trewed flowers over it. And on the roof was a little goat belonging
to Oyvind; it was kept there that it might not wander away, and Oyvind
bore leaves and grass up to it. One fine day the goat leaped down and
was off to the cliff; it went straight up and soon stood where it had
never been before. Oyvind did not see the goat when he came out in the
afternoon, and thought at once of the fox. He grew hot all over, and
gazing about him, cried,--

"Killy-killy-killy-killy-goat!"

"Ba-a-a-a!" answered the goat, from the brow of the hill, putting its
head on one side and peering down.

At the side of the goat there was kneeling a little girl.

"Is this goat yours?" asked she.

Oyvind opened wide his mouth and eyes, thrust both hands into his pants
and said,--

"Who are you?"

"I am Marit, mother's young one, father's fiddle, the hulder of the
house, granddaughter to Ola Nordistuen of the Heidegards, four years
old in the autumn, two days after the frost nights--I am!"

"Is that who you are?" cried he, drawing a long breath, for he had not
ventured to take one while she was speaking.

"Is this goat yours?" she again inquired.

"Ye-es!" replied he, raising his eyes.

"I have taken such a liking to the goat;--you will not give it to me?"

"No, indeed I will not."

She lay kicking up her heels and staring down at him, and presently she
said: "But if I give you a twisted bun for the goat, can I have it
then?"

Oyvind was the son of poor people; he had tasted twisted bun only once
in his life, that was when grandfather came to his house, and he had
never eaten anything equal to it before or since. He fixed his eyes on
the girl.

"Let me see the bun first?" said he.

She was not slow in producing a large twisted bun that she held in her
hand.

"Here it is!" cried she, and tossed it down to him.

"Oh! it broke in pieces!" exclaimed the boy, picking up every fragment
with the utmost care. He could not help tasting of the very smallest
morsel, and it was so good that he had to try another piece, and before
he knew it himself he had devoured the whole bun.

"Now the goat belongs to me," said the girl.

The boy paused with the last morsel in his mouth; the girl lay there
laughing, and the goat stood by her side, with its white breast and
shining brown hair, giving sidelong glances down.

"Could you not wait a while," begged the boy,--his heart beginning to
throb. Then the girl laughed more than ever, and