“I mean Graa-been (grey-legs).”
“Ah! you mean Skrüb.[5] In winter they steal what they can, and, when hard pressed, they devour a particular sort of clay. That’s well known; it’s plain to see from their skarn (dung.)”
Ole further tells me that a pair of eagles build in a tall tree about a mile from his house. The young ones have just flown; he had not time to take them, although there is a reward of half-a-dollar a-head. Fancy a native of the British Isles suffering an eagle to hatch, and fly off with its brood in quiet.
“Hvor skal de ligge inat?” (where shall you lie to-night?) he inquired, as we proceeded.
“I don’t think I shall go further than Guldsmedoen, to-night,” I replied.
“There is no accommodation at all at the station,” he said; “but at Senum, close by, you can get a night’s lodging.”
It was dark when we arrived at Senum, which lay down a break-neck side-path, where the man had to lead the horse. On our tapping at the door, a female popped her head out of a window, but said nothing. After a pause, my man says “Quells,” literally, whiling, or resting-time. This was an abbreviation for “godt quell” (good evening). “Quells” was the monosyllabic reply of the still small voice at the porthole.
“Tak for senast” (thanks for the last), was my guide’s next observation.
“Tak for senast,” the other responded from above.