“Look, look! what is that?” cried the little robber-girl one afternoon, as something like a moving torch gleamed through the forest. It was Gerda’s golden carriage. The robbers rushed toward it, drove away the coachman and the footman, and dragged out the little girl.
“How plump she is! You will taste nice, my dear,” the old woman said to Gerda, as she drew out her long, sharp knife. It glittered horribly. “Now, just stand still, so, and—oh! stop, I say, stop,” screamed the old woman, for at that moment her daughter sprang upon her back and bit her ear. And there she hung like some savage little animal. “Oh, my ear, my ear, you bad, wicked child!” But the woman did not now try to kill Gerda.
Then the robber-child said, “Little girl, I want you myself, and I want to ride beside you.” So together they stepped into the golden carriage and drove deep into the wood. “No one will hurt you now, unless I get angry with you,” said the robber-girl, putting her arm round Gerda. “Are you a princess?”
“No,” said Gerda, and she told the robber-girl all her story. “Have you seen little Kay?” she ended.
“Never,” said the robber-girl, “never.” Then she looked at Gerda and added, “No one shall kill you even if I am angry with you. I shall do it myself.” And she dried Gerda’s eyes. “Now this is nice,” and she lay back, her red hands in Gerda’s warm, soft muff.
At last the carriage stopped at a robber’s castle. It was a ruin. The robber-girl led Gerda into a large, old hall and gave her a basin of hot soup. “You shall sleep there to-night,” she said, “with me and my pets.”
Gerda looked where the robber-girl pointed, and saw that in one corner of the room straw was scattered on the stone floor.
“Yes, you shall see my pets. Come, lie down now.”
And little Gerda and the robber-girl lay down together on their straw bed. Above, perched on poles, were doves.
“Mine, all mine,” said the little robber-girl. Jumping up, she seized the dove nearest her by the feet and shook it till its wings flapped. Then she slung it against Gerda’s face. “Kiss it,” she said. “Yes, all mine; and look,” she went on, “he is mine, too;” and she caught by the horn a reindeer that was tied to the wall. He had a bright brass collar round his neck. “We have to keep him tied or he would run away. I tickle him every night with my sharp knife, and then he is afraid;” and the girl drew from a hole in the wall a long knife, and gently ran it across the reindeer’s neck. The poor animal kicked, but the little robber-girl laughed, and then again lay down on her bed of straw.