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Once upon a time there was a man whom they called Rich Peer the Pedlar, because he had travelled about selling his wares and amassed so much money that he had become a wealthy man. This Rich Peer had a daughter, and he thought so highly of her that every suitor who came to woo her was turned away, for he considered no one good enough for her. When they all met with the same answer, at last no one came at all, and as the years began to pass, Peer grew afraid that she would never marry. “It really puzzles me,” he said to his wife, “why no more suitors come for our daughter, rich as she is. It would be a strange thing if no one wanted her, for she has money, and she will have more. I think I must go to the stargazers and ask them whom she is to marry;

for no one comes here at all.” “How can the stargazers answer that?” asked his wife. “Why, they read everything in the stars,” said Rich Peer. So he took a great deal of money with him and went to the stargazers, and asked whether they would do him the kindness of looking at the stars and telling him what man his daughter would marry. The stargazers looked at the stars, but said they could not see. Peer begged them to look more closely and be sure to tell him; he would pay them well for it. So the stargazers looked more closely, and said that his daughter would marry the miller’s child who had just been born in the mill immediately below Rich Peer’s farm. Peer gave the stargazers a hundred dollars and went home with the answer he had received. He thought it utterly preposterous that his daughter should marry someone who had only just come into the world, and someone of such lowly station, too. He said as much to his wife, and added, “I wonder whether they would sell me the boy. Then we could soon get rid of him.” “Yes, I should think they would,” said his wife. “They are poor people, after all.” So Peer the Pedlar went down to the mill and asked the woman whether she would sell him her son; she would have a great deal of money for him. No, she would do no such thing. “I cannot see why not,” said Peer the Pedlar. “You have nothing but poverty here, and the boy is hardly likely to ease it, I should think.” But she loved the boy so dearly that she would not part with him. When the miller came in, Peer made him the same offer, promising to give them six hundred dollars for the boy, so that they could buy a farm and no longer have to grind corn for others and go hungry whenever there was too little water to turn the mill. The miller liked the sound of that, and he spoke to his wife, and so Rich Peer got the boy. The mother wept and lamented, but Peer comforted her by saying that the boy would be well cared for; only they must promise not to ask after him,

for he intended to send him far away to other countries to learn foreign languages. When Peer the Pedlar came home with the boy, he had a little chest made, so neatly fashioned that it was a pleasure to behold. He sealed it with pitch, laid the miller’s boy inside, locked it, and set it out in the river, so that the current carried it away. Now I am rid of him, thought Peer the Pedlar. But when the chest had floated a long way down the river, it drifted into the millrace of another mill and was swept down against the mill wheel, bringing the mill to a standstill. The man went down to see what was stopping it, found the chest, and carried it up with him. When he came home to his wife at midday, he said:

“I do wonder what there can be in this chest. It came rushing down the millrace against the wheel and stopped my mill today.” “We shall soon find out,” said his wife. “The key is in the lock; just open it.” When they opened it, there lay the loveliest child anyone could wish to see, and they were both delighted and wanted to keep the boy, for they had no children of their own and were already too old to hope for any. Some time later, Peer the Pedlar began to wonder again whether no suitor would ever come for his daughter, who was so rich and had so much money. But no one came, so he went once more to the stargazers and offered them a great deal of money if they could tell him whom his daughter would marry. “We have already told you that she is to marry the miller’s boy down there,” said the stargazers. “Yes, that is all very well,” said Peer the Pedlar, “but he is dead now; and if I could learn whom my daughter is to marry, I would gladly give you two hundred dollars.” The stargazers looked at the stars again, but then they grew angry and said, “She is to marry that miller’s boy all the same, the one you set adrift in the river and tried to kill, for he is still alive and is at the mill such and such a distance downstream.” Peer the Pedlar gave them two hundred dollars for this news and wondered whether he really could not find some way to be rid of the miller’s boy. The first thing he did when he came home was to go down to the mill. By then the boy was old enough to have been confirmed, and he helped with the work in the mill. He had grown into a handsome lad. “Could you not let me have that boy of yours?” Peer the Pedlar said to the miller. “No, I cannot,” he answered. “I have brought him up as my own, and he has turned out well, so that now he is a help and a comfort to me in the mill, for I am beginning to grow old and feeble.” “Yes, so am I,” said Peer the Pedlar, “and that is why I should like someone whom I could teach the trade. If you will let me have him, I will give you six hundred dollars, and then you could buy yourself a farm and live in peace and quiet in your old age.” Well, when the miller heard that, he let Peer the Pedlar have the boy. The two of them now travelled far and wide with their wares, trading as they went, until they came to an inn on the edge of a great forest. From there Peer sent the boy home with a letter to his wife—for it was not far straight through the forest—and told him to say that she must do what the letter said as soon as possible. But the letter said that she was to light a great fire that very instant and throw the miller’s boy into it, and if she did not, she herself would be burnt alive. The boy set off through the forest with the letter.

