Kmet Veirsky | Waltey

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Once upon a time there were a man and his wife who had an only son, and his name was Hans. His mother thought it was time he went out into service, and told her husband to take him away and find him a place.

“You must see to it that he becomes a master of all masters!” she said, and she packed some food and a roll of tobacco in a sack for them. Well, they went to many masters, but every one of them said he could make the lad as good as himself, but no better. When the man came home to his wife with that answer, she said, “Well, I don’t care where you put him, but this much I tell you: you must see to it that he becomes a master of all masters!” So she packed food and a roll of tobacco in the sack again, and the man and his son had to set off.

When they had gone some way, they came out onto a stretch of ice, where they met a man driving a black horse. “Where are you bound?” he asked. “I’m out looking for someone to apprentice my son to, someone who can teach him properly, for my wife comes of such fine folk that she wants him trained to be a master of all masters,” said the man.

“You could hardly have met anyone better,” said the driver, “for I’m the man to do it, and just such an apprentice is what I’m looking for. Climb up behind!” he said to the lad. And away they went, up through the air.

“No, no, wait a little!” cried the lad’s father. “I ought to know your name, and where you live!” he said. “Oh, I’m at home in the north and south and east and west, and my name is Bonde Veirsky,” said the master. “Come back in a year, and I’ll tell you whether he’ll be as good as you wish,” he said.

Then away they went, and were gone. When the man came home, his wife asked what had become of their son. “Oh, God knows what became of him,” said the man. “They went up into the air,” and he told her how it had all happened. But when his wife heard that he had found out nothing definite about either when the boy’s apprenticeship would be over or where he was, she sent her husband off again, with a sack of food and a roll of tobacco.

When he had gone some way, he came to a great forest, and all day long, however far he walked, there was no end to it. When darkness fell, he caught sight of a bright light and went towards it. At long last he came to a little cottage beneath a mountain, and outside stood an old woman, drawing water from the well with her nose, so long was it. “Good evening, Mother,” said the man. “Good evening to you,” said the old woman. “No one has called me Mother for a hundred years,” she said. “May I have shelter here tonight?” asked the man. “No,” said the old woman.

But then the man took out his roll of tobacco, scorched a little of it, and gave the old woman some snuff. She was so pleased that she began to dance, and the man was welcome to stay the night after all. Presently he asked her about Bonde Veirsky. She knew nothing of him, she said, but she ruled over all four-footed beasts, and perhaps one of them might know him. So she summoned them with a whistle she had and questioned them, but not one knew anything about Bonde Veirsky.

“Well, there are three of us sisters,” said the old woman. “Perhaps one of the other two knows where he is. I’ll lend you something to ride, and you’ll be there by evening, though the nearest lives three hundred miles away.”

The man set off, and arrived by evening. When he got there, this old woman too was standing drawing water from the well with her nose. “Good evening, Mother,” said the man. “Good evening to you,” said the old woman. “No one has called me Mother for a hundred years,” she said. “May I have shelter here tonight?” asked the man. “No,” said the old woman. But then the man took out his roll of tobacco, scorched a little of it, and gave the old woman some snuff on the back of her hand. She was so pleased that she began to dance, and the man was welcome to stay the night after all. Presently he asked her about Bonde Veirsky. No, she knew nothing of him—but she ruled over all the fish, she said, and perhaps one of them might know something about him. So she summoned them with a whistle she had and questioned them, but not one knew anything about Bonde Veirsky. “Well, I have another sister,” said the old woman. “Perhaps she knows something about him. She lives six hundred miles from here, but I’ll lend you something to ride, and you’ll be there by evening.”

The man set off, and arrived by evening, just as the old woman was raking the fire. She was doing it with her nose, so long was it. “Good evening, Mother!” said the man. “Good evening to you,” said the old woman. “Why, no one has called me Mother for a hundred years,” she said. “May I have shelter here tonight?” asked the man. “No,” said the old woman. But then the man brought out his roll of tobacco again and began scorching it, and gave the old woman a whole hand’s breadth of snuff. She was so pleased that she began to dance, and the man was welcome to stay. Presently he asked her about Bonde Veirsky.

