Over these a number of mice were running, who, frightened at his approach, hurried off in all directions.
He now remembered the tradition of the black death. This must have been the dwelling of some of the victims, left just in the state it was when the hand of the Destroyer was suddenly laid upon them. Being a shrewd fellow, he at once perceived the value of his discovery, and with his axe marked his name and the day of the month on the wall of the building. As the day was far spent, he kept watch and ward in the weird abode, and next day started eastward, where he knew his home must lie, taking care to blaze the trees on his road, as a clue to the spot. He managed to get home safely, and before long returning to the place with others, he soon cleared the forest, and brought the old enclosures into cultivation. In memory of his discovery he called his new abode Mustad (Mouse Grange), the very name by which it still goes; nay, his descendants are said to be its present occupiers. In the eastern and western walls of the garret the mortice holes of the old bed-timbers are still visible. The date is also distinguishable on one of the outside fir-timbers, which are so intensely hard as almost to defy the stroke of an axe.
A little higher up the main valley along which I am travelling, and a little to the east of it, there is another, called Findal, which is the scene of the following curious legend. The plague only spared two persons in this sequestered spot, a man and his wife, Knut and Thore by name. They were frightfully lonely, but still years rolled on, and they never thought of quitting their ancient habitation. The only thing that plagued them was, how to count time, and at last they lost their reckoning, and did not feel certain when the great winter festival of Yule came round. It was agreed, therefore, when the winter was at hand, and the days rapidly shortening, that the old lady should start off on foot, and go straight forward until she found people to tell her the day of the month. She went some distance, but the snow was so deep that her knees got quite tired, and she sat down on the Fond (snow-field), when suddenly, to her astonishment, she heard the following words sung in a clear quaint tone, by a voice under the snow.
Deka deka Thole,
Bake du brouv te Jole:
Note ei,
Aa Dagana tvaei,
So laenge ae de ti Jole.
You there, my good Thole,
Bake you bread for Jule: