When the mother had taken a sup, and was having a nap, the little robber-maiden went to the Reindeer, and said, “I should very much like to give you still many a tickling with a sharp knife, for then you are so amusing; however, I will untether you, and help you out, so that you may get back to Lapland. But you must make good use of your legs; and take this little girl for me to the palace of the Snow-Queen, where her playfellow is. You have heard, I suppose, all she said; for she spoke loud enough, and you were listening.”
The Reindeer gave a bound for joy. The robber-maiden lifted up little Gerda, and took the precaution to bind her fast on the Reindeer’s back; she even gave her a small cushion to sit on. “Here are your worsted leggins, for it will be cold; but the muff I shall keep for myself, for it is so very pretty. But I do not wish you to be cold. Here is a pair of lined gloves belonging to my mother; they will just reach up to your elbow.”
And Gerda wept for joy.
“I can’t bear to see you fretting,” said the little robber-maiden. “This is just the time when you ought to look pleased. Here are two loaves and a ham for you, so now you won’t starve.” The bread and the meat were fastened to the Reindeer’s back; the little maiden opened the door, called in all the dogs, and then with her knife cut the rope that fastened the animal, and said to him, “Now off with you; but take good care of the little girl!”
And Gerda stretched out her hands with the large, wadded gloves toward the robber-maiden, and said, “Farewell!” and the Reindeer flew on over bush and bramble, through the great wood, over moor and heath, as fast as he could go.
SIXTH STORY
The Lapland Woman and the Finland Woman
Suddenly they stopped before a little house which looked very miserable: the roof reached to the ground; and the door was so low, that the family was obliged to creep on all fours when they went in or out. Nobody was at home except an old Lapland woman, who was dressing fish by the light of an oil lamp. And the Reindeer told her the whole of Gerda’s history, but first of all, his own; for that seemed to him of much greater importance. Gerda was so chilled that she could not speak.
“Poor thing,” said the Lapland woman, “you have far to run still. You have more than a hundred miles to go before you get to Finland; there the Snow-Queen has her country-house, and burns blue lights every evening. I will give you a few words from me, which I will write on a dried fish, for paper I have none. This you can take with you to the Finland woman, and she will be able to give you more information than I can.”
When Gerda had warmed herself, and had eaten and drunk, the Lapland woman wrote a few words on a dried fish, begged Gerda to take care of them, put her on the Reindeer, bound her fast, and away sprang the animal. The most charming blue lights burned the whole night in the sky, and at last they came to Finland. They knocked at the chimney of the Finland woman; for as to a door, she had none.