But, bless you! he talked of that horse before he had looked into its mouth, as my Uncle Peter used to say. For, listen: while his wife sat at home spinning, she wrapped the baby in a blanket and laid it in the bread-trough, because it was empty and as good as a cradle. And that was what the dwarf spoke of, for he knew what had been done over at the blacksmith’s house.
But the blacksmith was as happy as a cricket under the hearth; on he plodded, kicking up the soft snow with his toes; but all the time the basket of pine-cones kept growing heavier and heavier.
“Come,” said he, at last, “I can carry this load no farther, some of the pine-cones must be left behind.” So he opened the basket to throw a parcel of them out. But—
Hi! how he did stare! for every one of those pine-cones had turned to pure silver as white as the frost on the window-pane. After that he was for throwing none of them away, but for carrying all of them home, if he broke his back at it, and upon that you may depend.
“And I had them all for nothing,” said he to his wife; “for the dwarf gave them to me for what was in the bread-trough, and I knew very well that there was nothing there.”
“Alas,” said she, “what have you done! the baby is sleeping there, and has been sleeping there all the morning.”
When the blacksmith heard this he scratched his head, and looked up and looked down, for he had burned his fingers with the hot end of the bargain after all. All the same, there was nothing left but to make the best that he could of it. So he took two or three of the silver pine-cones to the town and bought plenty to eat, and plenty to drink, and warm things to wear into the bargain.
At the end of seven days up came the dwarf and knocked at the blacksmith’s house.
“Well, and is the baby ready?” said he, “for I have come to fetch it.”