ONE time God Almighty came to Adam and Eve. They received him heartily, and showed him all their household possessions, as well as their children, whom he thought very promising. He asked Eve whether they had no more children than those she had just shown him. She said "No;" but the fact was that Eve had not got some of the children washed, and was ashamed to let God see them, so she kept them out of the way. God knew this, and said, "That which has been hid from me shall also be hid from men." These children now became invisible to mortals, and lived in holts and heaths, in knolls and stones. From these are the elves descended, but men are descended from those of Eve's children which she showed to God. Mortal men can never see elves, unless they wish it themselves, but they can both see mortals and give mortals power to see them.

GUDMUND MAGNUSSON tells of his ancestor Olaf Sigurdsson, that in his young days he was once out looking after sheep, somewhere in Skagi in the North of Iceland. It was thick mist; Olaf had walked far, and had grown thirsty. Coming to a farm house, he knocked at the door, and a woman came to it. Olaf asked her for something to drink, and she went in to get it, while he remained standing outside. Looking into the passage, he saw many things that he had never seen before, though others were quite familiar, but what seemed most curious to him, was that everything which is usually made of iron was here made of clay. It now dawned upon him that this was an elf-house, and with that he took to his heels and ran away, but before he had gone far, the woman called after him, and he dared not but stop. "I'll have you done," said the woman, "in not even waiting to get the milk. You might well understand that I should do you some mischief for that, but so much good fortune has been granted you, that no spell of mine will have any effect on you. At the same time, I shall see to it that your cowardice is visited on your children." The woman said no more, and Olaf ran off with his heart in his mouth. Her spell, however, apparently had its effect; Olaf was a great man all his days, but some of his children were weak-minded.

AT Skúms-stadir, in Landeyar in the district of Rángárvalla, there once lived a farmer, who had a good-looking wife and many children. One evening during the winter he was out in the stack-yard, while his wife was inside preparing food. There came to her then a man she had never seen before, and asked her to help his wife, who was in labour. She tried hard to get out of it, saying that she had never waited on a woman, but he only pressed her the more, until she agreed to go with him. They went on together, until they came to a high knoll, which opened up at their approach. The man went in first, and the woman after, but she took care to lay her gloves on the mound above the door, in order to ensure her return. On entering the mound she saw nothing but a bed, and in it a woman in great pain. She passed her hands over her, at which she felt some relief, and soon after gave birth to a child. The farmer's wife took the child, and gave it all the usual care and attention, after which the man opened a box, and took out of it a stone, which he asked her to rub round the eyes of the child. The woman did not understand what this meant, but thought to herself that it could hardly do her any harm, though she rubbed one of her own eyes with it, and this she did without the man being any the wiser. Then she saw other people going about in the mound, and some sitting at work, but kept this to herself. The fairy-man then saw her home again, and thanked her for coming with him.

The following summer the farmer went to Eyrarbakki with his wares, and was accompanied by his wife. On the return journey, they stopped for the night beside Egils-stadir on Thjórs-á. All had gone to rest, but the farmer's wife could not sleep, and by and by she pulled aside the edge of the tent, and looked out. There, with her second-sighted eye, she saw a man come to the meal-sacks which belonged to the travellers; these he opened and took a handful out of each, which he put into a bag that he carried under his arm. When he had nearly filled the bag, the woman spoke to him, saying, "Why are you doing that?" He looked at her in surprise, and said, "How can you see me?" and with that he blew upon her, so that she plainly felt it, and from that time she could see no fairies.

ONE time long ago, while a party was gathering Icelandic moss at Reyk-hólar, a girl disappeared in a thick mist that came upon them, nor was she found again all that summer. A wise man was then asked to search for her by means of his magic arts, and find out where she had gone to, and bring her back. This he succeeded in doing, and after her return her master, the priest, never let her be left by herself. One time, however, it happened that she was sent out into the church, and before long her master went to look for her, suspecting that something had happened; when he entered the church she had disappeared. He then looked about him, and saw a man in a red kirtle riding away with the girl behind him. Time went on and nothing was heard of her, until the priest's wife dreamed that the man who had carried off the girl came to her, and brought her greetings from his wife, with the request to baptize the child that would be found lying in its cradle before the church door when she awoke; the priest should have for his fee the vestment that was over the cradle. The priest's wife then awoke, and found everything as she had dreamed it. The cradle was at the place stated, with the child in it, and over it a costly priest's vestment and a linen surplice. The priest baptized the child, and it was put back in the cradle as before. He kept the vestment, but laid the surplice over the cradle again. A little later both cradle and child had disappeared, but the surplice was left behind.

ONCE there was a double household at Sogn in Kjós, and one of the men had a son, who was thought not to have all his wits. He learned nothing and never did anything, but lay continually in bed, though he was always ready enough for his food. It was generally believed that he was a changeling, but for long this was uncertain. One time, however, when he was of age to be confirmed, every one had gone out of the room except a woman, who was lying in her bed with a child beside her. After all had gone out, she heard the lad begin to yawn loudly, until she at last began to be terrified at the way he went on. Then she heard him begin to toss about in the bed and stretch himself, and next she became aware that he had stood up in the bed, and stretched himself till he reached almost up to the roof of the room. This was so built that it had short beams between the rafters, and as he yawned and brought his face near one of these, the beam came right into his open mouth, so that his upper jaw rested above it, while the under one lay below it. At the same time he became so ugly and horrible to look at, that the woman was mortally afraid, and cried out in terror, knowing herself to be alone in the room with him. As soon as she did so, he shot down again into his bed, and was in his usual shape when the folk came in again. After this it was thought that there was no doubt of his being a changeling.

ONE summer all the folk on a farm were in the fields except the housewife, who was left at home with a child of three or four years old. The boy had thriven well up to this time, and was in every way a promising child. Having a good deal to do, his mother had left him for a little, while she went out to wash her milk-dish in a stream not far from the house. On her return, whenever she spoke to the child, it cried and howled in a way that surprised her, for hitherto it had been so good and quiet. From this time it never spoke a word, and was so fretful and cross, that the woman could not understand the change in it. It grew no bigger, and seemed a perfect idiot. Greatly vexed at this, she consulted her neighbour, who was believed to be a wise woman. The latter, after hearing all her story, said, "Don't you think, my dear, it is a changeling? I expect it must have been exchanged when you left it alone on that occasion." "I don't know," said the mother; "can you tell me any plan to find that out?'' "I shall try," said the neighbour. "Some time you must leave the child all alone by itself, and let something strange happen in its sight. It will speak then, when it sees no one near it, and you must listen and hear what it says. If you think its words strange and suspicious, then beat it unmercifully till something happens."