She knew nothing of him, she said, but she ruled over all the birds, and she summoned them with her whistle. When she had questioned them all, she found the eagle was missing, but a little later it arrived, and when she asked it, it said it had come straight from Bonde Veirsky. Then the old woman told it to take the man there. But the eagle wanted something to eat first, and then it wanted to rest until the next day, for it was so tired after its long journey that it could scarcely rise from the ground. When it had eaten its fill and rested, the old woman pulled a feather out of its tail and put the man in its place, and away it flew with him. But they did not reach Bonde Veirsky’s home until about midnight. When they arrived, the eagle said, “There are carcasses lying outside the door, but pay no heed to them. Everyone inside is sleeping so soundly that nothing can wake them. Go straight to the table drawer and take three pieces of bread, and if you hear someone snoring, pluck three feathers from his head. That won’t wake him.” The man did as he was told, and when he had taken the pieces of bread, he plucked out one feather. “Oof!” cried Bonde Veirsky. Then he plucked out another, and again Bonde Veirsky cried, “Oof!” But when he plucked out the third, Bonde Veirsky gave such a roar that the man thought the very walls would split, yet he slept on just the same. Then the eagle told the man what to do next, and he did it: he went to the cowshed door, where he stumbled against a boulder. He picked it up, and beneath it lay three wood chips, which he picked up too. Then he knocked at the cowshed door, and it opened at once. He dropped the three crumbs of bread, and a hare came out and ate them. He caught it. The eagle told him to pull three feathers out of its tail and put the hare, the stone, the wood chips, and himself in their place, and it would carry them home.

When the eagle had flown a long way, it settled on a rock. “Do you see anything?” it asked. “Yes, I see a flock of crows flying after us,” said the man. “Then we had better travel a little farther!” said the eagle, and off it flew.

After a while it asked, “Do you see anything now?” “Yes, the crows are close behind us now,” said the man. “Drop the three feathers you plucked from his head,” said the eagle.

The man did so, and the instant he dropped them, the feathers turned into a flock of ravens, which chased the crows home again. Then the eagle flew a long way farther with the man, until at last it settled on a rock to rest. “Do you see anything?” it asked. “I’m not quite sure,” said the man, “but I think I see something coming far away.” “Then we had better travel a little farther,” said the eagle. “Do you see anything now?” it asked after a while. “Yes, he’s close behind us now,” said the man.

“You must drop the wood chips you found beneath the stone by the cowshed door,” said the eagle. The man did so, and the instant he dropped them, they grew into a great thick forest, so that Bonde Veirsky had to go home for axes to chop his way through. Then the eagle flew a long way farther, but when it grew tired, it settled in a pine tree. “Do you see anything?” it asked. “Well, I’m not quite sure,” said the man, “but I think I can make out something far away.” “Then we had better travel a little farther,” said the eagle, and off it flew. “Do you see anything now?” it asked after a while.

“Yes, he’s close behind us now,” said the man. “Then you must drop the boulder you found by the cowshed door,” said the eagle. The man did so, and it became a great high mountain of rock, which Bonde Veirsky had to break his way through. But when he had reached the middle of the mountain, he broke one of his legs, and had to go home to mend it.

While all this was going on, the eagle flew the man and the hare home. When they arrived, the man went to the churchyard and sprinkled consecrated earth over the hare, and it turned back into Hans, his son.

When market time drew near, the lad turned himself into a dun horse and told his father to take him to market. “When someone comes to buy me, you must ask a hundred dollars for me, but you mustn’t forget to take off the halter, or Bonde Veirsky will keep me, for he’s the one who’ll come to buy,” he said. And so it happened: a horse-dealer came along who was very eager to buy the horse, and the man got a hundred dollars for it. But when the bargain was struck and Hans’s father had his money, the horse-dealer wanted the halter. “No, that wasn’t part of the bargain,” said the man, “and you can’t have the halter, for I have more horses to bring to town.” Then they went their separate ways. But they had not gone far before Hans turned back into himself, and when the man reached home, there he sat on the bench beside the stove. The next day he turned himself into a brown horse and told his father to take him to market. “When someone comes to buy me, you must ask two hundred dollars, for he’ll pay it and treat you to a drink besides. But whatever you drink and whatever you do, don’t forget to take off my halter, or you’ll never see me again,” said Hans. And so it happened: the man got two hundred dollars for the horse and a drink besides, and when they parted, he only just remembered to take off the halter. But they had not gone far along the road before the lad turned back into himself, and when the man reached home, Hans was already sitting on the bench beside the stove.

