This he said, and in his heart he grieved far more even than he showed in his words; and he thought: “How could the boy leave me!”
But Quest replied:
“I must go, grandfather, because I have thought it out, and that seems the right thing to me.”
Witting was a wise old man, and considered: “Perhaps there is more wisdom in a young head than in an old one; only if the poor lad is doing wrong it’s a sad weird he will have to dree—because he is so gentle and upright.” And as Witting thought of that he grew sadder than ever, but said nothing more. He just kissed his grandson good-bye and bade him go where he wished.
But Quest’s heart sadly misgave him because of his grandfather, and he very, very nearly changed his mind on the threshold and stayed beside him. But he forced himself to do as he had made up his mind to, and went out and away into the hills.
Just as Quest parted from his grandfather his imp thought he might as well get out of the osier clump and tackle that tiresome job; and he reached the clearing just as Quest was hurrying away.
So Quest went off to the hills, very downcast and sad; and when he came to the first rock, lo and behold, there was the goblin, gibbering.
“Why,” thought Quest, “it’s the very same one—quite small, misshapen, black as a mole and with big horns.”
The goblin stood right in Quest’s way, and would not let him pass. So Quest got angry with the little monster for hindering him like this; he picked up a stone, threw it at the goblin, and hit him squarely between the horns. “Now I’ve killed him,” thought Quest.
But when he looked again there was the goblin as spry as ever, and two more horns had sprouted where the stone had hit him!