With this they parted, and the woman returned home, thanking her neighbour for her advice. Arrived at home, she set a little pot in the middle of the kitchen floor. Then she took a number of sticks, and tied them, one to the end of another, until the upper end of them reached up into the chimney. To the lower end she then tied the porridge-stick, and let the whole thing stand in the pot. These preparations made, she brought the child, and left him alone in the kitchen, while she went outside, and stood listening where she could see into the kitchen from behind the door. Before long she saw the child begin to walk round the pot with the stick in it, looking at it, and finally heard it say, "Now I am as old as may be seen by my beard, the father of eighteen children in the elf-world, but never have I seen so long a stick in so little a pot." The woman now entered the kitchen with a fine switch, took the changeling and thrashed him long and unmercifully, while he howled terribly. After she had done this for some time, she saw a strange woman coming into the kitchen with a beautiful boy in her arms, with which she played, and said to the woman, "We behave very differently: I dandle your child, and you beat my husband." Having said this, she set down the child, which was the housewife's real son, and left it there, while she took with her her husband, and the two immediately disappeared.

KRISTIN, who lived at Minni-Thverá (apparently in Skagafirth district) about 1830-1840, told of her mother, who was second-sighted, that she was once out on the meadows with Kristin's grandmother, and saw two women coming down from the mountain, leading between them a man who was carrying something. On coming near, they took the bundle off the carl, and she then saw that it was a cradle covered with red. They then took the carl and began to beat him, while he grew less and less till he was quite a little fellow. They took him again, and squeezed him till he was as small as a child in the cradle. Then they laid him in the cradle, spread the red cloth over him, and made for the farm, carrying the whole thing between them. The girl told her mother what she had seen, who immediately ran home and got to her child's cradle, which she had left standing in front of the house, before the fairy-women reached it. When the latter saw this they took the child they were carrying out of the cradle, slapped it, beat it and drove it on before them. With that the carl quickly began to grow big again, until he was just as he had been originally, and held with them up into the fells, where they all disappeared.

AT Heidar-bót in Reykja-hverf, in the district of Thingey, it happened one evening that while a woman was in the byre, one of her children went out of the house, intending to follow its mother thither. On going out at the door, it saw her standing in front of the house. She signed to it in silence, and clapped her thigh, walking off slowly and still beckoning it to come. Above the farm are some pointed cliffs known as the "Steeples." The woman made her way to these, enticing the child to follow her, and finally disappeared with it into one of the steeples, for it was not the child's mother at all, but an elf-woman. When the mother returned from the byre, she missed her child and made enquiry after it, but those in the house thought it had been with her. Its parents were panic-struck; a party was gathered and search made, but it could not be found, wherever they sought for it. At Sand there lived a man named Arnor, who was reckoned a wizard. To him the mother went to ask counsel, and arrived there late in the day. Arnor invited her to stay all night, and this she accepted. He asked her all about the child's disappearance, and she told him all the facts. That evening, about the same time, Arnor took a knife and cut three triangular pieces out of the floor of the room. As he cut the last one, a loud crash was heard. He then replaced the pieces on the floor, and told the woman that she might sleep soundly all night, for the child had come back. Next day she went home and the child had come, but it was thought strange that one of its cheeks was blue, and never afterwards lost that colour. The child was now asked where it had been, and told about the woman who had enticed it up to the Steeples, and carried it in there, whereupon it saw that she was not its mother. It tasted no food there, because it all seemed to be red. The evening that Arnor cut the pieces out of the floor, there fell three stones out of the mountain, all three-cornered. At the last of these, the fairy took up the child in a great rage, ran with it to the farm, and gave it a good slap in the face at parting; that was the noise that was heard after the last piece was cut out, and for this reason one of its cheeks was blue. The child's name was Gudmund, who afterwards lived there in the north, and had a daughter named Elizabeth, whose descendants lived in Eyafirth.

IN the east of Iceland, it happened that a farmer's daughter disappeared from her home, and could not be found though searched for far and wide. Her parents were greatly distressed, and the farmer went to a priest, whom he knew to be wiser in many things than other men. The priest received him well, and the man begged him to devise some plan, that would enable him to know whether his daughter was alive or dead. The priest then told him that she had been carried off by the elves, and that he would have no pleasure in seeing her again. The man however would not believe this, and asked the priest to help him to get her back, and in the end, by reason of the man's persistence, the priest fixed an evening on which he should come again to him. This the man did at the time appointed, and after all had gone to bed, the priest called him outside, where there stood a horse saddled and bridled. The priest mounted this, and told the man to get on behind him. They then rode off, nor did the man know how long they had ridden, till at last they came to the sea. The priest rode out into the sea for a considerable distance, until they came to some high cliffs. Up under these he rode, and onwards until he stopped at a place in front of the cliffs. These opened up then, and it seemed just as if there was a house-door in them: inside there was a blazing light that made everything perfectly clear, and there the man saw people going to and fro, both men and women. Among these he saw one woman, who had a face of a bluish colour, with a white cross on the forehead. The priest asked him how he liked the one with the cross. "Not well," said he. "Yet this woman is your daughter," said the priest, "and I shall get her, if you wish, but she has now become like a troll from living with these folk." The man said he did not wish it, and asked the priest to leave as quickly as possible, for he had no heart to look on this any longer. The priest turned about his horse, and rode home the same way again, without any one knowing of their journey. The farmer went home again next day, sad and sorrowful, and no more is told of him.

THERE was once a married couple who had a daughter, who disappeared every evening in the gloaming. Her mother did not care much for her, and spoke little to her; but on the farm there was an old woman, who was very fond of the girl. The daughter would never tell her mother where she went to, but when the old woman asked her about it, she told her that a little way off on the farm there was a mound to which she went. Two brothers lived in it, and were glad to see her, but she was not pleased that she never saw a Bible there. Time passed till the girl was confirmed, and went to the altar on the following Sunday. In the evening, the old woman told her to go to the mound, and see how she would be received. She did so, and on her return said that they had received her kindly, but refused to kiss her, saying that a black spot had come upon her lips. Thus time passed, until a man came to ask her hand. He received this at once, and she went away with him. Three years later, she came to visit her parents again, and the old woman told her to go to the mound, and see how things were there. She did so, and returned in a very short time. "How are things going on there?" asked the old woman. "Well enough," said she; "but I saw only one of the brothers, and he told me the other had died of grief." She went home again with her husband, and there the story ends.

THERE was a man named Jón Gudmundsson, who lived at Beru-nes in Reydar-firth. Many stories were told of him after his own days, for he was believed to be wise in many things, and mixed up with magic arts, like many others at that time. He was brought up at Beru-nes, and herded sheep when he was grown up. One time, it is told, he was watching the ewes at the head of a glen in the hill above the farm, when there came to him a young girl, who was very pleasant with him. He asked her name, and she said it was Ima, and that her father and mother lived in the hill there. She was wonderfully familiar with Jón, and told him all about her father's house. Among other things, she told him that her father had a book, in which there was much marvellous lore, and from which one might learn much; anyone who read it would become a poet with magic powers in his verse, and few things would come on him unawares. Jón asked her whether she could not procure the book for him, but she said that that was almost impossible, her father guarded it so carefully. Jón then pressed her to get a loan of it for him for a little time. She answered that she was ready to do most things to win his love, and would try to procure the book; but if her father came to know of it, it would probably cost her her life. She stayed with Jón until he drove his sheep home in the evening, and next day she came with the book, and bade him keep good faith with her, as she would come for it in a fortnight. Jón promised this, and was very nice with her in every way. At the appointed time, Ima came and asked him for the book, saying that both her own life and his were at stake, if this came to be known. Jón replied that he could not want the book, and would never let it go. Ima threw her arms round his neck, and begged him with tears not to break his promise to her; but he said that neither prayers nor entreaties would help her, he would not let the book go.

