Christian was obliged to give up the idea of seeking the seeress, especially as the light of the lantern was scarcely sufficient to show them where to plant their feet, the fog was so impenetrable. Christian helped Olof to guide the horse cautiously to the shore of the lake, and there the lad, who did not seem at all alarmed by their adventures, asked him whether he would get into the sleigh again, and go on to the major’s bostoelle.
“No, no,” said Christian, “I must go to Stollborg. Must I not turn to the right?”
“No,” said Olof, “try to walk forward in a straight line, while you count three hundred steps. If you take two steps more and don’t come to the rock, you have gone wrong.”
“And what must I do then?”
“Look and see from what direction the whiffs of the fog come. The wind is from the south, and it is quite mild. If the fog passes to your left, you must turn to your right. As for the rest, there is no danger on the lake, the ice is firm everywhere.”
“But you, my child, will you be able to get along all alone?”
“Able to go to the bostoelle? I promise you. The horse knows the road now; don’t you see how impatient he is?”
“But you will not return to your father’s house this evening?”
“Yes, indeed! The fog will lift, perhaps; and besides, the moon will rise soon, and, as it is full, I can see to drive.”
Christian shook hands with the young danneman, gave him a daler, and, following his instructions, reached Stollborg without missing his road, and without meeting a living soul.