Towards evening the boy came to a farm deep in the forest and went inside, but he found no one in the house. In one room he found a bed ready made, and he lay down across it. He had tucked the letter under his hatband, and he laid his hat over his face. When the robbers came home—for twelve robbers had their den at the farm—and saw the boy lying on the bed, they wondered who he could be, and one of them took the letter, broke the seal, and read it.

“Hm, hm,” he said. “So Peer the Pedlar is up to his tricks. But now we shall play a trick on him, for it would be a shame if that old scoundrel were allowed to make an end of such a fine, handsome lad.” So the robbers wrote another letter to Peer the Pedlar’s wife and fastened it under the hatband while the boy slept. In this letter they said that she must at once hold a wedding for the daughter and the miller’s boy, give them horses, cattle, and household goods, and set them up with everything they needed on the farm he owned at the foot of the ridge; and if this was not done by the time he came home, she would be punished for it. The next day the robbers let the boy go, and when he reached home and delivered the letter, he said that Peer the Pedlar sent his greetings and bade her carry out what was written in it as soon as she possibly could. “You must have behaved very well,” Peer the Pedlar’s wife said to the miller’s boy, “for him to write like this now; when you went away, he was so angry with you that he did not know how to put an end to you.” So she made ready for the wedding at once and set them up with horses, cattle, and all manner of household goods on the farm at the foot of the ridge.

Not long afterwards Peer the Pedlar came home again, and the first thing he asked was whether she had done as he had written in the letter. “Yes, I thought it strange enough, but I dared do nothing else,” she said. Then Peer asked where his daughter was. “Surely you know where she is,” said his wife. “She is with him on the farm at the foot of the ridge, just as the letter said.” When Peer the Pedlar heard what had happened and saw the letter, he grew so angry that he was ready to burst, and hurried straight up to the young couple’s farm. “It is all very well, my son, that you have married my daughter,” he said to the miller’s boy, “but if you mean to keep her, you must go to the Dragon of Dybenfart and bring me three feathers from his tail, for whoever has them can have anything he wishes.” “Where am I to find him, then?” said his son-in-law. “I do not know,” said Peer the Pedlar. “That is your affair.” So the boy set out bravely, and after he had walked for some time he came to a king’s palace. I had better go in and ask my way, he thought, for such people know more of the world than others, and perhaps I can learn the way here. The king asked him where he came from and what errand he was on. “I am going to the Dragon of Dybenfart to get three feathers from his tail, if only I can find him,” said the boy. The king thought he would need good luck for that. “For I have never heard of anyone coming back from him,” he said. “But if you should find him, you might ask him for me why I cannot get clean water in my well. I have had it dug out time after time, but I can never get clean water in it.” “Yes, I will,” said the boy. He was well entertained at the palace and was given both provisions and money when he left.

Towards evening he came to another king’s palace. When he went into the kitchen, the king came out and asked where he was from and what errand he was on. “I am going to the Dragon of Dybenfart to get three feathers from his tail,” said the boy.

“You will need good luck for that,” said the king, “for I have never yet heard of anyone coming back from him. But if you should reach him, you might ask him for me where my daughter is, who vanished many years ago. I have searched for her and had inquiries made from every church, but no one has been able to tell me anything about her.” “I will,” said the boy. He was very well entertained at the palace, and when he left he was given both provisions and money.

