“A curious thing, indeed,” said the dwarf; “but I chanced to see one the other night in my rambles. Ah! look, here it is right before your eyes.”
All the other forest-trees were dry and hard, their hearts frozen within them; but this tree was alive, hidden behind a clump of firs. When Thule began to dig about its roots, it seemed to come out of the ground of its own free will, and to lie over his shoulders as if it would caress him.
“Take home the little tree, and plant it before your door, my lad.”
The youth turned to thank the stranger; but he had vanished. Then Thule ran home with all speed to tell his mother of the little old man who had faded from his sight like a wreath of smoke.
“Now I wonder what it is you have seen,” said the good woman, raising her hands in surprise. “Was he brown, my son, with a long nose?”
“As brown as a nut, mother, with no end of nose.”
“Just as I supposed, my child! That dwarf is a wonderful creature,—one of the night-elves, a race gifted with great understanding. Know, my son, that he carves runes upon stones; and he no doubt assisted in making Thor’s hammer, that terrible instrument which can crush the skull of a giant.”
“One thing I observed,” said the boy: “he blinked at that flashing in the sky, which people call Northern Lights; he had to shade his eyes with his funny little hand.”
“Did he, indeed? Poor Elf! Light is painful to his race; and I have even heard that a stroke of sunshine is able to turn them into stones. I am almost afraid of this little tree,” added the good mother musingly. “You know what we read in the holy Eddas: Both the alder and the ash trees should be held sacred; for Odin formed man from the ash, and woman from the alder. Nevertheless, the night-elf could not have meant to do you a mischief. Let us plant the tree as he directed.”
“What, in the frozen ground, under the snow?”