rass. Then he went into the house
and lay down, and fell asleep at once, because he was an old man and
had done a lot of walking.

As soon as he was asleep the old woman untied the goat and took it
away and hid it in the bushes, and tied up one of her own goats
instead. "They were my turnips," says she to herself, "and I don't see
why he should have a share in the gold." Then she went in, and lay
down grumbling to herself.

Early in the morning she woke the old man.

"Get up, you lazy fellow," says she; "you would lie all day and let
all the thieves in the world come in and steal my turnips. Up with
you to the dovecot and see how my turnips are getting on."

The old man got up and rubbed his eyes, and climbed up the rickety
stairs, creak, creak, creak, holding on with both hands, till he came
to the top of the house, to the top of the tower, to the top of the
dovecot, and looked at the turnips.

He was afraid to come down, for there were hardly any turnips left at
all.

And when he did come down, the scolding the old woman gave him was
worse than the other two scoldings rolled into one. She was so angry
that she shook like a rag in the high wind, and the old man put both
hands to his ears and hobbled away into the forest.

He hobbled along as fast as he could hobble, until he came to the hut
under the pine trees. This time the little queer children were not
hiding under the blankets or in the stove, or chattering in the hut.
They were all over the roof of the hut, dancing and crawling about.
Some of them were even sitting on the chimney. And everyone of the
little queer children was playing with a turnip. As soon as they saw
the old man they all came tumbling off the roof, one after another,
head over heels, like a lot of peas rolling off a shovel.

"_We_ stole the turnips!" they shouted, before the old man could say
anything at all.

"I know you did," says the old man; "but that does not make it any
better for me. And it is I who get the scolding when the turnips fly
away in the night."

"Never again!" shouted the children.

"I'm glad to hear that," says the old man.

"And we'll pay for the turnips."

"Thank you kindly," says the old man. He hadn't the heart to be angry
with those little queer children.

Three or four of them ran into the hut and came out again with a
wooden whistle, a regular whistle-pipe, such as shepherds use. They
gave it to the old man.

"I can never play that," says the old m