The Maid of Beauty heeded not, but kept right on with her household duties.
“Mother,” she said, “I am too busy to bother with barking dogs. The bread must be baked, and this pile of wool must be spun, and from its yarn six new blankets must be woven this very [[198]]day. I have no time to stand gaping at the gate, listening to the noise of barking curs.”
The uproar increased. The ancient house-dog, infirm and toothless as his mistress, rose from his place in the ashes; he dragged himself to the door and set up a mournful howling.
“O my daughter, what indeed can be the matter?” cried the Wise Woman.
“I know not,” answered the maiden.
In his hut beside the reindeer paddock the keeper of the herds was sitting. He was old and fat and lazy, and the noise of the dogs awakened him from pleasant reveries.
“Wife! wife!” he cried. “Do you hear that barking? Go quickly to the door and see what is the matter!”
But the aged woman kept on with her knitting. “I am too busy to run to the door every time a dog barks,” she said. “I must earn something to feed our children, to clothe them, to keep them neat. I have no time to listen to the prattle of dogs.”
Still the clamor grew and grew. The black watchdog in the courtyard of Louhi’s dwelling joined his voice to the general uproar. He pulled at his chain and howled most dismally. [[199]]
By the smouldering fire in his own small hut the head serving-man was sitting; his eldest son was working beside the door. “My son,” said the older man, “do you hear the black watchdog? Surely some stranger is coming this way. Run out to the road and see what manner of man he is.”