“He is now, but he was not then. He has been deaf only since he got that cold five years ago; and this that I am talking of happened six, come Martinsmass.”
It may be as well to state that we met Mr. Parsonage subsequently making hay, and, after a vast deal of hammering, he was made to understand us, when, with a most earnest expression of countenance he confirmed Solomon’s account exactly.
“Can’t you tell us some more of your tales?” said the Lehnsman; “one of those will do you told to Landstad and Moe, or to Bugge last summer.”
“How long does the stranger stop?” asked Solomon; “I will endeavour to recollect one or two.”
“Oh! I shall be off to-morrow,” said I.
“Why so early? Well, let me see. There was the grey fole (horse) at Roysland. I’ll tell you about that. You must know, then, sir, we used many years ago to have a horse-race (skei) on the flat, just beyond the church yonder, at the end of August-month each year. There was a man living up at Roysland, an old mile from here, up on the north side of the Elv. He was a strange sort of a fellow, nobody could make him out; Laiv Roysland, they called him. One August, on the morning of the race, a grey horse came down to his gaard and neighed. He went and put the halter on him, and seeing he was a likely sort of a nag, thought he would take him down and run him, without asking anybody any questions. And sure enough he came. The horse—he was a stallion—beat all the rest easily. Laiv carried off all the prizes and returned home. When he got there he let the horse loose, and it immediately took up to the hills, and was not heard of or seen for twelve months. When the race-day came round, a neigh was heard (han nejade), Laiv went out of the door, and found the same horse. He put the halter on his head, and brought him down to the races just as before. He won everything. There never was the likes of him whether in biting or running (bitast eller springast). He was always the best. At last people began to talk, and said it must be the fand sjel (the fiend himself). The third year the horse ran it lost. What a rage Laiv was in. When he got home he hit the horse a tremendous thwack with his whip, and cursed a loud oath. It struck out, and killed him on the spot. Next year a neigh was heard as usual outside the house, early on the morning of the race-day, but nobody dared go out. They were not such dare-devils as Laiv. It neighed a second time, but the people would not venture, and from that time to this it has never been heard of or seen.”
“A strange wild tale,” said I; “ what do you really think it was?”
“Well, I suppose it was He. I never told that story,” continued Solomon, “to any one before.”
“Yes, there can be no doubt about it,” said Solomon, after a long pause; “so many people have seen these underground people that there must be some truth in it. Besides which, is not there something about it in Holy Writ: ‘Every knee shall bow, both of things that are in heaven, and in earth, and under the earth,’ and who can be under the earth but the underground people?”