How they grub among the trees!
Oh, rub a dub, a dub, hey up, halloo!
“How their backs begin to bristle
When they hear their master whistle!
How they kick at every lick
That I give them with my stick!
Oh, rub a dub, a dub, hey up, halloo!”
“Get along, you rascals,” cried the savage-looking herd, “or I’ll kill and roast you before your time;” and soon the herd, with his swine, were concealed from Eric’s sight by the wood; but he still heard his “rub-a-dub” chorus, to which he beat time with a sort of rude drum, which he had made for himself with a skin and hoop. Eric determined to make his acquaintance, or at all events to follow him to some house; so he descended from the tree, and ran off in the direction from which he heard the song coming. He soon overtook him.
“Hollo!” said the wild-looking lad, with as much astonishment as if Eric had fallen from the clouds. “Who? where from? where to?”
“I have lost my way in the wood,” said Eric, “and want you to guide me.”