At this moment two will-o’-the-wisps came hopping along, one faster than the other, so of course one arrived before the other.
“They are coming, they are coming!” they cried.
“Give me my crown, and let me stand in the moonlight,” said the Elf-king.
The daughters raised their scarves and curtseyed to the ground.
There stood the Trold chieftain from the Dovrefield; he wore a crown of hardened icicles and polished fir-cones, and besides this, he had on a bear-skin coat and snow-shoes. His sons, on the other hand, had bare necks and wore no braces, because they were strong men.
“Is that a hill?” asked the youngest of the brothers, pointing to the Elf-hill. “We should call it a hole in Norway.”
“Lads!” cried the old man, “holes go inwards, hills go upwards? Haven’t you got eyes in your heads?”
The only thing that astonished them, they said, was that they understood the language without any trouble.
“Don’t make fools of yourselves,” said the old man; “one might think you were only half baked.”
Then they went into the Elf-hill, where the company was of the grandest, although they had been got together in such a hurry; you might almost say they had been blown together. It was all charming, and arranged to suit everyone’s taste. The merman and his daughters sat at table in great tubs of water, and said it was just like being at home. Everybody had excellent table manners, except the two young Norwegian Trolds; they put their feet up on the table, but then they thought anything they did was right.