XXXVII
THE PLAYER ON THE JEW’S-HARP
Some two or three generations ago, a three-year-old ox, belonging to some people who lived in an alpine meadow in Westfjall, disappeared. And look for him as they would, they could not find him, and in the fall they moved down into the valley again. But while the grandmother was skimming the cream from the milk-pans in the lean-to the day before their departure, and the oldest maid in the hut was scooping the cheese out of the big kettle, a little shepherd girl came running up, and called out that the big ox was standing at the salt-lick, and licking the salt. When the mother stepped out for a moment, she saw nothing that looked at all like an ox. So she thought the little girl had probably been mistaken; but the little one insisted that the big ox had been there.
“I saw the white spot he had on his forehead, and he had broken off one of his horns,” said she. The man himself and his two sons were each out searching in a different direction, and they searched and searched; but all three came back at evening, and none of them had found anything. When they heard the little girl’s story, one of the sons flung himself on his horse, and rode home at full gallop, in order to fetch his gun; loaded it with small splinters from a steel arrow, hurried back posthaste, and shot it off cross-wise over the salt-lick. “If the ox is bewitched, he ought to appear now,” said he. But it was of no use, the ox was gone and he stayed gone.
The oldest son was to go up on the hill once more, and take a good look all around. And he searched in every direction, far and near, until he thought he could smell the ox; yet in spite of this, he could see no sign of a living being anywhere, all day long. Finally he grew angry, and swore that for his part, the bewitched beast might go to the end of the world; if he did not want to join the rest of the herd, he could please himself. With that he turned around, and went to the herdsman’s hut as fast as he could, meaning to take home with him the bear he had shot.
And there, at the fence of the herdsman’s hut, stood the great ox licking salt. And one of his horns had been broken off. Where he had been knocking about so long he himself probably knew, the young fellow did not.
But now day was so nearly over that he could just about reach home if he went as he was, and hurried as fast as he could. But if he had to lead and pull along the ox besides, it would have been pitch-dark before he had fairly started. And let me tell you, the fall nights are really dark, and cold besides, and it is not wise to camp under the open sky in the mountains. For this reason he decided to wait until morning, though a night at the herdsman’s hut would be bleak and lonely. So he chopped a good armful of birch-boughs, laid them on the hearth, and soon the hut grew warm and comfortable, and as bright as a room lit with Christmas candles. When he had eaten his supper, he threw himself down on the bed of planks, pulled his jew’s-harp out of his waistcoat pocket, and began to play the “Bells of St. Thomas” round. But he had not been playing long before he fell asleep, with the instrument in his mouth. Suddenly he woke again, and it seemed to him that he could hear something rustling softly at the other end of the hut. He turned his head slightly, and saw a beautiful young girl standing by the table, braiding her hair. It was so long that it fell down over her hips, and as lovely and shiny as though it had been gilded. At first the young fellow could not see her face, but once, when she happened to turn in his direction, it seemed to him that she was the fairest and finest-looking maiden he had ever laid eyes on. Her like could not have been found far or near, and he knew every girl in the parish, well-to-do or otherwise. The young fellow did not dare address her, for she thought herself alone, and looked so dear and trustful that he dreaded frightening her away. So he lay there as still as a mouse, and did not venture to move so much as a foot.
Suddenly in came another girl; but she appeared to be coarser, and had a large mouth and dark complexion, not as clear and fresh as that of the first girl; and she did not please him as well. Both were dressed alike, in green jackets and bodices of red satin, blue stockings, and with bright silver buckles on their shoes. The younger maiden had white sleeves, that were so fresh and clean they fairly shone. Her bodice was cut low, and showed a handsome round clasp, which tinkled delicately whenever the maiden made the slightest move. And now the young fellow realized what sort of maidens these were, and could not get over his astonishment that there were such beautiful women among the underground folk. It was Saturday evening, and this was probably the reason they were dressing and adorning themselves so busily: no doubt they were expecting company or suitors. The young fellow could not make out what they said to each other, for they whispered so softly that he only caught a word now and then. Once they spoke of a little white lamb that had gone lame that day.
“Yes, it is the fault of that young fellow who has been rushing around in all the empty huts among the hills, looking for his fire-red ox. I saw him throw a stone at the little lamb,” said the older girl, the one with the large mouth and dark skin. “He really should be punished for that!” said she.
“Yes, but he never knew it was a lamb,” replied the younger one, the beauty with the red cheeks. “And it was not right of grandmother to hide his ox, and make him hunt for it far and near.”
“He might have taken his ox, for it was standing just beside the hut, and he ran right past it,” said the other girl.