beguiled by a spirit in the shape of a noble elk.
The herdsmen, looking towards their charge again, saw them reduced to
the size of mice, just vanishing through a crevice in the hill-side.
Hence the Norwegian proverb used to warn any one to look after his
property, "Remember the Bishop of Tronyem's cattle."

Note 2. The Molteboeer, or Manyberries, so called from its clustered
appearance. It is a delicious fruit, amber-coloured when ripe, and
growing in marshy ground.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

DAIRY-MAIDS' TALK.

It may be supposed that Erlingsen was anxious to be at home, when he had
heard Erica's story. He was not to be detained by any promise of
berries and cream for supper. He put away the thought even of his hay,
yet unfinished on the upland, and would not hear nothing that Frolich
had to say of his fatigue at the end of a long working day. He took
some provision with him, drank off a glass of corn-brandy, kissed
Frolich, promised to send news, and, if possible, more helping hands,
and set off, at a good pace, down the mountain.

The party he left behind was a dull one. When Jan came in to supper he
became angry that he was left to get in the hay alone; even Stiorna
could not help him to-morrow, for the cheese-making had already been put
off too long while waiting for Erica's arrival, and it must now be
delayed no longer. It was true some one was to be sent from below, but
such an one could not arrive before the next evening, and Jan would
meanwhile have a long day alone, instead of having, as hitherto, his
master for a comrade. Stiorna, for her part, was offended at the wish,
openly expressed by all, that Hund might not be the person sent; she was
sure he was the only proper person, but she saw that he would meet with
no welcome, except from her.

Scarcely a word was spoken till Erica and Frolich were about their
cheese-making the next morning. Erica had rather have kept the cattle,
but Frolich so earnestly begged that she would let Stiorna do that, as
she could not destroy the cattle in her ill-humour, while she might
easily spoil the cheese, that Erica put away her knitting, tied on her
apron, tucked up her sleeves, and prepared for the great work.

"There! let her go!" cried Frolich, looking after Stiorna, as she walked
away slowly, trailing her lure after her. "She may knit all her
ill-humour into her stocking, if she likes, as Hund is to wear it, and
that is better than putting it into our cheese