"But who are you? I never saw you before," said Laura, forgetting that the little creature had already shown himself to be easily angered.
"Who am I? What difference is that to you?" said the queer little object. "Honey is honey; if you want some, come with me; if you don't, stay where you are."
"Oh, really," said Laura; "you are very kind. I do like honey, and it would be very nice with my dry oat-cake;" and, forgetting her staff, she followed the elf into the woods. He led her to a hollow tree, and, flinging his rabbit-skin away, clambered into the cavity, and came out with a great mass of glistening honey dripping from its white comb.
"Here; now let me see you eat it," said the elf, putting on his rabbit-skin again, and laying the honey-comb on a broad leaf at her feet. Laura sat down and dipped her oat-cake into the honey.
"It is delicious," said Laura. "Won't you have some?"
"I? No, indeed," said the elf, standing off and gazing at her curiously from beneath his bushy little eyebrows.
"Don't you care for it?"
"No; I'd rather sharpen my teeth on an acorn."
"But that is so bitter."
"It suits my digestion. I am a planter of bitter herbs."