With this Bataki closed his narrative.

The boy noticed that the raven never spoke unless there was some special meaning back of his words, and the longer he listened to him, the more thoughtful he became.

“I wonder why you told me that story?” remarked the boy.

“I just happened to think of it as I stood here, gazing up at Sonfjaellet,” replied the raven.

Now they had travelled farther down Lake Ljusna and in an hour or so they came to Kolsaett, close to the border of Haelsingland.  Here the raven alighted near a little hut that had no windows—­only a shutter.  From the chimney rose sparks and smoke, and from within the sound of heavy hammering was heard.

“Whenever I see this smithy,” observed the raven, “I’m reminded that, in former times, there were such skilled blacksmiths here in Haerjedalen, more especially in this village—­that they couldn’t be matched in the whole country.”

“Perhaps you also remember a story about them?” said the boy.

“Yes,” returned Bataki, “I remember one about a smith from Haerjedalen who once invited two other master blacksmiths—­one from Dalecarlia and one from Vermland—­to compete with him at nail-making.  The challenge was accepted and the three blacksmiths met here at Kolsaett.  The Dalecarlian began.  He forged a dozen nails, so even and smooth and sharp that they couldn’t be improved upon.  After him came the Vermlander.  He, too, forged a dozen nails, which were quite perfect and, moreover, he finished them in half the time that it took the Dalecarlian.  When the judges saw this they said to the Haerjedal smith that it wouldn’t be worth while for him to try, since he could not forge better than the Dalecarlian or faster than the Vermlander.

“‘I sha’n’t give up!  There must be still another way of excelling,’ insisted the Haerjedal smith.

“He placed the iron on the anvil without heating it at the forge; he simply hammered it hot and forged nail after nail, without the use of either anvil or bellows.  None of the judges had ever seen a blacksmith wield a hammer more masterfully, and the Haerjedal smith was proclaimed the best in the land.”

With these remarks Bataki subsided, and the boy grew even more thoughtful.

“I wonder what your purpose was in telling me that?” he queried.

“The story dropped into my mind when I saw the old smithy again,” said Bataki in an offhand manner.

The two travellers rose again into the air and the raven carried the boy southward till they came to Lillhaerdal Parish, where he alighted on a leafy mound at the top of a ridge.

“I wonder if you know upon what mound you are standing?” said Bataki.

The boy had to confess that he did not know.

“This is a grave,” said Bataki.  “Beneath this mound lies the first settler in Haerjedalen.”

“Perhaps you have a story to tell of him too?” said the boy.