On the third day it was much the same. The lad turned himself into a great black horse and told his father that someone would come and offer three hundred dollars, and get him well and truly drunk into the bargain. But whatever he did, and however much he drank, he must not forget to take off the halter, or Hans would never escape from Bonde Veirsky as long as he lived. No, he certainly would not forget, said the man.

When he came to market, he got the three hundred dollars, but Bonde Veirsky plied him with so much drink that he forgot to take off the halter, and Bonde Veirsky went off with the horse.

When he had gone some way along the road, he wanted to stop for more brandy. So he put a barrel of red-hot nails beneath his horse’s nose and a trough of oats beneath its tail, hooked the halter rope over a crank handle, and went in to the innkeeper.

The horse stood there stamping and kicking, snorting and sniffing. Then a girl came along who felt sorry for it. “Oh, you poor thing! What sort of master have you got, to treat you like this?” she said, and slipped the halter rope off the crank handle so that the horse could turn round and taste the oats.

“That would be me!” shouted Bonde Veirsky, rushing out through the door. But the horse had already shaken off its halter and plunged into the goose pond, turning into a little fish as it did so. Bonde Veirsky went after him and turned into a great pike. Then Hans turned into a dove, and Bonde Veirsky turned into a hawk, swooping and striking at the dove. Now a princess was standing at a window in the royal palace, watching this struggle. “If you knew as much as I do, you’d come in through my window!” the princess said to the dove.

The dove came flying in through the window, turned back into Hans, and told her how matters stood. “Turn yourself into a gold ring and slip onto my finger,” said the princess.

“No, that won’t do,” said Hans, “for then Bonde Veirsky will make the king ill, and no one will be able to make him well again until Bonde Veirsky comes to cure him, and he’ll demand the gold ring in payment.” “I’ll say it came from my mother, and that I won’t part with it for anything,” said the princess.

So Hans turned himself into a gold ring and slipped onto the princess’s finger, and there Bonde Veirsky could not get hold of him. But then things happened just as the lad had said: the king fell ill, and no doctor could cure him until Bonde Veirsky came, and he demanded the ring on the princess’s finger as his fee. So the king sent word to the princess to hand over the ring. But she said she would not part with it, for it had come from her mother. When the king heard this, he grew angry and said he would have the ring, no matter whom it had come from.

“Well, there’s no use getting angry,” said the princess. “I can’t get it off. If you want the ring, you’ll have to take my finger too.” “I’ll help, and we’ll soon have it off,” said Bonde Veirsky. “No, thank you, I’ll try for myself,” said the princess, and she went over to the hearth and rubbed ashes on her finger. Then the ring slipped off and vanished in the ashes. Bonde Veirsky turned himself into a crested hen, scratching and kicking after the ring in the hearth until the ashes flew about their ears. But Hans turned himself into a fox and bit off the hen’s head; and if the Evil One was in Bonde Veirsky, that was the end of him.

Izvirnik

Det var engang en Mand og en Kone, som havde een eneste Søn, og han hedte Hans. Kjærringen syntes, han burde ud at tjene, og sagde til Manden, at han skulde reise med ham. „Du skal skaffe mig ham saa god, at han bliver Mester over alle Mestere!“ sagde hun, og saa lagde hun Mad og en Tobaksrul i en Sæk til dem. Ja, de var hos mange Mestere, men alle sagde, de kunde gjøre Gutten saa god som de selv var, men bedre kunde de ikke gjøre ham. Da Manden kom hjem igjen til Kjærringen med den Besked, sagde hun: „Ja, jeg er lige glad, hvor du gjør af ham, men det siger jeg, at du skal skaffe mig ham til Mester over alle Mestere!“ Saa lagde hun Mad og en Tobaksrul i Sækken

igjen, og Manden og Sønnen de maatte afsted. Da de havde gaaet et Stykke, kom de paa en Iis; der mødte de En, som kom kjørende med en sort Hest. „Hvor skal I hen?“ sagde han. „Jeg skulde nok ud at have Sønnen min i Lære til En, som var god til at lære ham op, for Kjærringen min er kommen af saa brave Folk, at hun vil have ham oplært til Mester over alle Mestere,“ sagde Manden.

