"Oh, it's just a child from the real world," said the dwarf by the stove. "Nothing to be afraid of. She just stopped here to ask her way to the Queerbodies' house, but I don't know how to tell her."
"I know the way," said one of the new-comers. "But sit down, child; you must have a bite and a sup with us before you go."
"Thank you, I don't think I'm hungry," said Ellen.
"What's this?" cried another dwarf, eying the porridge that had been set before him. "Where's our good dinner of soup and meat?"
While the stay-at-home told his story of the lost dinner the looks of the other dwarfs grew blacker and blacker. "See now," cried one of them, striking his hairy fist upon the table; "'tis just as I tell you; those underground dwarfs grow more bold and mischievous every day. There's nothing for it but for two of us to stay at home, one to cook and one to act as guard."
"But, brother, how can we do that?" asked another. "Our hands are few enough as it is, for the work to be done."
"If there were but some way to frighten them off," said another mournfully. "But I don't see how we could do that."
"Why don't you make a scarecrow to frighten them away? That's the way we do at home," Ellen suggested.
"What is a scarecrow?" asked another dwarf hopefully, but when Ellen told him he shook his head. "No, no; they're so quick they'd guess in a minute that we were trying to trick them, and that it couldn't move."
"Well, I know what we'll do," cried Ellen. "We won't make a scarecrow; we'll make a scare-gander. We'll dress the gander up like a figure and it shall sit there quietly, and then, when the dwarfs come in to look at it, it can fly up and beat them with its wings so they'll never dare to come back again."