Taland thanked her, and loaded the chest on his shoulder, but carefully, lest he should wake the child too soon. And carefully he continued to walk along with it till the tan-yard was left far, far out of sight. Then he stopped short, and, setting the corn-bin down with a jerk calculated to wake its inmate, he holloaed out,—
“I be going to fling the old corn-bin down the precipice!”
“Stop, stop! I’m inside!” cried the child, but with a tone of conviction that he had only to ask, to be let out. This was not Taland’s game, who wanted to give him a thorough frightening; so he shouted again, taking no heed of the child’s voice,—
“I be going to fling the old corn-bin down the precipice!”
“Stop! stop! I tell you; I’m inside it!” repeated the boy, in a louder tone, thinking he had not made himself heard before.
“Who be you? and what be you to me?” replied Taland, in a stupid tone of indifference. “I be going to chuck the old corn-bin down the precipice.”
“Oh, stop! for heaven’s sake, stop!” screamed the now really affrighted child; “stop, and spare me! Only let me out, and mother will give you ever such a heap of gold!”
“It’s a long way back to ‘mother,’” replied the peasant, churlishly. “I’d much rather chuck the old thing over, and have done with it. You’re not worth enough to repay the trouble.”
“Oh, but I am though!” answered the boy, in a positive tone. “There’s nothing mother wouldn’t give to save my life, I know!”
“What would she give, d’you think? Would she give five hundred thalers, now?”