One day she did not know what to give the people to eat, for there was not even a crust of bread in the house. And then she grew sad, for all might have been different for them had he but treated her better. He was standing in the smithy at the moment, about to shoe a horse, and she went out to him.
“Won’t you build me the pen now, the one I have so often, often asked you for?” she begged. “Do it now, and I will shoe the horse!” And she tore the red-hot horse-shoe from the anvil, and bent it in shape with her bare hands. When he saw that she was mistress of such arts, he grew frightened, and actually built her a fine, big pen back of the stable, set in a post, and drove a hook into it, just as she had said. The following morning the pen filled with fire-red cattle, big, fat, handsome beasts, that gave a great deal of milk. Such fine cows had never been seen anywhere. And on the hook hung a copper milk-pail, and a pair of horns of salt, with a silver ring from which to hang them. And now it was not long, as you may imagine, before they were more than prosperous at the farm-stead again.
For a time everything went well. He let her work and command in the house, and she had unfailing luck in all she undertook, so that wealth flowed in to them from every side. But at length he once more began to ill-treat her. Wherever he went he remembered that she was no Christian, no matter how kind, and amiable and obedient she might be, and just like any one else, save that she was far, far handsomer. Once he reached down the poker from the wall, and was about to beat her. She jumped up and begged him insistently not to touch her: “For else both of us will be unhappy!” But he would not listen to her, and beat her about the head, until the blood ran over the poker and fell on his hand. And then she suddenly disappeared from his sight. It seemed as though she had floated through the wall, or sunk into the ground. He saw nothing, but he heard a woman sob and weep, very quietly and softly, and painfully, and with a deadly sadness. After a little while all was silent—and then he heard no more. He searched day in, day out, here and there, hither and yon, and his neighbors, too, went along and helped him search; but to no avail, for he did not find her, and could not even discover a trace of her. When he was in the hill pastures during the summer, and the rest of the folk were up there as well, and even after they had gone, he would sit night after night, and play “The Blue Melody”; yet he never saw her again, nor any of her folk.
In the summer his little girl was old enough to begin going to school. And one day she said to her father, when he came up to the hills: “I am to bring you a kind greeting from mother!”
“Ah, no, my little girl, is that really the truth? Where did you speak to her?” he asked.
“She and two others came here the day that Guro fetched the sheep, and since then she often comes here,” answered the little one, “and they gave me their clasps, too,” said she, and showed him three handsome round clasps.
“Won’t she come back home to us?” he asked, as well you may imagine.
“She said that she really could not do that, and that she had to protect you continually against folk who wanted to harm you!” said the little one.
Sadness had been his portion before this, and now it did not grow any less. And it was a blessing that before many years had passed the earth closed over him.
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