Nevertheless, Peterkin still thought of the something beyond the mountain, and wondered what it might be. Had some wise one whispered in his ear, he must have learnt that it was healthy ambition, which helped the world and the worker at the same time.
Soon it began to thunder, and Peterkin lazily opened the wooden shutters to look at the lightning.
By this time Gredel, having thanked Providence for a large bowl of black bread steeped in hot goat’s milk, was nodding and bobbing towards the flaming wood fire.
“Mother mother! here comes something from this world!”
“And what comes from the world?”
“Something like three aged women, older than you are a very great deal. Let me wait for another flash of lightening. Ha! The first has a big stick; the second has a great pair of round things on her eyes; and the third has a sack on her back, but it is as flat as the palm of my hand, and can have nothing in it.”
“Is there enough bread, and cheese, and milk, and salt in the house?—We must consider.”
“Aye,” answered Peterkin; “there is plenty of each and all.”
“Then let them come in, if they will,” said Gredel. “But they shall knock at the door first, for we go not out on the highways and in the byways to help others. Let them come to us—good. But let us not go to them, for they have their business, and we have ours; and so the world goes round!”
“They are near the door,” whispered Peterkin, “and very good old women they look.”