"You do ill in this," said she, "when my life depends on it; but all the same I cannot deal with you as you have deserved, so much do I love you." So she parted with him sorrowful and angry, and their meeting-place has since been known as Imu-botnar.

After this, and a little before Christmas, Jón dreamed one night that a man came to him and addressed him, saying that he had come to warn him of the danger that was hanging over him. Everything had now come out about the book that Ima had lent him, and they were coming to him for it on Christmas Eve. "Her father means to kill you. There will be four of us, the carl, the carline, Ima, and I. I warn you of this because I am tired of life; I was of the race of mortals, but was taken away by the elves. About midnight on Christmas Eve they will enter the house. You must sit up on the dais with a large knife beside you, and as soon as you hear them come to the door of the room, you must spring up, go down into the passage, and kill the one that comes first, and then the others in turn. I will put myself but little forward, and will protect you as well as I can against the attacks of the others. You will succeed in overcoming them, and I shall be severely wounded, and do you remember then to put me quickly out of pain, for I wish to live no longer. When you have killed them, you must drag them out of the house and burn them, and be finished with this before daybreak." After this the man disappeared, and Jón awoke. Everything went as he had been told in the dream, after all the others had gone to church on Christmas Eve, and Jón was left at home alone. He mentions the incident himself in the introductory verses to one of his ballads.

IT is told that in former days a farmer lived at Götur in Mýr-dal, who in the season went out to fish beside Dýr-hólar island. One time, as he was returning from the sea, and crossing the mires on his way home, he came in the twilight upon a man whose horse had fallen, and could not be got up without assistance. The farmer did not know the man, but helped him up with his horse. When this was done, the stranger said to him, "I am your neighbour, for I live in Hvamms-gil, and am just returning from the sea, like yourself, but I am so poor that I cannot pay you for your assistance as it deserves. However, if you follow my advice, you shall have this good of me, that you will never have to go on a useless journey to the sea, but only on the condition that you never set out until you see me do so. If you observe this, you will never fail to get out to fish whenever you go down to the shore." The farmer thanked him for his counsel, and for three years he never set out unless when he saw his neighbour do so, nor was he ever unsuccessful in getting out to sea all that time. One day, however, it happened that the weather in the morning was splendid for fishing, and all went down to the shore at once, but the farmer could not see his neighbour, though he waited long for him. Finally he could stand it no longer, and went off without seeing him, but when he got to the shore all the boats had gone. That day all the boats were caught in a storm, but the farmer escaped by not getting one in the morning. During the following night he dreamed that his neighbour came to him, and said, "You got this much good of me, that you did not go to sea today; but because you set out without seeing me, you will not require to wait for me any more, for I do not mean to let you see me again after this, since you did not follow my instructions."

ONE time when a farmer in the West Firths went into his byre, he saw standing there a grey cow which did not belong to him. He bit the cow's ear so that it bled, and thus it became his, and could not go away again.

During the night his wife dreamed that a woman came to her, and said, "Your husband did ill to mark my cow as his own, and leave me without any support for myself and my children, seeing that I had no other cow giving milk this winter. For your sake I will do him no harm, but only on condition that he shall give me one share of his fish every time he goes to sea, all through the winter up to Cross-mass (May 3). This he shall lay aside uncleaned, and I will come for it. I also want the cow's calf, when that comes." The farmer's wife agreed to all this, and the woman went away. The wife told her husband all the talk she had had with the elf-woman, and begged him not to break any of the promises she had made. To this he agreed.

When the cow calved, the calf disappeared at once. All winter the farmer's wife laid the evening milk of the cow in a place out of the way, and in the morning the vessel was always empty. The cow gave a great deal of milk, and many fine calves were got from it, whose descendants are said to be still in the district.

The farmer had good catches when he went out fishing during the winter and spring, and always laid aside a share of the fish when he divided them in the evening; in the morning they had disappeared. On the day after Cross-mass he did this as usual, but in the morning the fish lay there untouched, and henceforward he kept them to himself, nor did the elf-woman ever come near him again.

WEST under Barda-strönd, in the parish of Flatey, lived a man named Ingimund, whose grand-children are still alive. He was a well-to-do man, hard-working, and of a determined nature. On his lands was an island-meadow, called Milli, which had to be left untouched, and never had been mown, though there was abundance of grass on it. Ingimund was annoyed to see so much grass on the meadow, and not have the use of it, till at last he could stand it no longer, and told his men to mow it. His wife bade him let it alone, but he never heeded, and had it mown against her wish; he got a great quantity of hay off it, and thought he had done well in mowing it. In the autumn, however, his wife dreamed that a woman came to her with a sorrowful look, and said, "Your husband did ill in mowing the island that I live in, for I have had to kill my cow that I lived by. He will be spared on your account, but he shall bear my mark for having made me kill my cow." Then she went away to Ingimund, who slept in another bed, and said, "You owe it to your wife that I do not give you your just reward for not giving heed to her, and having the meadow mown when she told you not to. I have had to kill my cow on account of that, and I will make you remember it." Then she grasped his arm and said, "You shall have no harder punishment than this." She went away then, and he awoke with a pain in his arm, which afterwards withered up, so that he could never work with it again.

ABOUT the beginning of this century, a man and his wife lived on a farm in Eyjafirth; the man's name is not given, but the woman's was Ingirid. They were very well off, and had many grown-up children. The husband was considered rather greedy, but the wife was liberal, and not of a sparing disposition.

One time, in the end of winter, the farmer was coming into the house, when he noticed his wife in the pantry, filling a vessel with sour milk. "Ingirid again," he thought, "giving away to somebody," and paid no more heed to it. On entering the house, however, he found his wife there, and was at first surprised, then angry; declared that it had been some thief, hoped she might never thrive, and consigned her to the lowest depths. Ingirid took it more calmly; said it must have been some hungry person, and that he should not go on like that, but her husband only grew angrier, and rushed to the pantry. There he found the door locked, and no trace of any one having been near it, so he quieted down and the matter dropped. The following night, Ingirid dreamed that a woman came to her, and said she had done well in saying little about it, although she had come quietly into her pantry; but her husband had behaved differently, and she was afraid that her own husband would pay him back for it. She therefore begged her not to have her two eldest sons at home on the first night of summer, and to remember that well. Then the woman disappeared, but Ingirid remembered the dream. For three nights she had the same dream, and the fairy woman seemed very anxious about this, which was the only thing she spoke about. After this she entirely disappeared, and it came on towards summer. The last Wednesday in winter Ingirid sent her sons away, so that they should not be at home that night. When the byre was entered on the first morning of summer, the two best cows were found lying dead in the stalls, and it was supposed that the fairy had intended to kill the farmer's sons in revenge, and, not being able to get hold of these, he had killed the cows rather than nothing.