As evening drew near once more, he came to yet another king’s palace. Here the queen came out into the kitchen and asked where he was from and what errand he was on. “I am going to the Dragon of Dybenfart to get three feathers from his tail,” said the boy. “You will need very good luck for that,” said the queen, “for I have never heard of anyone coming back from him. But if you should find him, you might ask him for me where I can find the golden keys I have lost.” “I will,” said the boy. When he had walked for a while, he came to a great, broad river. As he stood wondering how to cross it, or whether he should walk along its bank, an old, bent-backed man came up and asked where he was going. “I am bound for the Dragon of Dybenfart, if anyone can tell me where to find him.” “I can tell you that,” said the man, “for I stay here and carry across those who are going to him. He lives just up above; once you get to the top of the hill, you will see his castle. And if you get to speak to him, you might ask him for me how long I must go on carrying people across.” “I will,” said the boy. The man took him on his back and carried him over the river, and when he reached the top of the hill, he saw the castle and went inside. The princess was at home alone. “But, dear me, do Christian folk dare to come here?” she said. “There have been none here since I came. You had better get away again as quickly as you can, for when the dragon comes home he will smell you, and then he will swallow you on the spot, and you will bring misery upon me as well.” “No,” said the boy, “I cannot go until I have three feathers from his tail.” “You will never get them,” said the princess.

But the boy would not go; he meant to wait for the dragon and get the feathers and the answers to his questions. “Well, since you are so determined, I suppose I must see whether I can help you,” said the princess. “Try whether you can lift the sword hanging on the wall over there.” No, the boy could not even budge it.

“Then you must take a draught from this bottle,” said the princess. After the boy had sat for a while, he tried again, and this time he could just move it. “You had better take another draught,” said the princess, “and then you can tell me your errand.” He took a draught and told her that one king had asked him to find out from the dragon why he could not get clean water in his well; another wished to know what had become of his daughter, who had vanished many years before; a queen wanted him to ask the dragon what had become of her golden keys; and finally he was to ask on behalf of the ferryman how long he must go on carrying people across down below. When he took hold of the sword now, he could lift it, and after another draught he could swing it. “If you do not want the dragon to make an end of you, you must crawl under the bed now,” said the princess as evening drew near, “for he will soon be home. You must lie so still that he does not notice you. When we have gone to bed, I shall question him, but you must listen closely and take careful note of his answers. You must stay under the bed until all is quiet and the dragon is asleep again; then creep out softly and take the sword with you. When he gets up, you must be ready to strike off his head with a single blow, and pluck the three feathers at the same instant, or he will tear them out himself so that no one can benefit from them.” A little while after the boy had crept under the bed, the dragon came home. “I smell the bones of a Christian man!” said the dragon. “Oh yes, a raven came flying with a human bone in its beak and settled on the roof,” said the princess. “That must be what you smell.” “Oh, is that it?” said the dragon. Then the princess set out the food, and when they had eaten, they went to bed. But after they had lain there a while, the princess grew very restless in her sleep, and suddenly she woke with a start. “Oh!” she cried. “What is the matter with you?” said the dragon. “Oh, I am sleeping so restlessly,” said the princess, “and I had such a strange dream.” “What did you dream, then?” said the dragon. “I thought a king came here and asked you what he should do to get clean water in his well,” said the princess. “Oh, he ought to know that himself,” said the dragon. “If he digs out the well and takes away the old rotten log lying at the bottom, he will have clean water again. But now lie still and do not dream any more.” The princess lay for a little while, then grew restless and began tossing about in bed, and woke with another start. “Oh!” “What is the matter now?” said the dragon.

