“Only a pirate! Did not mind!” exclaimed Frolich. “You are the strangest girl! You are the most perverse creature! You think nothing of a pirate walking at your elbow for miles, and you would make a slave of yourself and me about these underground people, that my father laughs at, and that nobody ever saw.—Ah! you say nothing aloud; but I know you are saying in your own mind, ‘Remember the Bishop of Tronyem’s cattle.’”
“You want news,” said Erica, avoiding, as usual, all conversation about her superstitions. “How will it please you that the bishop is coming?”
“Very much, if we had any chance of seeing him. Very much, whether we see him or not, if he can give any help,—any advice... My poor Erica, I do not like to ask, but you have had no good news, I fear.”
Erica shook her head.
“I saw that in your face, in a moment. Do not speak about it till you tell my father; he may help you—I cannot; so do not tell me anything.”
Erica was glad to take her at her word. She kissed Frolich’s hand, which lay on her knee, in token of thanks, and then inquired whether any Gammel cheese was made yet.
“No,” said Frolich, inwardly sighing for news. “We have the whey, but not sweet cream enough till after this evening’s milking; so you are just in time.”
Erica was glad, as she could not otherwise have been sure of the demon having his due.
“There is your father,” said Erica. “Now do go and gather more berries, Frolich; there are not half enough, and you cannot be afraid of the pirate, with your father within call. Now do go.”
“You want me not to hear what you have to tell my father,” said Frolich, unwilling to depart.