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“Yes, so we are,” replied the stranger.

But when they had gone still farther, Blessom thought he recognized the parish they were driving through.

“Is not this Vaage?” cried he.

“Yes, now we are there,” replied the stranger, and it seemed to Blessom that they had gone pretty fast.

“Thank you for the good ride,” said he.

“Thanks to yourself,” replied the man, and added, as he whipped up his horse, “Now you had better not look after me.”

“No, indeed,” thought Blessom, and started over the hills for home.

But just then so loud and terrible a crash was heard behind him that it seemed as if the whole mountain must be tumbling down, and a bright light was shed over the surrounding landscape; he looked round and beheld the stranger in the white coat driving through the crackling flames into the open mountain, which was yawning wide to receive him, like some huge gate. Blessom felt somewhat strange in regard to his travelling companion; and thought he would look in another direction; but as he had turned his head so it remained, and never more could Blossom get it straight again.

The boy had never heard anything to equal this in all his life. He dared not ask his father for more, but early the next morning he asked his mother if she knew any stories. Yes, of course she did; but hers were chiefly about princesses who were in captivity for seven years, until the right prince came along. The boy believed that everything he heard or read about took place close around him.

He was about eight years old when the first stranger entered their door one winter evening. He had black hair, and this was something Thrond had never seen before. The stranger saluted them with a short “Good-evening!” and came forward. Thrond grew frightened and sat down on a cricket by the hearth. The mother asked the man to take a seat on the bench along the wall; he did so, and then the mother could examine his face more closely.

“Dear me! is not this Knud the fiddler?” cried she.

“Yes, to be sure it is. It has been a long time since I played at your wedding.”

“Oh, yes; it is quite a while now. Have you been on a long journey?”

“I have been playing for Christmas on the other side of the mountain. But half-way down the slope I began to feel very badly, and I was obliged to come in here to rest.”

The mother brought forward food for him; he sat down to the table, but did not say “in the name of Jesus,” as the boy had been accustomed to hear. When he had finished eating, he got up from the table, and said,–

“Now I feel very comfortable; let me rest a little while.”

And he was allowed to rest on Thrond’s bed.

For Thrond a bed was made on the floor. As the boy lay there, he felt cold on the side that was turned away from the fire, and that was the left side. He discovered that it was because this side was exposed to the chill night air; for he was lying out in the wood. How came he in the wood? He got up and looked about him, and saw that there was fire burning a long distance off, and that he was actually alone in the wood. He longed to go home to the fire; but could not stir from the spot. Then a great fear overcame him; for wild beasts might be roaming about, trolls and ghosts might appear to him; he must get home to the fire; but he could not stir from the spot. Then his terror grew, he strove with all his might to gain self-control, and was at last able to cry, “Mother,” and then he awoke.

“Dear child, you have had bad dreams,” said she, and took him up.

A shudder ran through him, and he glanced round. The stranger was gone, and he dared not inquire after him.