And little Gerda lay still, but she did not sleep. In the morning she told the robber-girl what the doves and the reindeer had said.
The little robber-girl looked very solemn and thoughtful. Then she nodded her head importantly. At last she spoke, not to Gerda, but to the reindeer.
“I should like to keep you here always, tied by your brass collar to that wall. Then I should still tickle you with my knife, and have the fun of seeing you kick and struggle. But never mind. Do you know where Lapland is?”
Lapland! of course the reindeer knew. Had he not been born there? Had he not played in its snow-covered fields? As the reindeer thought of his happy childhood, his eyes danced.
“Would you like to go back to your old home?” asked the robber-girl.
The reindeer leaped into the air for joy.
“Very well, I will soon untie your chain. Mother is still asleep. Come along, Gerda. Now, I am going to put this little girl on your back, and you are to carry her safely to the Snow Queen’s palace. She must find her little playfellow.” And the robber-girl lifted Gerda up and tied her on the reindeer’s back, having first put a little cushion beneath her. “I must keep your muff, Gerda, but you can have mother’s big, black mittens. Come, put your hands in. Oh, they do look ugly.”
“I am going to Kay, little Kay,” and Gerda cried for joy.
“There is nothing to whimper about,” said the robber-girl. “Look! here are two loaves and a ham.” Then she opened wide the door, loosened the reindeer’s chain, and said, “Now run.”
And the reindeer darted through the open door, Gerda waving her blackmittened hands, and the little robber-girl calling after the reindeer, “Take care of my little girl.”