Two grown-up sisters once lived with their parents, who petted one and were harsh to the other. One time during winter, it so happened that all the people about the farm wanted to go to even-song, and along with the rest the daughter who was thrust aside was very anxious to go; but as some one had to stay at home, she was made to do so, though it was greatly against her will. When all the others had left the place, she began to clean the whole house up and down, and set lights in every corner. This work finished, she Invited the huldu-folk to visit her, going round all the farm repeating the usual formula, "Come all ye that care to come," etc. Then she went inside, and sat down to read the Bible, and never lifted her eyes from it until day dawned. No sooner had she sat down, however, than a crowd of elves entered the house, all dressed in gold and fine clothes. They laid on the floor all kinds of precious things, and offered them to the farmer's daughter; they also began to dance and invited her to join them, but she paid no heed to them. This went on till morning, when the girl looked out at the window, and said, "God be praised; the day has come now!" When the huldu-folk heard God named, they hurried off and left all their treasures behind.

When the others came home, and her sister saw the valuable things she had come into possession of, she envied her greatly, and said that next year she would stay at home herself. New Year's Eve again came round, and the spoilt daughter stayed at home; she was very eager for the coming of the elves, so she lighted all the house and invited them to come. They came then, as finely dressed as before, piled their treasures on the floor and began to dance, inviting her to join them. This she did, but in the dance she broke her leg and went out of her senses, while the huldu-folk went off again with all the treasure.

IN 1819 there was on the farm of Stóru-akrar, in Skagafirth, a young fellow named Gudmund, about twenty years of age, who acted as shepherd. On the morning after Twelfth Night he let out the sheep before daybreak, and drove them to the dale where they pastured when weather permitted. Arrived at the dale with his sheep, he saw a caravan making its way along, in which were both men and women, as well as children; the women and children were seated in cars, while the horses were loaded with luggage. Gudmund never thought but what the travellers were of his own species, although he was surprised that any one should be removing at that time of year, and also at their being seated in cars. He was desirous to speak with them, and ran from his sheep to do so, but these people made haste out by some cliffs to avoid him. Gudmund managed to get opposite to them, but could not get talking with them, as there was so great a distance between him and them, and he had also begun to doubt what they were. They then arrived at the cliffs and unloaded the horses. He seemed to see several doors open and lights burning inside; the folk went up to these, the women and children entered, and the men carried in the luggage. Then he heard ringing of bells and singing, but could not make out a word, and when he arrived at the cliffs they were all shut up again, and the cars, in which the women and children had seemed to be seated, were only stones before his eyes. He saw now what kind of folk they were, and wished to get away as quickly as possible, but grew so sleepy and powerless, that he had to lie down there and sleep. When he awoke again day had dawned, and he rose, but had again to lie down beside the cliffs and sleep. When he next awoke it was clear daylight, and he recovered his strength, although still somewhat confused. He returned to his sheep, and took them home in the evening. People thought him strange for some time after this, but it gradually passed away.

THESE are tall of stature; their clothes are all gray, and their hair black; they live in mounds and are also called "elves." There is an "elf-howe" in Nord-strömö, south from Haldors-vik. They live like other folk, go out to fish, and have sheep and cattle, which go in the pastures among other cattle. They can make themselves and their property invisible to mortal men, and hence it is often said, when one is searching for anything, that a "hulda has hid it." They are eager to get children, who have not been baptised, taken out of the cradle, and to leave their own instead, but the latter remain mere idiots. Little children, who go out alone, often disappear, carried off by the huldu-folk; sometimes they are afterwards found far away from any habitation, and have then told that a big man brought them food while they were away. Huldu-girls often fall in love with Christian men, and try then to tempt them, and draw them to themselves; if they are out on the pastures, thirsty and tired, then the mound opens and the girl comes out to offer them ale or milk to drink, and unless they blow off the froth (for in that lies the charm), they forget everything as soon as they drink, the fairy gets power over them, and carries them off with her into her elf-howe.

ONE time in old days there was a famine in the Færöes; a disease had carried off the sheep, the corn had not ripened, and no fish could be got in the sea. The distress is said to have been greatest in Vaagö, for it was a long time since they had caught anything at the good fishing-banks west in the sea, or anywhere else — they tried it often but came back quite empty. On this island, then, a poor man was going about, heavy and sad at heart, lamenting his distress; he had many children, and could not see how he was to get a bite to put into their mouths. As he went about in this sorrowful mood, and complained of his hard lot, in having to starve his children and die of hunger himself, he met a huldu-man, who asked him what ailed him that he seemed so heavy-hearted. The man told him how badly off he was, and the huldu-man answered that it was a shame he should suffer such distress, for there was plenty of fish, if they had only been able to find them, and he would now tell him the marks to find the fishing-place by: — "the stream in Dal, the mound on Harda-völl, the river in Tang, — fish here shall you fang — bitten iron and trodden, — he that fishes not then is fey." When the huldu-man had said this he suddenly disappeared, without explaining these dark words and unknown names. The man, however, carefully remembered what had been said, and began to ponder over it, till at long length he thought he had some idea where the fishing-place ought to be. Old folks in the district knew the names, and could tell him where the landmarks were to be found. There still remained to find out what the huldu-man had meant by "bitten iron and trodden." It finally struck him that "bitten iron" might be the bit of a bridle, and "trodden iron" a horse-shoe, so he took these and made his hooks of them. When he had got this done, they manned a fishing-boat, and took their bearings after what the man had made out of the huldu-man's words. He gave all the boatmen hooks which he had made from the horse's bit and shoe, and they let them down. They had struck the right spot, and had not sat there more than a little while, before the boat was laden with fish almost to sinking. They then rowed home rejoicing, and the bank is still called the Dulur (i.e., hidden,) after the huldu-man, and is regularly frequented. On their way home, the Vaagö men rowed past a boat they did not know, but it was a huldu-boat, the captain of which rose from his seat, and said to the man, "A lucky man are you; well were the words explained and well was the bank found." The boat disappeared from view, and was never seen again; but the Vaagö fishers were glad to have something to give to their wives and children that evening and afterwards.

THERE is no level beach at Gása-dal in Vaagö, only rocks fifteen fathoms high facing the sea. The place is thus badly situated for fishing, as no boat can lie under the cliffs during winter, on account of the breakers. This accordingly prevents them from keeping a large boat, as it would be too hard work to drag it to the top of the cliffs, and so the men of Gása-dal share the fishing-boats of the men of Bö, and go out with them.

One night, when the weather was promising, a man from Gása-dal left home to go east to Akra-nes, where the men from Bö were to put in to land, and take him on board. When he came east to Skards-á, he saw a boat rowing in to Akra-nes, and being unwilling to keep them waiting long for him, he started to run down to them as fast as he could. He saw then that there were seven men on board, and an empty place for him on one of the seats, but he could not recognize the men, as the darkness had no more than begun to clear away. He had no suspicion but that everything was as it ought to be, sprang quickly into the boat, and they at once pushed off from the shore.

