“A gold thread! What do you mean? I saw nothing but pigs until I saw you, and I shall treat you like a pig, d’ye hear? and lick you too, for I have no time to put off. So give me your band. Come, be quick!” said he, with his fierce face, and holding up his stick as he came up to Eric.
“Keep off, swineherd; don’t touch me!”
“Don’t touch you! why shouldn’t I touch you? Do you see this stick? How would you like to have it among your fine curls, as I drive it among the pigs’ bristles?” and he began to flourish it over his head, and to press nearer and nearer. “Once! twice! when I say thrice, if you do not unbuckle, I shall save you the trouble, and leave you to the wild beasts, who would like a tender bit of prince’s flesh better than pork. Come; once! twice!”
Eric was on his guard, and said, “I shall fight you, you young robber, till death, rather than give you this band—so keep off.”
“Thrice!” shouted the herd, and down came his thick cudgel, which he intended should fall on Eric’s head.
But Eric sprang aside, and before he could recover himself, dashed in upon him, tripped him up, and threw him on the grass, getting on top of him and seizing him by the throat in a moment. The herd, in his efforts to get out of Eric’s grasp, let go his cudgel, which Eric seized and held over his head. “Unless you promise, master swineherd, to leave me alone, I may leave you alone with the wild beasts.”
“You are stronger than I thought,” said the herd. “Let me up, or I shall be choked. Let me up, I say, and I promise to guide you.”
“I shall trust you,” said Eric, “though you would not trust me. Rise!”
So the herd rose and picked up his cap, but Eric would not give him his stick until he guided him to some house. “Come along,” said he sulkily.
“What is your name?” asked Eric.