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 eat the porridge herself, and the melted butter in the bargain, and went up into the hay-loft with plain oat meal 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:—
"And you have eaten the porridge for the brownie,
And you shall dance with the little brownie!"
"And have you eaten the porridge for the brownie?
Then you shall dance with the little brownie!"
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."
