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“He looks like on who would act honorably by friend or enemy,” said the watchman.

The noble maiden cast a rapid glance at the stranger. “If he prove himself to be such as thou sayest, we may rejoice at his arrival. Hand him a cup of milk, Frida.”

The stranger drank, and as he returned the cup with thanks, said, “Blessings upon thy kind hand. My first greeting in this country was willingly offered me by a warm-hearted man; may the second be a presage to me that I shall find that peace in the Chief's house for which I so passionately long.”

Meanwhile the watchman had caught for himself one of the horses which were galloping about in the enclosure. While he was preparing to mount, the rosy-cheecked Frida came and said to him mockingly, “Thou hadst good fortune, Wolf, in thy sleep; a stranger bird was caught on the border thorn tree, whilst thou wast reposing. How was thy sleep, watchman, on thy thorny bed?”

“The owl would not let me sleep; it groaned over Frida, who stands at night by the fence and shakes it, in order to learn from whence a husband will come to her.”

“But I saw a thistle-thrush on a dry bush collecting old thistle wood for a marriage bed for the rich Wolf.”

“And I know a proud one,” answered Wolf, angrily, “who trampled on the violets which she went to seek, and so doing fell among the nettles!”

“Not among the nettles of thy fields, thou stupid Wolf,” replied Frida angrily.

“I know one to whom I will not throw the ball at the next dance,” answered Wolf.

“When the wolf dances, the geese fly up on a tree, and laugh,” said Frida, mockingly.

“Twine thyself a garland of oat straws, my haughty goose,” shouted Wolf from his horse, as he trotted away with the stranger, who with delicate feelings had kept a spear's-length away from this bantering talk.

“He is an ill-mannered youth,” said Frida complainingly to her mistress.

“What thou didst shout into the wood has been echoed back to thee,” ansered the latter, laughing; and casting a glance at the stranger, she continued, “He looks like one who has ruled over many people.”

“And yet his sandals were torn, and his jacket travel-worn,” said Frida.

“Do you think that the rocks cut the feet of the poor wanderer only? We believe that he who comes from afar has seen and dared much; we feel sorry if he has become a bad man from avarice or need, and we would gladly give him peace if we could.”

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