked the old goblin.

"I have learnt everything that is Norwegian," said she; "and I
will never marry, unless I can go to Norway."

Then her youngest sister whispered to the old goblin, "That is
only because she has heard, in a Norwegian song, that when the world
shall decay, the cliffs of Norway will remain standing like monuments;
and she wants to get there, that she may be safe; for she is so afraid
of sinking."

"Ho! ho!" said the old goblin, "is that what she means? Well, what
can the seventh and last do?"

"The sixth comes before the seventh," said the elf king, for he
could reckon; but the sixth would not come forward.

"I can only tell people the truth," said she. "No one cares for
me, nor troubles himself about me; and I have enough to do to sew my
grave clothes."

So the seventh and last came; and what could she do? Why, she
could tell stories, as many as you liked, on any subject.

"Here are my five fingers," said the old goblin; "now tell me a
story for each of them."

So she took him by the wrist, and he laughed till he nearly
choked; and when she came to the fourth finger, there was a gold
ring on it, as if it knew there was to be a betrothal. Then the old
goblin said, "Hold fast what you have: this hand is yours; for I
will have you for a wife myself."

Then the elfin girl said that the stories about the ring-finger
and little Peter Playman had not yet been told.

"We will hear them in the winter," said the old goblin, "and
also about the fir and the birch-trees, and the ghost stories, and
of the tingling frost. You shall tell your tales, for no one over
there can do it so well; and we will sit in the stone rooms, where the
pine logs are burning, and drink mead out of the golden
drinking-horn of the old Norwegian kings. The water-god has given me
two; and when we sit there, Nix comes to pay us a visit, and will sing
you all the songs of the mountain shepherdesses. How merry we shall
be! The salmon will be leaping in the waterfalls, and dashing
against the