moment. Somebody appeared to be throwing the logs about on the hearth, but she could not see who it was. She gathered the logs together, one at a time, but it was of no use, and the chimney would not draw, either. She got tired of this at last, took a burning log and ran around the room with it, swinging it high and low while she shouted, 'Be gone, be gone whence you came! If you think you can frighten me you are mistaken.' 'Curse you!' somebody hissed in one of the darkest corners. 'I have had seven souls in this house; I thought I should have got eight in all!' 'But from that time nobody saw or heard the brownie in the asylum,' said Kari Gausdal."

"I am getting so frightened!" said one of the children. "No, you must tell us some more stories, Lieutenant; I never feel afraid when you tell us anything, because you tell us such jolly tales." Another proposed that I should tell them about the brownie who danced the Halling dance with the lassie. That was a tale I didn't care much about, as there was some singing in it. But they would on no account let me off, and I was going to clear my throat and prepare my exceedingly inharmonious voice to sing the Halling dance, which belongs to the story, when the pretty niece, whom I have already referred to, entered the room, to the great joy of the children and to my rescue.

"Well, my dear children, I will tell you the story, if you can get cousin Lizzie to sing the Halling for you," said I, as she sat down, "and then you'll dance to it yourselves, won't you?"

Cousin Lizzie was besieged by the children, and had to promise to do the singing, so I commenced my story.

"There was, once upon a time,—I almost think it was in Hallingdal,—a lassie who was sent up into the hay-loft with the cream porridge for the brownie,—I cannot recollect if it was on a Thursday or on a Christmas Eve, but I think it was a Christmas Eve. Well, she thought it was a great pity to give the brownie such a dainty dish, so she ate the porridge herself, and the melted butter in the bargain, and went up into the hay-loft with the plain oatmeal porridge and sour milk, in a pig's trough instead. 'There, that's good enough for you, Master Brownie,' she said. But no sooner had she spoken the words than the brownie stood right before her, seized her round the waist, and danced about with her, which he kept up till she lay gasping for breath, and when the people came up into the hay-loft in the morning, she was more dead than alive. But as long as they danced, the brownie sang," (and here Cousin Lizzie undertook his part, and sang to the tune of the Halling)—

I assisted in keeping time by stamping on the floor with my feet, while the children romped about the room in uproarious joy.

"I think you are turning the house upside down, children!" said old Mother Skau; "if you'll be quiet, I'll give you a story."

The children were soon quiet, and Mother Skau commenced as follows:

"You hear a great deal about brownies and fairies and such