The man sat down in his accustomed place, and put out his oar, but on looking about him found that he knew no one on board, and began to suspect that it was huldu-men he had got among; however, he showed no dismay, and rowed as stoutly as they did. They held north round the island to Ravna-múli, a bank frequented by the fishermen on the west coast of Vaagö. The huldu-men baited and threw out their lines, but the man from Gása-dal sat still and said nothing, for although he had brought his line with him, his hooks were at Bö, and he had no bait. The foreman on the boat asked him why he did not cast his line; he answered, "I have no crook and no bite." The huldu-man at once gave him both hooks and bait, and the hooks had no more than reached the bottom when he felt a pull, and drew up a large fish, which, as soon as he had killed it and laid it down in the boat, the foreman took and marked, and every fish he caught was marked in the same way. When they had got the boat laden with fine fish, they rowed home again, and put to shore at Akra-nes, at the same spot where they had taken the man on board. As he had fished all day on his own account, they threw ashore every fish that had been marked. When he had got ashore, and had received his catch out of the boat, he noticed that he had left his knife in it, and called out to them, "Sharp by thigh is left behind." The huldu-man caught up the knife and threw it at him, but did not strike him, whereupon he cried "A curse on you, but you are a lucky man." They then pushed off from the land again, and the foreman said, "Hound that you are, you never said thanks to me for the boat." It is not good, when huldu-folk are near on the sea or on land (and who knows that?) to name knife, sword, axe, bait, smoke, etc., by their proper names, but by other words such as "sharp," "bite," "house-shadow," and the like. Neither is it good to thank the huldu-folk when they do one a service, for then they have power to do one some mischief.

THE huldres are women as beautiful as can be imagined, who live in the mountains and graze their cattle there. These are often fat and thriving, brindled, or light in colour. They themselves, when they appear to men, are dressed in grey clothes, with a white cloth hanging over their face, and the only thing they can be recognised by, is the long tail that drags behind them, which, however, they for the most part generally manage to conceal.

If one hears them play among the mountains, it is so enchanting that one can scarcely contain one's self for joy. This music is called the Huldre's tune, and there are many peasants who have heard it, and learned it, and can play it again.

Now it once happened at a sæter, or mountain shiel, that a man, who was working there, lay down on the ground to rest. He had scarcely fallen asleep, before it seemed to him as if he was in such a beautiful meadow, that he had never before seen its equal; mountain lilies grew round about in fairest bloom, and in the midst of them lay a farm, one of the finest he had ever seen. He went into this, and saw in it a whole little family, all dressed in grey. The father was an old man with a long beard, but altogether a dainty creature. "Sit down and eat with us," said the old man. "Yes, thanks for the invitation," said the man, "but I must first say my grace," and he began to take off his hat and fold his hands. "No, no," said the old man, "we don't use these tricks here, and if you would lay aside your knife and your silver pin, I should be very much obliged; I don't like all that show;" for so long as one has silver and steel about him these creatures have no power over him. "No, thanks," said the man, "I keep them always about me and don't like to part with them." "As you please, my son," said the old man; "wouldn't you like to have one of my pretty daughters though?" "Thanks," said the man; "but I am married already." "Oh, indeed," said the little one, "that needn't cause you any trouble, for you will never see her again, but live for ever down here with us, in pure joy and pleasure." The man grew a little uncomfortable at this, but stuck to his refusal. "Well," said the old man, "if he won't be good friends with us he may as well go to the door; — out with him, my lads." So they laid hold of the poor peasant and threw him out, and with that he awoke, and was mortally ill after it.

ONE time a huldre was present at a gathering, where everyone wanted to dance with the pretty stranger, but in the midst of the merriment, the young fellow who was dancing with her, caught sight of her long tail. He immediately guessed what she was and was frightened, but kept his presence of mind, and did not betray her, but only said at the end of the dance, "Pretty maid, you are losing your garter." She immediately disappeared, but afterwards rewarded him with fine presents and success in his cattle-rearing.

A half-grown lad from Vermeland was once in the forest, busied with charcoal burning, when there came to him a beautiful woman with long hair falling down her back. She greeted him in a friendly manner, and began to talk to him, and he was quite enchanted with her beauty; but as they sat and talked, he looked behind her and caught sight of a long tail. "What's this I see?" he cried in amazement; "that's a rare train you have." She became quite angry at the joke, and said, "I wished you well, my lad, but now no one shall ever love you, I shall take care of that, and everything shall go against you." With that she disappeared, and the lad immediately fell into a fatal illness.

IN Nordland the story is told that a smart fellow got hold of a huldre in the wood, by laying the barrel of his rifle over her. She was baptised, and became his wife. They lived very well together and had a child, but suddenly one evening as the child was playing on the hearth, where the woman sat and span, while the husband was doing something else, something of her wild nature came over her, and she, in a savage mood, said to him that the child would be splendid to spit and roast for supper. The man was scared, and the woman, who noticed that she had made a bad mistake, checked herself and entreated him to forget it; but he didn't. The frightful words were always in his ears; he got by them an ugly glance into his wife's true nature, and the peace of the home was destroyed. From being a good husband he became irritable, often taunted his wife with her savage proposal, cursed his folly in marrying her, and struck and beat her. So things went on for a time, while the woman suffered and sorrowed. One day she went to the smithy in all friendliness to look at her husband working, but when he began as usual, and they finally came to blows, she, to give him proof of her superiority, caught up an iron rod and twisted it like steel wire round her husband, who had then to give in and promise to keep the peace.

IT is not much beyond living memory, since a grown up fellow from Opdals Annex in Numme-dal came upon a merry huldre wedding, as he went past a deserted sæter. Through a window he saw that everything went on among the berg-folk the same as at ordinary weddings, but his attention was most attracted by the bride, both for her beauty and her beautiful dress, the finest part of which was a massive bridal crown of shining silver. He looked at the bride so long that he fell in love with her, and did not think twice of depriving the wedding guests of their merriment, and the bridegroom of his rich and beautiful bride. He quickly drew his knife, and cast it through the window over her head, upon which the others disappeared like lightning, leaving only the fair one sitting, bound fast by the spell of the steel. The two soon came to an understanding, the fairy bride followed him home, and finally, after being baptised, went with him to the altar; but her beautiful bridal dress was spoiled by an ugly cow's tail, which only disappeared little by little. They lived long and happily together, and the costly silver crown is still preserved at Mæra-bru.

SOME people who know no better, say that they have heard the Goa-nisse go about and sweep the house, when in reality it was only the raa, imitating the work of mortals. The raa can never be seen, but every night they may be heard working in workshops, in houses that are being built, or in large kitchens, and even spinning with the spinning wheels, when these have been laid aside for any length of time. For this reason, every orderly woman is careful to remove the distaff from the wheel and tie it up firmly, so that the fairies have to let it remain in peace. Otherwise, these fairies do neither good nor ill, beyond befooling some ignorant people into going to see what it is, that is working in this way; but in that case nothing more happens, than that everything becomes quiet, until the inquisitive person has gone his way. Then the fairies begin anew.

