k a few
times more with my knife, for it makes you look so funny, but never
mind--I will untie your cord and set you free, so that you may run away
to Lapland; but you must make good use of your legs and carry this
little maiden to the castle of the Snow Queen, where her playfellow is.
You have heard what she told me, for she spoke loud enough, and you were
listening."

The reindeer jumped for joy, and the little robber girl lifted Gerda on
his back and had the forethought to tie her on and even to give her her
own little cushion to sit upon.

"Here are your fur boots for you," said she, "for it will be very cold;
but I must keep the muff, it is so pretty. However, you shall not be
frozen for the want of it; here are my mother's large warm mittens; they
will reach up to your elbows. Let me put them on. There, now your hands
look just like my mother's."

But Gerda wept for joy.

"I don't like to see you fret," said the little robber girl. "You ought
to look quite happy now. And here are two loaves and a ham, so that you
need not starve."

These were fastened upon the reindeer, and then the little robber maiden
opened the door, coaxed in all the great dogs, cut the string with
which the reindeer was fastened, with her sharp knife, and said, "Now
run, but mind you take good care of the little girl." And Gerda
stretched out her hand, with the great mitten on it, toward the little
robber girl and said "Farewell," and away flew the reindeer over stumps
and stones, through the great forest, over marshes and plains, as
quickly as he could. The wolves howled and the ravens screamed, while up
in the sky quivered red lights like flames of fire. "There are my old
northern lights," said the reindeer; "see how they flash!" And he ran on
day and night still faster and faster, but the loaves and the ham were
all eaten by the time they reached Lapland.

SIXTH STORY

THE LAPLAND WOMAN AND THE FINLAND WOMAN

They stopped at a little hut; it was very mean looking. The roof sloped
nearly down to the ground, and the door was so low that the family had
to creep in on their hands and knees when they went in and out. There
was no one at home but an old Lapland woman who was dressing fish by the
light of a train-oil lamp.

The reindeer told her all about Gerda's story after having first told
his own, which seemed to him the most important. But Gerda was so
pinched with the cold that she could not speak.

"Oh, you poor things," sa