Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen

“ It was to no purpose that Lars showed him the drop of blood on the rude whittled arrow; he insisted that the feather was the Prince’s, and that Lars was a thief and a robber. But Lars was not to be frightened even at that. He stuck to his story and refused to give up the feather.
“Well, then,” said the King, with a wicked grin, “we’ll say that it is yours. But in that case you must be prepared to prove it. When you bring me the golden hen, from whose tail this feather has been shot, then I’ll admit that it is yours. But if you fail, you will be burned alive in a barrel of tar.” ”

“ Now, to be burned alive in a barrel of tar is not a pleasant thing; and Lars, when he heard that such a fate was in store for him, wished he had never seen the golden feather. But it would be disgraceful to back down now, so he accepted the terms, stuffed into his luncheon-bag a leg of smoked mutton and a dozen loaves of bread, which the cook at the castle gave him, and started on his journey. But the question now arose, where should he go? Golden hens were not such everyday affairs that he might expect to find them in any barn-yard. ”

“ Well, he could scarcely have told you himself, for he was so completely overwhelmed that he stood gazing stupidly, like a cow at a painted barn-door. But beautiful—oh, beautiful, beyond all conception, was that which he saw. That was the reason he stood speechless, with open mouth and staring eyes. Of course, now you can guess what it was. It was none other than the Sister of the Sun. She was lying upon her bed, sleeping sweetly, like a child that is taking an after-dinner nap. ”

“ He made haste accordingly to be off on his journey, and when he saw the tar-barrels being made ready on the hill-top behind the castle, he vowed that, unless he was successful in his errand, he would be in no haste to come back again. When he arrived at the palace of the Sun, Dawn was overjoyed to see him. But when he told his story and mentioned, in passing, the tar-barrel, then she was not quite so well pleased. However, she went to consult Afterglow; and Afterglow, after her experience with the ugly Trolds, was not at all averse to marrying a handsome young Prince. ”

“ It was early evening, and it was almost dark; but there shot up a red blaze of light from all the windows of the castle of the Trolds. Reynard, who had been there many a time before, and was an old acquaintance of tho Trolds, soon perceived that something unusual was going on. So far as he could see they were having a ball; and the Trolds were all taking turns at dancing with Afterglow,—for she was the only girl in the whole company. When they saw the fox one of them cried out:
“Hallo, old Reynard, you have always been a light-footed fellow. Won’t you come in and have a dance?” ”

“ He took good care to lay his course in the direction opposite to that which Lars and Afterglow had taken; and thus, the farther the Trolds ran, the slighter were their chances of recovering her. After a while, however, Reynard grew tired of this game, and then he remembered that there was a big swamp near by, and thither he hastened. But while he sprang lightly from hillock to hillock, the heavy Trolds in their wrath plunged ahead, and before they knew it, they sank down in the marsh up to their very waists. The more they struggled to get out, the deeper they settled in the mud ”