“Oh, I am sleeping so restlessly, and I had such a strange dream,” said the princess. “What a dreadful lot of dreaming you do,” said the dragon. “What did you dream this time?” “I thought a king came here and asked you what had become of his daughter, who vanished many years ago,” said the princess. “That is you,” said the dragon;

“but he will never see you again. Now I beg you to let me have a peaceful night and stop lying there dreaming, or I will break your ribs!” The princess had not lain long before she began to grow restless again, and all at once she woke with a start. “Oh!” she cried. “Now, are you at it again? What is the matter this time?” said the dragon. He was so furious and cross at being woken that he was almost beside himself. “Oh, you must not be angry,” said the princess, “but I had such a strange dream.” “The devil take all this dreaming!

What did you dream this time?” said the dragon. “I thought a queen came here and asked whether you could tell her where to find the golden keys she had lost.” “Oh, she can look among the bushes where she lay that time she knows of, and she will find them,” said the dragon. “But now let me have some peace from these dreams.” They slept for a while, but then the princess began to grow restless again, and all at once she started awake. “Oh!” “You will never behave until I break your neck,” said the dragon, so angry now that sparks flew from his eyes. “What is the matter this time?” “Oh, you must not be angry with me; I cannot help it,” said the princess;

“but I had such a strange dream.” “I have never heard the like of all this dreaming,” said the dragon. “What did you dream now?” “I thought the ferryman at the crossing down below came and asked how long he must go on carrying people across,” said the princess. “The stupid beast! He could soon be free of that,” said the dragon. “When someone comes who wants to cross, he need only throw him into the river and say, ‘Now you carry people across until someone takes your place!’ But now let me have some peace from your dreams, or there will be a different tune to dance to.” Then the princess let him sleep in peace. But as soon as all was quiet and the miller’s boy could hear nothing but the dragon snoring, he crept out. Before daybreak the dragon got up, but he had scarcely set both feet on the floor before the boy struck off his head and plucked three feathers from his tail.

Then there was great rejoicing, and the boy and the princess gathered as much silver and gold and money and other treasures as they could carry. When they reached the crossing, they kept the ferryman so busy with all he had to carry over that he quite forgot to ask what the dragon had said until everything, and the boy and the princess too, was safely across. “Oh, by the way,” he said as they were about to leave, “did you ask the dragon what I wanted to know?” “Yes,” said the boy. “He said that when someone comes who wants to cross, you must throw him into the middle of the river and say, ‘Now you carry people across until someone takes your place,’ and then you will be free.” “Oh, a curse on you!” said the ferryman. “If you had told me sooner, you would have had to take my place.” When they came to the first palace, the queen asked whether he had questioned the dragon about her golden keys.

“Yes,” answered the boy, and he whispered to the queen, “He said you were to look among the bushes where you lay that time—you know when.” “Hush, hush, do not say a word,” said the queen, and gave the boy a hundred dollars. When he came to the second palace, the king asked whether he had spoken to the dragon about the matter he had mentioned. “Yes,” said the boy, “I did, and here is your daughter.” The king was so glad that he would willingly have given the miller’s boy the princess and half his kingdom.

But since he was already married, he was given two hundred dollars, horses and a carriage, and as much gold and silver as he could take with him. When he reached the third palace, the king came out and asked whether he had put his question to the dragon. “Yes,” answered the boy. “He said you must dig out the well and take away the old rotten log lying at the bottom, and then you will have clean water.” The king gave him three hundred dollars. From there he travelled straight home, decked out so splendidly in gold and silver that he shone and glittered all over; and now he was far richer than Peer the Pedlar. When Peer received the feathers, he had nothing more to say against the marriage; but when he saw all the wealth, he asked whether there really had been so much at the dragon’s castle. “Yes,” said the boy. “There was far more than I could bring away, enough for many a horse-load, and if you care to go there, there is surely plenty for you as well.” Yes, Peer the Pedlar wanted to go. So his son-in-law described the way so carefully that he would have no need to ask directions. “But as for the horses,” he said, “you had better leave them on this side of the river, for the old ferryman will help you across.” So Peer set off, taking plenty of provisions and many horses, but he left the horses behind at the river, just as the boy had told him.

Then the ferryman took him on his back, and when they were partway across, he threw him into the middle of the river and said, “Now you can stay here and carry people across until someone takes your place.” And if no one has taken his place, Rich Peer the Pedlar is still there carrying people across to this very day.