That was how the blacksmith saved his own skin; but the poor queen did nothing but just sit and look out of the window, and sigh and sigh.
After a while she called her steward to her and bade him go over and tell the blacksmith’s son to come to her.
There sat the lad back of the stove. “Prut!” said he, “she must send a better than you if she would have me come to her.” So the steward had just to go back to the castle again and tell the queen what the lad had said.
Then the queen called her chief minister to her. “Do you go,” said she, “and bid the lad come to me.”
There sat the lad back of the stove. “Prut!” said he, “she must send a better than you if she would have me come to her.”
Off went the minister and told the queen what he had said, and the queen saw as plain as the nose on her face that she must go herself if she would have the lad come at her bidding.
There sat the lad back of the stove. And would he come with her now?
Yes, indeed, that he would. So he slipped from behind the stove and took her by the hand, and they walked out of the house and up to her castle on the high hill, for that was where he belonged now. There they were married, and ruled the land far and near. For it is one thing to be a blacksmith of one kind, and another thing to be a blacksmith of another kind, and that is the truth, whether you believe it or not.
And did the queen really get the best in the world? Bless your heart, my dear, wait until you are as old as I am, and have been married as long, and you will be able to answer that question without the asking.