“Stop! stop!” said Torkel, who, unsuccessful, had scrambled back. “What are you doing?—we shall all suffer for this; it is elder that you are cutting.”
“Well! what then?”
“Why, if we take it without asking for it, the elves will have power over us for nine days, and the chances are, some of us will die suddenly.”
The Parson was inclined to laugh, but he did not, and turned to look for a branch of less dangerous wood; but Torkel, placing himself before it, taking off his hat and bowing three times to the tree, said, “Elf-mother! elf-mother! let me have some of thy elder, and I will give thee something of mine.”
The elf-mother certainly did not refuse, and Torkel took silence for consent, which it proverbially is, and cut away at the bough, which, stripped of its side branches, formed a communication with the imbedded Jacob, who, black without and sulky within, and, as Torkel said, looking more like a pig than ever, was dragged floundering to the shore,—not at all the more pleased when Torkel reminded him that, as they were in light marching order, he would have to wash his shirt, trousers, and stockings, and to sit without them till they were dry.
When the party met at their mid-dag’s mad, which was not till long after the Swedish time for mid-dag’s mad had passed, there was a very respectable show of fish—not only enough for the cutter, but also a very handsome basket for the Gotheborg steamer that evening, which was duly packed and forwarded in a light cart to the locks; while the party, shouldering their weapons and that part of their prize which they had reserved for themselves, took the forest path to Wenersborg. Before sundown they were safely established on board the little cutter, who immediately tripped her anchor, hoisted jib and foresail—for the mainsail was already set,—payed off slowly before it, and stood out into the lake, which was glowingly reflecting the red beams of the setting sun, but still faintly rippling under the easterly breeze.
“Did not I tell you so?” said Moodie, who, seating himself with his legs dangling down the well, had assumed the tiller just as a gentleman drives his own carriage; “we have had a capital day’s sport, and got a glorious breakfast for to-morrow. I have turned a few bancos, which will help to pay for the trip, and here we are, resting from our labours while the wind is carrying us on our journey.”
“I hope it will stand,” said old Nils, “but it is easterly, you see, and the sun is setting; the wind does not like to blow in the face of the sun.”
“Go to the—Strömkarl—your old croaker, and check the main-sheet; you have got the sail a fathom too flat. The wind is drawing round to the southward, as any one may see; ease off the jib and foresail too, while you are about it.”
The fact was, that the wind had stood steady enough, but Moodie, in his anxiety, had let her fall off a couple of points, which Nils saw, but was too sulky to mention, and which the rest of the party did not see, because, as strangers, they were ignorant of the true course, and there was no binnacle, or, so far as they could see, compass of any kind, besides those they had in their pockets.