She exclaimed, "Where could you have got it? I hope you have not stolen it."
"Oh," he replied, "I found it on the ice. It was caught in our lake. Have we no right to a little lake of our own? I shall claim all the fish that come out of its waters."
"How," the sister asked again, "could you have got it there?"
"No matter," said the boy; "go and cook it."
It was as much as the girl could do to drag the great trout within doors. She cooked it, and its flavor was so delicious that she asked no more questions as to how he had come by it.
The next morning the little spirit or boy-man set off as he had the day before.
He made all sorts of sport with his ball as he frolicked along—high over his head he would toss it, straight up into the air; then far before him, and again, in mere merriment of spirit, he would send it bounding back, as if he had plenty of speed and enough to spare in running back after it. And the ball leaped and bounded about, and glided through the air as if it were a live thing, and enjoyed the sport as much as the boy-man himself.
When he came within hail of the four large men, who were fishing there every day, he cast his ball with such force that it rolled into the ice-hole about which they were busy. The boy, standing on the shore of the lake, called out:
"Four-in-one, pray hand me my ball."
"No, indeed," they answered, setting up a grim laugh which curdled their four dark faces all at once, "we shall not;" and with their fishing-spears they thrust the ball under the ice.