The Animals’ New Year’s Eve
by
Centuries ago, in Sweden, a dean was riding through the dense forest on a New Year’s Eve. He was on horseback, dressed in a fur coat and cap. On the pommel of his saddle hung a satchel in which he carried his book of prayers. He had been with a sick person who lived in a far away forest settlement until late in the evening. Now he was on his way home but he feared that he should not get back to his house until after midnight.
The dean’s horse was strong and sturdy, and quite as wise as a human being. He could find his way home from any part of the forest. So the dean rode along now in the gray night, through the bewildering woods, with the reins dangling and his thoughts far away. It was a long time before he noticed how far along he was on his homeward way. When he did glance up, he saw that the forest was as dense as it had been at the beginning.
He intended to turn the horse at once, but the animal had never strayed. Perhaps he, himself, was mistaken, the dean thought. But suddenly a big branch struck him and almost swept him from the horse.
They were riding over a soft marsh through which there was no beaten track, although the horse trotted along at a brisk pace and showed no uncertainty. The dean seized the reins and turned the horse about, guiding him back to the roadway. No sooner was he there than he turned again and made straight for the woods.
The dean decided to walk and lead the horse until they came to more familiar roads. He dismounted, wound the reins around his arm, and started along on foot. It was no easy matter to tramp through the forest in a heavy fur coat; and the horse refused to follow. He planted his hoofs firmly on the ground and balked.
At last the dean was angry. He had never beaten his horse, nor would he now. Instead he threw the reins down and walked away.
“We may as well part company, since you want to go your own way,” he said.
He had not taken more than two steps before the horse came after him, took a cautious grip on his master’s coat sleeve, and stopped him. Afterward the dean could not understand how it happened but, dark as it was, the horse looked straight in his eyes. He gave his master a look that was both pleading and reproachful.
“I have served you day after day and done your bidding,” he seemed to say. “Will you not follow me this one night?”
Without further delay the dean sprang into the saddle.
“Go on!” he said. “I will not desert you when you are in trouble.”
He let the horse go as he wished and it was a hazardous journey, uphill all the way. The forest grew so thick that he could not see two feet ahead, but it seemed as if they were climbing a high mountain. The horse took perilous steps.
“Surely you don’t intend to go up Black’s Ridge, do you?” asked the dean, who knew that was one of the highest peaks in Haelsingland.
They mounted up and up, and the higher they went the more scattering were the trees. At last they rode on bare highland where the dean could look in every direction. Great tracts of land went up and down in mountains and valleys covered with dark trees. He could make out where they were.
“Why, of course it’s Black’s Ridge!” he said. “What an adventure!”
When they were at the top the horse stopped behind a thick pine, as if to hide. The dean bent forward and pushed aside the branches that he might see.
The mountain’s bald top was there. It was not empty, though. In the middle of the open space was an immense boulder around which many wild beasts were gathered. They were having a meeting of some sort.