“Hist! hist! the old man is sleeping at the other side of the wall,” it sounded.

He knew by the voice that it was she, the golden-red one, who had behaved so prettily and been so bashful the moment he had come upon the scene.

“Thou need’st but say that thou dost know that serpent-eye has had a lover before, or they wouldn’t be in such a hurry to get her off their hands with a dowry.  Thou must know that the homestead westwards in the Blue Mountains is mine.  And answer the old man that it was me, Brandi, that thou didst run after all the time.  Hist! hist! here comes the old man,” she whispered, and whisked away.

But a shadow again fell across the little hole in the moonlight, and the duck-necked one stuck her head in and peeped at him.

“Swain, swain, art thou awake?”

“That serpent-eye will make thee the laughingstock of the neighbourhood.  She’s spiteful, and she stings.  But the homestead westward in the Blue Mountains is mine, and when I play there the gates beneath the high mountains fly open, and through them lies the road to the nameless powers of nature.  Do but say that ’twas me, Randi, thou wert running after, because she plays so prettily on the Langelijk.—­“Hist, hist! the old man is stirring about by the wall!”—­she beckoned to him and was gone.

A little afterwards nearly every bit of the hole was darkened, and he recognised the Black one by her voice.

“Swain, swain!” she hissed.

“I had to bind up my kirtle to-day behind,” said she, “so we couldn’t go dancing the Halling-fling[3] together on the green sward.  But the homestead in the Blue Mountains is my lawful property, and tell the old man that it was madcap Gyri thou wast running after to-day, because thou art so madly fond of dancing jigs and hallings.”

Then she clapped her hands aloud, and straightway was full of fear lest she should have awakened the old man.

And she was gone.

But the lad sat inside there, and thought it all over, and 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.”