The river ran into a lake that lay close to the hamlet, and from this spot there was a beautiful prospect. Once there came a man rowing over Endre Water; his name was Endre, and it was he who had first settled in the valley, and his kindred who now lived there. Some said he had decamped hither for murder's sake, and it was therefore his descendants were so dark; others said it was due to the mountains, that shut out the sun at five o'clock on midsummer day.
Over this hamlet there hung an eagle's nest from the projecting cliffs up in the mountain, and though all could see when the eagle was sitting, the nest was quite out of reach. The male bird sailed over the hamlet, pouncing now on a lamb, now on a kid, once he had also taken a little child and borne away; therefore there was no security so long as the eagle had her nest in this mountain fastness.
There was a tradition among the people, that in the olden time, two brothers had climbed up and destroyed the nest; but now there was no one who could do it.
When two met in Endregaarden, they would speak of the eagle's nest, and look up. Every one knew what time in the new year the eagles had come back, where they had pounced down and done mischief, and who had last attempted to climb up.
In the hope of one day being able to achieve the feat of the two brothers, the lads, from quite small boys, would practise themselves in climbing trees and cliffs, wrestling, &c.
At the time of which we now speak, the first lad in Endregaarden was not of the Endre kin; his name was Leif, he had curly hair, and small eyes, was clever in all play, and fond of the gentler sex. He said very early of himself, that one day he would reach the eagle's nest, but people intimated he had better not have said it aloud.
This tickled him, and before he was of full age, he went aloft. It was a clear Sunday morning in the early summer; the young birds would scarcely be hatched. The people gathered in a crowd under the mountain to see; old and young alike advising him against the attempt.
But he listened only to the voice of his own strong will, and waiting till the eagle left her nest, he made one spring and hung in a tree several yards from the ground. It grew in a cleft, and up this cleft he began to climb. Small stones loosened from under his feet, and the soil and gravel came tumbling down, otherwise it was quite still, save the sound of the river from behind with its subdued and ceaseless sough.
He soon reached that part where the mountain began to project, and here he hung by one hand, groping with his foot for a hold; he could not see. Many, especially women, turned away, saying he would not have done this if his parents had been living. At last he found a footing, sought again, first with the hand, then with the foot; he missed, slipped, then hung fast again. They who stood below could hear each other breathing.
Then a tall young girl, who sat upon a stone apart from the rest, rose up; they said she had promised herself to him from a child, although he was not of the Endre kin, and her parents would never give their consent. She stretched out her arms and called aloud, "Leif, Leif, why do you do this!" Every one turned towards her; the father stood close by and gave her a severe look, but she did not heed him. "Come down again, Leif," she cried: "I, I love you, and there's nothing to be gained up there!"