“Father, do take me along, too!”
“I can’t, my boy. There may be wolves on the lake, to-night, and they might like to eat up little boys who stay out of bed so late.”
“But I am not afraid of them, father. I have my whip and my hatchet, and I’ll whip them and cut them.”
Thor here made some threatening flourishes with his weapons in the air, indicating how he would give it to the wolves in case they should venture to molest him.
“Well, come along, you little rascal,” said his father, laughing, and feeling rather proud of his boy’s dauntless spirit. “You and I are not to be trifled with when we get mad, are we, Thor?”
“No, indeed, father,” said Thor, and clenched his little mittened fist.
Tollef then lifted him up, wrapped him warmly in his sheepskin jacket, and put him between his knees, while he himself seized the reins and urged the horse on.
It was a glorious winter night. The snow sparkled and shone as if sprinkled with starry diamonds, the aurora borealis flashed in pale, shifting colors along the horizon, and the moon sailed calmly through a vast, dark-blue sea of air. Little Thor shouted with delight as he saw the broad expanse of glittering ice, which they were about to cross, stretching out before them like a polished shield of steel.
“Oh, father, I wish we had taken our skates along, and pulled your barrel across on a sled,” cried the boy, ecstatically.