"Oh, don't go," cried Hulda. "I am going up-stairs to fetch my wand. I shall not be long; pray wait for me."
"'OH, DON'T GO,' CRIED HULDA. 'I AM GOING UP-STAIRS TO FETCH MY WAND.'"
Nothing was further from the pedlar's thought than to go away, and while little Hulda was running up to look for the wand he panted so hard for fear that after all he might not be able to get it that he woke the other hound, who came up to him, and smelt his leg.
"What sort of a creature is this?" said the old hound to his companion, speaking, of course, in the dogs' language.
"I'm sure I can't say," answered the other. "I wonder what he is made of,—he smells of mushrooms! quite earthy, I declare! as if he had lived underground all his life."
"Let us stand one on each side of him, and watch that he doesn't steal anything."