"You swim across the water, and count seven times seven."
"And there appears before me a little old man with a long beard."
"He asks you: 'What is your desire?'"
"I say to him: 'Bring me the Queen's daughter.'"
Busie takes her hand from mine, and runs down the hill. I run after her.
"Busie, why are you running off?"
Busie does not answer. She is vexed. She likes the story I told her excepting the part about the Queen's daughter.
. . . . .
You have not forgotten who Busie is? I told you once. But if you have forgotten, I will tell you again.
I had an older brother, Benny. He was drowned. He left after him a water-mill, a young widow, two horses, and a little child. The mill was neglected; the horses were sold; the widow married again, and went away, somewhere far; and the child was brought to us. This child was Busie.