“Come hither, come hither, my pretty son, and let me comb your hair.”
That the lad thought a good offer, so he let the foals run on their way, and sat down in the cleft with the old hag. There he sat, and there he lay, taking his ease, and stretching his lazy bones the whole day.
When the foals came back at nightfall, he too got a flask of water and clod of turf from the old hag to show to the King. But when the King asked the lad:
“Can you tell me now, what my seven foals eat and drink?” and the lad pulled out the flask and the clod, and said:
“Here you see their meat, and here you see their drink.”
Then the King got wroth again, and ordered them to cut three red stripes out of the lad’s back, and rub salt in, and chase him home that very minute. And so when the lad got home, he also told how he had fared, and said, he had gone out once to get a place, but he’d never do so any more.
The third day Boots wanted to set out; he had a great mind to try and watch the seven foals, he said. The others laughed at him, and made game of him, saying:
“When we fared so ill, you’ll do it better—a fine joke; you look like it—you, who have never done anything but lie there and poke about in the ashes.”
“Yes!” said Boots, “I don’t see why I shouldn’t go, for I’ve got it into my head, and can’t get it out again.”
And so, in spite of all the jeers of the others and the prayers of the old people, there was no help for it, and Boots set out.