Lisbeth Longfrock Part 7

The next day Peter brought her a musical horn that he had made in the evenings from a goat's horn. It had an unusually fine tone. You could manage to play that funny tune, "Old Woman with a Stick," on it after a fas.h.i.+on.

Ole speculated a while as to what he could do to beat that, and then he hit upon an idea,--he would tame Crookhorn!

They had often seen Crookhorn going with the cows as if she were one of them; and they knew that though she was Lisbeth's own goat there was no use in trying to make her go with the other goats. The little girl had told them how impossible it had been to manage the creature at the farm, and that Kjersti had said the men would have to make an end of her when winter came.

So Ole offered to tame Crookhorn. He was sure that he could teach her to go with the others. There had never been a goat yet that had not been forced to yield when he attempted to master it.

Yes, indeed, Lisbeth was more than willing for him to try. If he succeeded, she would gladly give him all she owned.

No, Ole did not want any payment for doing it; but if she insisted on giving him something, he would like the goat's horns after the goat was slaughtered, as it would have to be some day. They would make matchless horns to blow upon.

But Peter, too, wanted to have a share in the undertaking. If the goat proved to be very cross and obstinate, two persons would surely be needed to tame her. Then they could have one horn apiece.

Ole did not know whether he would agree to that or not, for it was he who had thought of the plan.

Yes, but how could he carry it out? Peter did not believe that Crookhorn could be made to go with the other goats unless there was a stronger goat for her to be fastened to. Ole did not have such a one.

It was Peter who had the big billy goat, the only one strong enough for the task.

Yes, that was true; so Peter might help in taming Crookhorn if he would lend his billy goat.

Lisbeth, for her part, thought they ought all to help; that was the only proper way. And her suggestion was finally followed.

Ole's taming of Crookhorn was the errand that brought the boys to the Hoel Saeter on the morning that Lisbeth and the milkmaid were doing their milking so early.

The two flocks came pus.h.i.+ng and crowding over the hill; but as soon as the animals realized that they were to be allowed to go close to the saeter, they began to run at full speed. It was always such fun to go to a strange place! They would be sure to find something new to see and to stick their noses into,--perhaps a little milk stirabout in the pig trough, a little salt on the salting stone, or a hole in the fence where one could get a chance to squeeze through without being seen.

The bells clanged, the boys ran about shouting and hallooing and giving their musical calls, trying to keep the worst goats in order, but perhaps making a little more noise than was necessary.

Where all had been so still before there was now the liveliest commotion. The milkmaid could not resist going to the cow-house door to look out; and Lisbeth would surely have forgotten to milk the last of her goats if it had not come over to her of its own accord and stood directly in her way as she was going out of the fold.

When Ole saw the milkmaid at the cow-house door he called out, "Shall you not let out your cattle soon?"

"Yes; I am just ready to," answered the milkmaid. "Are you ready, Lisbeth?"

"I am milking my last goat."

Soon everything was done, and the animals stood waiting to be let out.

Ole had with him a strong band woven of willow withes, with an ingeniously fastened loop at each end. One loop was for Peter's billy goat, the other for Crookhorn. Ole thought it was a very fine apparatus indeed.

"Where is Crookhorn?"

"In the cow house."

"Then I had better go in and get her myself. Bring your goat, Peter, and hold him ready."

Peter called his big billy goat. It knew its name and came at once.

"Let me see how strong you are," said Peter. He took hold of its horns, held its head down, and pushed against it. The billy goat bunted, took a fresh start, bunted again,--they often played in this way,--and sent Peter against the fence.

"There!" exclaimed Peter, picking himself up; "I rather think that billy goat is strong enough to drag any goat along, no matter how big a one." Peter fairly glowed with pride.

Ole, too, wanted to try the strength of the goat. Yes, it was an amazingly strong goat.

Then Ole went into the cow house, and in a few moments came back leading Crookhorn by the band of willow withes. The next step was to fasten the other loop around the billy goat's neck, and behold! there stood the two goats harnessed together. But neither of them seemed to notice that anything had been done.

Lisbeth and the milkmaid and the boys waited a while expectantly; but the billy goat rather enjoyed being looked at, and would not budge so long as they and the flocks were near by. He merely stood still and wanted to be petted.

So Ole said: "Let your animals out, Lisbeth, and start ours on the path, Peter. Then we shall see a double-team grazing contest."

