The pony’s name was Heinrich. He knew his way everywhere, the Professor said, so Father didn’t mind my riding him alone, and I had a ripping time.
One day we went to the Wunderberg, a big hill on a wide bleak moor, which was supposed to be quite hollow, and the favourite haunt of Wild Women.
The ground was extremely bumpy, and several times I was almost thrown out of the saddle. At last I got off, for I thought I would rather walk.
It was a splendid morning, and I was glad that I wasn’t the Professor’s nephew, away at school, as I lay on my back and looked up at the sky.
A small black beetle crawled over my hand, but I was so comfortable that I scarcely stirred. It crossed my cuff and climbed a blade of grass; and as I watched it a shadow fell between me and the sunlight.
A slender woman in a white gown was standing close to me. Her face was thin, and very wistful, and over her shoulders, down to her very feet, fell a mantle of glistening yellow hair.
“Are you hungry, child?” she asked gently, holding out to me a slice of fine white bread.
“Not yet,” I answered, for we had had Sauerkraut for breakfast, and I felt that I should not want anything more to eat for a long time. She looked disappointed, and sighed as she threw the bread away. A bird flew down and pecked it, but after a taste or two he left it where it was.
“Then surely you are thirsty, and will drink from my horn?” she pleaded, showing me a silver vessel with curious scrolls and writings traced in gold, which had been hidden by her beautiful hair. I took a sip from its bevelled edge, and had scarcely swallowed the first drop when I felt myself sinking through the hill, the Wild Woman still beside me.
“At last! At last!” she cried, clapping her shadowy hands as we stood in a wide hall lit with amber light. “O sisters, rejoice with me! I have found a child, and his eyes, his eyes are crystal clear.”