The man looked and looked, and could make nothing of it, so all that he could do was to shake his head and turn away again with empty hands.
Out by the edge of the forest sat the old woman spinning. “Prut!” says she, “you should have chosen the lark, for it was your son for sure and certain. But listen; go back and try again; look each bird in the eyes, and choose where you find tears; for nothing but the human soul weeps.”
Back went the man into the forest for the third time, and there was the dwarf just as before, only this time it was a sparrow and a jackdaw and a raven that he had in his basket.
The man looked at each of the three in turn, and there were tears in the raven’s eyes.
“This is the one I choose,” said he, and he snatched it and ran. And it was his son and none other whom he held.
As for the dwarf, he stood and stamped his feet and tore his hair, but that was all he could do, for one must abide by one’s bargain, no matter what happens.
You can guess how glad the father and the mother were to have their son back home again. But the lad just sat back of the stove and warmed his shins, and stared into the Land of Nowhere, without doing a stroke of work from morning till night. At last the father could stand it no longer, for, though one is glad to have one’s own safe under the roof at home, it is another thing to have one’s own doing nothing the livelong day but sit back of the stove and eat good bread and meat; for the silver pine-cones were gone by this time, and good things were no more plentiful in the blacksmith’s house than they had been before.
“Come!” says he to lazy-boots one day, “is there nothing at all that you can do to earn the salt you eat?”
“Oh, yes,” said the lad, “I have learned many things, and one over at the dwarf’s house yonder, for the dwarf is a famous blacksmith.” So out he came from behind the stove, and brushed the ashes from his hair, and went out into the forge.