In Kristianstad there was a bake-house which was full of fairies, who went about in it every night as if they had been human beings. There was a stable-man named Jóns, who had always to awaken the baker at two o'clock in the morning, so that the bread could be ready by six. One morning the baker was allowed to oversleep himself, and was furious at Jóns. The servant asked the stableman how he had so far forgot himself, especially when he got up at that time at any rate, to look to the horses. Jóns answered her, that when he went to awaken his master at two o'clock, there was a light in the bake-house, and fire in the oven, and he had plainly heard them rolling out the dough inside. He never took any thought about the fairies, but supposed that it was the bakers already at work. It was rather simple of Jóns, to allow himself to be fooled in this way by the fairies, for he knew best himself how things stood in the bake-house.

It is a good sign when the fairies are heard working actively in houses, ships, mills, and other buildings while they are being erected, but if they are heard lamenting, some accident is sure to happen, such as a workman getting injured, or other unfortunate occurrence.

"In my young days," said a wood-cutter, "I saw the wood-fairy with my own eyes; she had a red knitted jacket, a green bodice, and blue gown. She ran past me with her long yellow hair flying loose about her; she was pretty in the face, but behind she was as hollow as a baking-trough. A thick vapour can sometimes be seen rising from the flat rocks, and one knows that she is boiling her clothes; and often during thunder loud noises can be heard coming from them, as if a whole load of stones were emptied down; this is her beating her clothes. She can sometimes be seen with a child on her arm; my own father saw this, and had heard that she had a husband, although she is given to enticing men to her. It is not easy to find out the husband's proper name, for some say that she is in the habit of calling on Erik, while others think that she and the "hornufve" are a couple.

"Many years ago, it happened that a man, who was burning charcoal in the thick forest, was several times visited by a wood-fairy, who wished to warm herself at his fire. He was annoyed at this, and threw a burning coal at her. Then she screamed, 'Ture Koppar-bonde, the man took red hot and burned me.' Others say that she screamed, 'Svante, Svante, the man burned me.' He was then heard saying, 'Self answer and self have!' But whatever his name was, and whatever answer he gave, a terrible noise was heard in the forest, so that the charcoal-burner took to his heels, and ran away as fast as he could, and so escaped the danger.

"I know a man myself, who saw her sitting, combing her hair; he was wrong in the head for a long time after that sight. It might, however, have been worse for another man that I heard tell of. He had gone out to look for his master's cows, and searched for them till late in the evening. By this time he had gone astray, and had found no cows. He then saw a light at some distance further into the forest, and went towards it, in the belief that some human beings lived there. There was a house, sure enough, and the door was open, so he entered and bade them good evening. At the end of the table, with her back against the wall, sat a woman, whom he took to be the good-wife, and asked her whether he could stay there overnight. 'That may well be,' said she, 'You can lie in the bed that is made up in the room there.' He thanked her, and began to undress, and in doing so happened to throw his clasp-knife on the coverlet. He then thought he heard a splash, as if the knife had fallen into water, but tired as he was, he sat down on the bed, saying: `So, in Jesus' name, now I have gone enough today.' As he said this, he sank into a pool, so that the water splashed up over him. At the same instant the house, and everything in it had disappeared, and the man found himself sitting in a pool of water in the forest, while his clothes were hanging on a bush beside him. He could thank the name he had named, that he escaped as he did; for had he lain down in the wood-fairy's bed, her husband would soon have come and torn him to pieces.

"A generation ago, it happened in Stene-stad that a peasant, who was out in the forest in broad daylight, looking to his cattle, found a lamb lying by itself beside a bush. He took it up gently, and carried it home to his house, where his wife petted it all she could, and let it lie under the stove. Later in the day the man again went out to the forest, and heard a piteous voice, which said, 'My child my child! Where is my child?' The man could see no one, and went home again. There he told what he had heard, and wondered who it could be that was crying in this way for the child. 'That was my mother,' cried the lamb, and made out at the door, across the yard, and into the forest. They knew then that this was the wood-fairy's child, which she had changed into the shape of a lamb, and which they had taken care of. As thanks for this they had great luck with their cattle, which were always much finer than their neighbours."

THERE was once a peasant, who was always equally cool and collected, whether things went with him or against him, so that no one was ever able to startle him, or make him either laugh or cry; they might say what they pleased, he had always his answer ready, and had the last word with them, He had been at work in the woods all week, and was going home on Saturday evening, when he met the wood-fairy, who tried to get the better of him.

"I have been at your house," said she.

"Then you weren't at home that time," said he.

"Your wife has had a child," said she.

"It was her time then," said he.

"She has got twins," said she.

"Two birds in one egg," said he.

"One of them is dead," said she.

"Won't have to cry for bread," said he.

"They are both dead," said she.

"That's only one coffin then," said he.

"Your wife is dead as well," said she.

"Saves her crying for the children," said he.

"Your house is burned down," said she.

"When the tail's seen, the troll is known," said he.

"If I had you out at sea," said she.

"With a ship under me," said he.

"With a hole in it," said she.

"And a plug in that," said he.

IN the forest there are quite different beings from those out on the plain. In the woods round about the farm of Skaber-sjö the wood-man is found. He does not the slightest harm, but just comes into houses to warm himself. The worst of him is, that he takes up so much room, and always wants to lie before the stove. He has tremendously long legs, but if one gives him room, he disposes them round about him as well as he can, and if he is received in a friendly way, he comes dragging whole trees, and wants to lay them on the fire.

ADAM first had a wife named Lillis, who could fly and swim, and when she bore children, it was by the half-score at a time. They were all elle-folk, tiny little things. They got their name from their mother, because she had all these l's in her name.

The ellefolk live in mosses, banks and mounds, under alder-trees and in alder-thickets. They wear white clothes, and always turn their backs to the wind. The women are hollow behind like a dough-trough, and a good way to get rid of them is to refer to this, by saying, "Let me see your back," or, "Let me see whether you are the same behind as before."

Their children have helped mortal children to drive home the cattle in the evening, and said that they lived under the elder tree in the garden. A peasant once found in the wood a boy of two or three years old, and brought him home with him. The boy grew well, but had an unusually large head, and would never speak. One day the man was in the wood again, and saw a woman with very long breasts who was running about, and calling out one name continually. He told this on his return home, whereupon the boy exclaimed, "That was my mother!" He was then taken back to where he was found, and was never seen again.

The ellefolk also carry off children, or entice them to follow them. Those who have once been with them are never right in their minds after it, and always wish to go back again. Even meeting with them, and talking to them brings on sickness of body and mind, those who are thus affected being said to be "elf-shot" or "earth-shot" The men try to entice girls away with them, and often came to them when milking; the girls then take various plans to disgust them and get rid of them. One of them used to meet a girl when she went to milk the cows, until she told of him at home and was advised to ask him to turn round; when he did this, his back resembled a stump of alder-tree. An elf-girl once came to a forester as he sat in the wood; she offered him a pancake, and sat down on his knee. He looked at it, and at her, and was at a loss what to do, but finally took his knife and cut a cross on the cake, whereupon both it and the girl disappeared. They even chase human beings, but must stop when they come to cross-roads. Eating a piece of bread and butter is a safe-guard against their attack. In one district it is the practice for mowers to sharpen their scythes before laying them aside, otherwise the elf-women can make them fall in love with them through these.

