"They're bewitched," said the Bride's mother, "bewitched, and nothing else. But wait till St. John's Eve, and you'll see I shall cure them."
She spoke mysteriously, but as she was a sensible woman everyone believed her.
On St. John's Eve—as I daresay you know—all animals have the power of talking together like human beings, and punctually as the clock struck twelve the Bride's mother put on her thick shoes, and taking the stable lantern from its nail, she went off to the stable, refusing to allow either her husband or son to accompany her.
As she entered the door of the outhouse, she heard the oxen already whispering to each other, and the old horse, with his head over the division, addressing friendly remarks to a family of goats close by.
"Do you know anything of Terli or the Wood-Trolls?" enquired the old woman, looking at the oxen severely.
"No, no, no!" and they shook their heads slowly.
The Bride's mother then repeated her question to the goat family, who denied any knowledge of the Trolls with a series of terrified bleats.
"There is only you, then," said the Bride's mother to the old horse. "You have served us faithfully, and we have been kind masters to you. Tell me: do you know anything of Terli or the Wood-Trolls?"
"I do," said the old horse with dignity. "I can tell you more than anyone else dreams of;" and he stepped from his stall with an air of the greatest importance.
The old woman sat down upon an upturned stable-bucket, and prepared to listen.