„Det træffer sig ikke ilde,“ sagde han som kjørte; „for det er jeg Karl for, og slig en Læregut reiser jeg efter. Staa bag paa du!“ sagde han til Gutten. Saa bar det afsted op igjennem Luften med dem. „Nei, nei, bi lidt!“ skreg Fader til Gutten; „jeg skulde have vidst, hvad du heder, og hvor du boer?“ sagde han. „Aa, jeg er hjemme baade Nord og Syd og Øst og Vest, og Bonde Veirsky hedder jeg,“ sagde Mesteren. „Om et Aar kan du komme igjen, saa skal jeg sige dig, om han bli’er saa god,“ sagde han.

Saa gik det afsted med dem, borte var de. Da Manden kom hjem, spurgte Kjærringen, hvor det var blevet af Sønnen. „Aa, Gud veed, hvor det blev af ham,“ sagde Manden; „det bar til Veirs med dem,“ og saa fortalte han, hvorledes det var gaaet til. Men da Konen hørte det, at Manden ikke havde faaet rigtig Besked hverken om, naar han skulde have staaet ud Læren, eller hvor han var henne, saa sendte hun Manden iveien igjen, og gav ham med en Madsæk og en Tobaksrul.

Da han havde gaaet et Stykke, kom han til en stor Skov, og den rak hele Dagen saa langt han gik, og da det blev mørkt, fik han see en stor Lysning; saa gik han efter den. Langt om længe kom han frem til en liden Stue under et Bjerg, og udenfor den stod en Kjærring og vandt Vand op af Brønden med Næsen sin, saa lang var den. „God Kveld, Moer,“ sagde Manden. — „God Kveld igjen,“ sagde Kjærringen. „Det har Ingen kaldt mig Moer paa hundrede Aar,“ sagde hun. — „Kan jeg faae laant Huus her i Nat?“ sagde Manden. „Nei,“ sagde Kjærringen.

Men saa tog Manden op Tobaksrullen, brændte lidt og gav Kjærringen Snuus. Saa blev hun saa glad, at hun begyndte at dandse, og saa skulde Manden faae blive der Natten over. Ret som det var, spurgte han efter Bonde Veirsky. Hun vidste ikke Noget om ham, sagde hun; men hun raadede over alle fiirføddede Dyr, kanskee Nogen af dem kunde vide om ham. Da blæste hun dem sammen med en Pibe, hun havde, og overhørte dem; men det var ingen, som vidste Noget om Bonde Veirsky.

„Ja, vi er tre Søstre,“ sagde Kjærringen, kanskee en af de andre to veed, hvor han er. Du skal faae laant Skyds af mig, saa kommer du did til Kvelds; men tre hundrede Miil er det til den nærmeste. Manden reiste, og han kom frem til Kvelds. Da han kom frem, stod den Kjærringen ogsaa og vandt Vand op af Brønden med Næsen sin. „God Kveld Moer,“ sagde Manden. „God Kveld igjen,“ sagde Kjærringen. „Nu har Ingen kaldt mig Moer paa hundrede Aar,“ sagde hun. — „Kan jeg faae laant Huus her i Nat?“ sagde Manden. — „Nei,“ sagde Kjærringen. Men saa tog Manden op Tobaksrullen, brændte lidt og gav Kjærringen Snuus paa Haandbagen. Saa blev hun saa glad, at hun

begyndte at dandse, og saa skulde Manden faae Lov at blive der Natten over. Men ret som det var, spurgte han efter Bonde Veirsky. Nei, hun vidste ikke Noget om ham; — men hun raadede over alle Fiskene, sagde hun, og kanskee Nogen af dem kunde vide Besked om ham. Saa blæste hun dem sammen med en Pibe, hun havde, og overhørte dem; men det var ingen, som vidste Noget om Bonde Veirsky. „Ja, jeg har en Søster til,“ sagde Kjærringen, kanskee hun kan vide Noget om ham. Hun boer sex hundrede Miil herfra, men du skal faae Skyds af mig, saa kommer du did til Kvelds.