They can be heard singing in the woods with the most beautiful voices, and have music which has been known to have effect on horses. They are often seen dancing, either in the alder thickets or in the mounds, which are raised for the occasion. A herd boy was once invited by an elf-girl to join the dance, and next morning his body was found lying beside the mound; he had danced till he died. Another never grew any bigger all his life; another was only rescued by the prompt action of a ploughman in carrying him off. Such boys always wish to go back to them. They have been known to pay mortals to dance with them, but when these get tired of it and refuse to go any more, the elf-women revenge themselves.

They are greatly given to stealing, especially articles of food, and cats, which must not be left alone in the house. Once when they had stolen a woman's bread, her husband dug in the moss after them, but could not find them. In revenge they plagued him till he died. To protect anything against them, the mark of the cross is sufficient, and it is extremely dangerous to annoy them in any way, as they are sure to have their revenge.

IN Stevns Herred reigns the elf-king, and he, it is well known, cannot bear any other king to set his foot in the district, although this has really happened several times. Neither can he endure any foreign foes, and in this respect he has been better able to enforce his will, as was shown in 1807, when the English entered the country as enemies. When they tried to enter Stevns, and in order to do so, had to cross Pram Bridge, they could get no further than to the middle of it. Here they had to stop and turn back, none of them daring to go further, as an invisible power seemed to force them back. They had therefore to be content with visiting the villages on the other side of the river from Stevns, where they plundered and pillaged largely, while Stevns was completely spared.

In olden times the elf-king carried music with him wherever he went, but in later times nothing of the kind has been heard. A woman from my native district was going over a meadow, through which runs the stream that divides Stevns from Fakse Herred. On reaching the other side of the meadow, she sat down to rest beside an alder stump, but had scarcely sat there a moment, before there came a rushing sound through the air, and she saw the meadow heaving up and down as if with a whole troop of horsemen riding after each other, and heard music along with them. In the midst of all this, the woman became so frightened, that she sank to the ground in a swoon, but when the tempest was past, she was quite well again. It must assuredly have been the elf-king riding past with music, and in full equipment.

When King Frederick the Sixth once paid a visit to Dragsholm, a beautiful large watch dog of a rare breed died suddenly on the very night that he stayed there. This mishap was attributed to the elf-king's revenge, who was said to have taken up his abode in the alder wood beside the castle, and was angry at another crowned head daring to enter his kingdom.

IN Tjörring there lived an old woman, called Maren, who was sitting spinning very late one evening, when she heard a voice from under the floor, saying, "To bed, Ma, to bed!" She paid no more heed to this, and continued to spin, as she had much to do. In a little she heard the same voice again, saying the same words, and adding, "You don't know what I have suffered for what you have spun this evening." Maren now understood what was the matter, and made haste to get into bed and put out the light. The fact was that there lived elle-folk under her floor, and one of the women was about to give birth to a child. But this can only take place above ground, and as she could not come up so long as the wheel was going, and the light burning, she had to let Maren know in this way of the pains she was suffering on her account. It must have been the case that the elle-folk's outer door was just in the old woman's room.

THERE was a farmer in Vendsyssel, whose wife had a child. After she was going about again, she one day went out into the kitchen, and when she came back there were two children lying in the cradle, nor could she tell in the least which of them was their own. They were perplexed at this, and the man went to make his moan to the priest, who answered that in such a case he could do nothing, and they would have to get "wise folk" to help them. The man then went to one of these, who was wiser than any other person. "You have a stallion, of course?" said the wise man. "Yes," said the farmer. "Then you must lay both the children on the dung-heap outside your stable-door, then go in and put the bridle on the stallion, and let it go out by itself." "That will never do," said the man, "for as soon as the bridle is put on it, it flies out and never looks at the ground, but only at the mare, and might just as readily trample to death the right child as the wrong one." "No fear of that," said the wise man, and so the farmer let out the stallion as he had been directed. As soon as it got outside, it took one of the children in its teeth and threw it into the mire. The woman then took the other child, and carried it into the house. As soon as she had gone, the elf-woman came, and said it was a great shame of them to throw her great-grandfather into the mire, for he was 160 years old, and with that she picked him up and ran off with him, as if he were a child.

OLD Peter Hendrick relates that in his youth, while he served on a farm in Rönnebæk, he was one day cutting grass up in Fredskov. It was about midsummer, and that day there were two girls with him in the wood. It was in the south-east corner of the wood, but beside a moss. At mid-day after eating the dinner he had brought with him, he laid himself down all his length to sleep. A little behind him, the two girls sat resting themselves, but before he had fallen asleep, he saw all at once a woman come out of the alder bushes in the moss, and stand straight in front of him, beckoning him with her hand. The girls who were with him called to him "Do you see her, Peter?" But he cried, "Away with her," and just as he cried it, the fairy turned about and disappeared in the bushes, while at the same time there was a loud peal of thunder, which rumbled like a cart going over a causeway. Peter says that the fairy was very pretty while she stood in front of him, and was dressed in shining gold, which glittered in the sun, but when she turned about she was hollow behind, and mis-shapen, and to look at her then was like looking into a black pot. He thinks it was great good luck that he did not rise and give her his hand, for then he would have had to go along with her. He relates that this was what happened in his young days to a man who still lives in Myrup, of the name of Rasmus Hansen. He was one day out on the meadow beside the peat moss, cutting grass, and as he stood there the fairy woman came and beckoned on him. As soon as he went to meet her, she took him by the hand and went off with him, far over moors and mosses, and Rasmus says that he danced with her in this way for a long time, and can remember nothing except that he constantly heard music, and constantly danced about with the fairy.

What he lived on he does not know, but at last, one day when he was beside Myrup again, the fairy let him go, and he came home. It was then three weeks since he had disappeared, and in that time he had grown so thin that he could scarcely be recognised again.

LARS JENSEN, who lived in Stubberup, served in his young days on Mose-gaard, in Dalby, on the fields of which are two small woods, one of them consisting for the most part of dwarf alders. It was in early summer, and they were holding the hay-festival. Lars was a terrible fellow to dance, and it was almost daybreak before the party broke up, so he said to the boy, "You can go and lie down and I'll shift the cattle." He went out to these, which stood in or near by the alder wood, and after shifting them he lay down in the grass, being very tired, and fell asleep. Just as the sun rose, he awoke, and saw a beautiful young woman, dressed like a peasant-girl, standing over him and pulling at his buttons. He thought it was one of the girls from the party, and said, "Why can't you let me sleep in peace?" but he then was more familiar with her than he should have been, and only afterwards discovered that something was wrong. From that time forward he had to visit her in the wood every night, and could never have peace to stay in his bed. If he did not go at a certain time every evening, she came herself to fetch him. At last things went so far that she came for him at mid-day, and the people about the farm often saw her outside the window, and when she came there he had to go, but never got much power over him as to be able to keep him. She often pressed him to go home with her, and he would get many glorious things to see, but he would not do this, as he was afraid that their men-folk would do him some mischief. She assured him that there was no fear of that; if he would only go with her he would have a good time of it, and if he was not content with her he could get her sister, who was much prettier than herself, and many other promises she made, but could not prevail with him. This continued until the autumn, and he grew afraid that he would not be able to oppose her much longer. He then applied to the priest, who came and sent him to bed, gave him the sacrament, and spread the chasuble over him. They were sure that she would come now, and so she did, and wanted to take him with her, but could not. The priest told her that she might take him now if she could, and if not, she could have nothing to do with him thereafter. She had thus to go away again, and from that time forward Lars Jensen was free from her. It must have been an elf-girl, but she was not hollow in the back, as some folks say they ought to be.

