th the sheep straight to the elves'
meadows. When he began to play on his flute, the elves instantly
appeared and danced and danced till evening. Then the youth pretended
to drop the flute and, as if by accident, stepped upon it and broke
it.

If you could have seen how he bewailed it, how he wrung his hands and
wept over the loss of his companion, you would surely have pitied him.
Even the elves were touched with compassion and tried to comfort him.

"I wouldn't care so much," he said, "only I shall never find another
flute that will sound as merry as this one, for it was made out of the
heart of a seven-year-old cherry tree."

"We have, in the court-yard, a cherry tree that is just seven years
old; if you want it, come, we'll cut it down and you can make yourself
another flute."

They all went there, felled the cherry tree, and for fear of touching
the pith while stripping off the bark, the youth requested all the
elves to help.

After having made a cleft in the trunk with his ax, large enough for
them to get their fingers in, he told them to take hold of it in order
to break it apart solely by the strength of their arms, that the blade
of the ax might not touch the pith of the wood. They were actually
stupid enough to do so as they stood around the trunk, and, while
saying "pull," he drew out the ax and caught their fingers in the
crack.

In vain the elves begged him to release them, in vain they said that
they were almost faint with pain; the lad would not even listen to the
fine promises they made, but remained as cold as a stone.

Finally he asked them for Mogarzea's soul.

"It is in a bottle on the window-sill," they said.

After he had fetched it, he inquired how he could restore it to its
place, and the elves explained, hoping he would then release them from
their torture.

"You have tormented many people so that they suffered terrible agony
all their lives; now you too can suffer for one night, it won't make
the sky fall."

With these words he took the sheep and Mogarzea's soul and departed;
but the elves wailed so that any one's heart might have been torn with
pity. When he reached home, Mogarzea scolded him for being late. The
boy's only reply was to ask him to lie down on his back, then
climbing upon his breast he jumped up and down several times, until
the lazy soul the elves had conjured into him darted out and the
youngster gave him his own to swallow; holding his mouth and nose with
his