Lisbeth opened the gate and her animals crowded out, taking their customary way up over the hill. Peter drove his own flock and Ole's after them.

Seeing this, the billy goat thought it was high time for him to be jogging along, so he took a step forward; but something was the matter.

He looked back. Who was playing tricks and hindering him?

He saw Crookhorn with all four legs planted fast on the ground and her neck stretched out.

"Pooh! nothing but that," thought the billy goat, taking a couple of steps forward. Crookhorn found herself obliged to follow, but she laid her head back and struggled. Then the billy goat gathered all his force, set his horns high in the air, and tugged at the band. He would show her that he was not to be kept back by any such foolery!

Crookhorn again found herself obliged to follow, but she resisted and resisted with all her might. At length her fore legs doubled up under her and she sank upon her knees; but the billy goat went on as if nothing had happened, and Crookhorn had to follow on her knees across the whole flat part of the saeter field.

Lisbeth and the boys shrieked with laughter, and even the milkmaid found it impossible not to join in.

When Crookhorn reached the beginning of the hill, where the ground was more uneven, she thought it wiser to get up and trot along on her four feet; but although she yielded thus far for the sake of her own comfort, she still continued to struggle against being forced to go at all.

The animals took the customary path leading farther over the mountain.

Little by little Crookhorn seemed to conclude that she must submit to the inevitable. During the first part of the morning she was sullen and contrary, merely allowing herself to be dragged along; but as the day wore on and her stomach felt empty and slack, she grew more subdued and began to walk quietly forward, eating as she went like any other goat,--only looking up once in a while when she heard the heavy cow bell in the distance.

The fun was gone when Crookhorn took to behaving well, so the boys began as usual to wrestle and turn somersaults; and this they kept up until it was nearly time to go home for their nooning. Then Ole said: "Now let us slip her loose on trial. I think she must be cured by this time."

Yes, the others agreed to that.

So they called to the billy goat coaxingly. He came jogging along with his big horns straight up and Crookhorn trailing after him. Ole first set the billy goat free, and then, kneeling down before Crookhorn, he took hold of her beard. Crookhorn pawed with her feet as goats do when they want to get rid of this hold, but Ole would not let go. He wished to give her a few admonitions first.

Now that she had found her master, he told her, she need no longer imagine that she was a cow. Hereafter she was to behave like other goats or she would have him to deal with; and at this he gave her beard a wag, as if to add force to his words. That hurt Crookhorn, and she made a bound straight at him and sent him rolling backward. Then, pa.s.sing directly over him, with the willow band trailing behind her, she set out on a trot across the marsh in the direction from which the sound of the cow bell had come.

Ole scrambled up again, stamped the ground with rage, and started after her.

Lisbeth and Peter were already on the way. They shouted and screamed as they ran, and threatened Crookhorn with all sorts of punishments if she did not stop; but Crookhorn acted as if she did not understand. She ran, and they after her. The boys became more and more angry. It had never happened before that they had been unable to capture a goat; and besides, each boy was eager to get ahead of the other. So they ran faster and faster. Although Lisbeth Longfrock was light-footed, especially with her birch-bark shoes[13] on, she lagged behind. It was like wading in deep water to try to run in that long frock of hers, which, in the hasty start of the morning, she had forgotten to tuck up in her belt as usual.

[13] Lisbeth's ordinary shoes were clumsy wooden ones.

Soon she caught a last glimpse of the boys as they disappeared over a hill on the other side of the marsh. Peter was ahead (she believed he really was the faster runner of the two). But she herself was only in the middle of the marsh.

So she stopped. Certainly the best thing that she could do was to go back and get the animals together; otherwise all three flocks were likely to stray away.

She turned back, recrossed the marsh, and had climbed the hill a little way when she heard a rumbling and thudding noise, which grew constantly louder and louder, while the ground seemed to roll in waves under her feet. What could it be? Around the foot of the hill came a big herd of horses[14]--oh, what a big herd! There were horses old and young, and foals running beside their mothers; horses brown, dun-colored, black, and white; and all of them were so bright and s.h.i.+ny and fat and skittis.h.!.+ They trotted and ran, with heads tossing,--those ahead being pa.s.sed by others, then those behind getting ahead again,--making a noise almost like the booming of thunder.