IN the parish of Mern there are two farms known by the name of Skalsby. Fifty years ago one of them was inhabited by Rasmus Bosen's widow, who had it in life-rent, and had a son, Peder Rasmussen, who managed it. Every time they were to bake, they had to go into the wood and steal sticks to bake with. At that time a girl called Bodil served on the farm, and had to help in this. The son and the ploughman got the wood, the one cutting it and the other dragging it off, while the girl had to keep watch and see that the forester did not come upon them. One time they were out for this purpose, and had finished their work, but when they looked for the girl she had disappeared. Peder called on her, but got no answer, and they were afraid she had lost herself. He called again, and this time she answered him, but from another part of the wood altogether. They found her then, but she was quite wrong in the head. She would not go home with them, saying that she was going to a ball in Lange-mose, so they had to take her and drag her home by force. They put her to bed, and understood well enough what was wrong with her, so they got a woman brought who could melt lead over her, and in that way she was made well again. (This consisted in melting lead, and pouring it into a vessel of water held over the sick person's head. The figures which it formed in the water explained the trolldom). So long as she lived she could well remember what she had seen, and told about it. As she went about in the wood and listened, she thought that all at once it became strangely clear round about her, and then there came two little fellows, each of whom took hold of one of her hands. They told her that they lived out in Lange-mose, and that the one was called Svip (Glance) and the other Gloöje (Glare-eye). They earnestly begged her to come and dance with them, as the elle-folk were to have a ball that night. She went with them for some distance, and was very pleased to walk and talk with them; then she heard Peder Rasmussen calling on her, and was unwilling to answer the first time, as she did not want to separate from the boys, but when he called the second time, she thought she could not help answering. No sooner had she done so than the boys were gone, and all was pitch-dark round about her, until the men came and found her.

A GIRL from a farm in the village of Galten had to shift the sheep to a sheltered place on the fields, as the weather was very severe, so she took them down beside an alder thicket, but there she came among some little creatures, and remained with them until far on in the night. She told afterwards that there were some who played while the others danced, and she danced with them. There were both men and women, and they wore red sleeves. Towards morning she came home and went to her bed. When they called on her to rise and milk the cows, she got up, but could neither speak nor open her mouth, which seemed to be all twisted together. When they could not get a word out of her, they grew frightened, and sent for a wise man, who lived in the alder-wood at Laas-by. He said that she had danced with the elle-folk, and they must now take her back there. A man should go on each side of her, and she herself ride on a broom-handle. When they got so far that she could see the elle-folk, they must bring her back again. He then forced her mouth open with a silver spoon, and they set out. At last she could see them, and gave a scream, and said, "There they are!" With that she would have run off to them, but the men kept hold of her, and dragged her back with them. She was now freed from them, and told the whole story, but never liked to talk about it afterwards, and was a little strange ever after. I can remember her as an old woman.

THE thicket at Havers-lund was full of elf-girls, and in the village lived a man who had a good-looking son, named Tammes (Thomas). The elf-women had a loving eye for him, and he often heard their song and music, and watched their dance, when he drove the cattle down to the fold late in the evening. He often stayed away for a long time, and then his father scolded him, but his longing only grew all the greater. Finally, late one evening, he ventured so near that they formed a circle round him, and he came home no more. For three years his parents waited for him in vain; then they heard tell of a wise woman, who was said to be able to help them, so they got her down there one evening, and waited outside the thicket with anxious attention. Finally the dance stopped, and the elf-girls disappeared, leaving something lying on the ground, — it was Tammes, but he was dead. They had danced him to death, and the blood was flowing from his nose and mouth. After this nothing succeeded with Nis Tamsen, whereas everything had gone well with him while his son was with the elf-girls. This happened about the year 1700.

IN the middle of the fields of Kokke-dal, three and a half Danish miles from Copenhagen, stands an enormous beech-tree, which serves as a landmark for the Sound, and is called "The Lady's Beech." A large forest formerly stood here, and some girls, returning from their work in the fields, were once passing this way in the evening, when there suddenly arose a violent storm, accompanied by thunder and lightning. They all ran to reach home with the exception of one, who sought shelter under the large tree. Here a white-clad figure appeared to her, and revealed to her that she should one day become mistress of Kokke-dal, but she must promise never to give her consent to this tree being felled. Some years later the owner of Kokke-dal happened to see her, fell in love with her, and asked her hand. She remembered the prophecy, and gave her assent. The whole forest has been felled since that time, but each owner is bound down to leave this tree standing.

IN Ginnerup, beside Krei-bjærg, there are many mounds, in which there formerly lived elle-folk. My mother's mother has told that they were so given to stealing, that one could hear them come by night, and fill their metal pots out of the dough-trough, but when a cross was made over the dough they could not take it. This was therefore usually done, and the practice is still kept up without thinking of the reason of it. One time when an elf-woman came to Mads Bakke's farm, and was about to fill her metal pot with dough, the man came over her with an axe, whereupon she ran away and left the pot, which was long kept on the farm, until it was once left outside at night, and in the morning it was gone.

They were worst, however, for unbaptised children, and on this account a cross was made above and below the cradle, on both ends and on both sides. One night two fairies came to carry off a child, which lay in a cradle thus protected. "Take it out at the end," said the one. "I can't," said the other, "there's a cross on it." "Take it out at the side, then." "No, I can't do that either; there are crosses everywhere." So they had to go away again.

A CHARCOAL-BURNER from Ry was lying one night beside his heap, in the middle of the North Wood there. The fire crackled away outside his hut, in which the man lay at full length, keeping an eye on the burning pile, to see that it did not burn down to ashes. At twelve o'clock at night there came an elf-girl, who sat down in front of the fire, and turned her face to the man, while she showed her legs and pointed to them saying, "Do you know leg-pip?" The man answered "Do you know brand-stick?" and with these words he took a stick from the burning heap, and struck at her legs with it. She then shouted so that she could be heard over the whole wood, "Red, red elf-lad, elf-girl burned bad!" With that the wood cracked as if about to fall, and from all its corners the elves came streaming in hundreds. The man ran home the whole two miles as fast as he could, while the elves ran after him with brands from the charcoal heap. He was very nearly giving in, but got under cover in a house that he was passing, and was safe, as the elle-folk dare not go under a roof. Next day, along with some others, he went to the wood to see his charcoal, and found it scattered in all directions to the distance of half a mile. The man never did any good after this, but slowly wasted away and died, and was believed to have been bewitched by the elves.