“There is no occasion for that,” he replied cheerfully, “I’ve found out the name for you; so you need not be afraid to meet the old hag.” With that, he handed her the piece of paper, and at the same time told about his adventure on the mountain. She took the paper, with a trembling hand, for at first she feared that the news was too good to be true; and, though her husband’s story comforted her not a little, she could not get rid of a suspicion that the name might not be the true one.
She wanted her husband to stay indoors the next day, so as to be present when the old woman called.
“No! no!” said he, “you kept your own counsel when you gave her the wool, so, you must do without me when you take in the cloth, and pay her the wages agreed on.”
He then left the house.
And now came the first day of summer. The peasant’s wife was in the house alone, and lay a-bed, listening with a beating heart for the first sound of the old hag’s footsteps. She had not long to wait; for, before the morning passed, a trampling noise was heard, and in stalked the old woman with a bundle on her back, and a scowl on her face. As soon as she got within the room, she threw down the big bundle of cloth, and, in an angry tone, called out,
“What is my name now? What’s my name?”
The peasant’s wife, who was almost dead with fear, said “Signy!”
“That my name! That my name! guess again, good wife.”
“Asa,” said she.
“That my name! That my name! No indeed. You must guess again; but remember this is your last chance.”