looked up at
the thin pale summer moon, and he thought that never in his whole life
had he been in such evil case.

From time to time he heard something moving, scraping, and snorting
against the wall outside. It was the old fellow who lay there and kept
watch over him.

"Thou, swain, thou," said another voice at the peep-hole.

It was she who had planted herself so firmly on the rock with such
sturdy hips and such a masterful voice.

"For these three hundred years have I been blowing the _langelur[4]_
here in the summer evenings far and wide, but never has it drawn any one
westward hither into the Blue Mountains. And let me tell thee that we
are all homeless and houseless, and all thou seest here is but glitter
and glamour. Many a man has been befooled hither time out of mind. But I
won't have the other lasses married before me. And rather than that any
one of them should get thee, I'll free thee from the mountains. Mark me,
now! When the sun is hot and high the old man will get frightened and
crawl into his corner. Then look to thyself. Shove hard against the door
of the hayloft, and hasten to get thee over the fence, and thou wilt be
rid of us."

The drummer was not slow to follow this counsel. He crept out the moment
the sun began to burn, and cleared the fence with one good bound.

In less than no time he was down in the valley again.

And far, far away towards sunrise in the mountains, he heard the sound
of her _langelur_.

He threw his drum across his shoulder, and hied him off to the
manoeuvres at Moen.

But never would he play rat-tat-tat and beat the tattoo before the
lasses again, lest he should find himself westwards in the Blue
Mountains before he was well aware of it.

* * * * *

[1] A long slow dance, and the music to it.

[2] A _Saeter_ (Swed. _saeter_) is a remote pasturage with huts upon it,
where the cows are tended and dairy produce prepared for market and home
use during the summer.

[3] A country dance of a boisterous jig-like sort.

[4] A long wooden trumpet.

* * * * *

"_IT'S ME_."

[Illustration: "IT'S ME."]

"IT'S ME"

They had chatted so long about the lasses down in the valley; and what a
fine time they had of it there, that Gygra's[1] daughter grew sick and
tired of it all, and began to heave rocks against the mountain side. She
was bent upon taking service in the valley below, said she.