Manden reiste, og han kom frem til Kvelds, da Kjærringen stod og karede Varmen, og det gjorde hun med Næsen sin, saa lang var den. „God Kveld, Moer!“ sagde Manden. „God Kveld igjen,“ sagde Kjærringen, „nu har da Ingen kaldt mig Moer paa hundrede Aar,“ sagde hun. „Kan jeg faae laant Huus her i Nat?“ sagde Manden. — „Nei,“ sagde Kjærringen. Men saa tog Manden frem Tobaksrullen igjen og til at brænde, og gav Kjærringen hele Haandbagen fuld af Snuus. Da blev hun saa glad, at hun begyndte at dandse, og saa skulde Manden faae laant Huus. Ret som det var, spurgte han efter Bonde Veirsky.

Hun vidste ikke Noget om ham, sagde hun, men hun raadede over alle Fuglene, og dem blæste hun sammen med Piben sin. Da hun havde overhørt dem Allesammen, savnede hun Ørnen, men lidt efter kom den, og da hun spurgte den, saa sagde den, at den kom lige fra Bonde Veirsky. Saa sagde Kjærringen, at den skulde følge Manden did. Men Ørnen vilde først have Noget at æde, og saa vilde den hvile ud til den anden Dag, for den var saa træt efter den lange Veien, at den mest ikke kunde løfte sig fra Jorden. Da den var vel mæt og udhvilet, rykkede Kjærringen en Fjær ud af Stjerten paa Ørnen og satte Manden istedet, og saa fløi den afsted med ham; men de kom ikke frem til Bonde Veirsky, for ved Midnatstider. Da de var kommen frem, sagde Ørnen det: „Det ligger Aadsler udenfor Døren, men

det skal du ikke ændse. De som er indenfor sover saa haardt allesammen, at de ikke ere gode for at vaagne; men du skal gaae lige bort i Bordskuffen og tage tre Brødstykker, og hører du En, som snorker, skal du nappe tre Fjære af Hovedet paa ham, han vaagner ikke for det.“ Manden gjorde saa, da han havde faaet Brødstykkerne, nappede han først een Fjær. — „Uf!“ skreg Bonde Veirsky. Saa nappede han een til, da skreg han „Uf!“ igjen; men da han nappede den tredie, skreg Bonde Veirsky, saa Manden troede, at der skulde revne baade Mure og Vægge, men han sov lige godt. Saa sagde Ørnen ham, hvorledes han skulde bære sig ad siden, og det gjorde han: han gik til Fjøsdøren, og der stødte han sig mod en Kampesteen; den tog han op; under

den laae tre Skaarefliser, dem tog han ogsaa op. Saa bankede han paa Fjøsdøren, og strax gik den op. Han slap ned de tre Brødsmulerne; saa kom der frem en Hare og spiste dem. Den tog han. Ørnen bad ham rykke tre Fjære ud af Stjerten dens og sætte Haren, Stenen og Skaarefliserne og sig selv istedet, saa skulde den fragte dem hjem. Da Ørnen havde fløiet et langt Stykke, satte den sig ned paa en Steen. „Seer du Noget?“ spurgte den. — „Ja, jeg seer en Kraakeflok, kommer flyvende efter os,“ sagde Manden. „Vi faaer vel reise et Stykke til vi da!“ sagde Ørnen og satte afsted.

Om en Stund spurgte den: „Seer du Noget nu?“ — „Ja, nu er Kraakerne tæt efter os,“ sagde Manden. „Slip nu ned de tre Fjærene, du nappede af Hovedet paa ham,“ sagde Ørnen. Ja, Manden gjorde saa, og med det samme han slap dem, blev Fjærene til en Korpeflok, som jagede Kraakerne hjem igjen. Saa fløi Ørnen langt bort med Manden; tilsidst satte den sig paa en Steen for at hvile. „Seer du noget?“ sagde den. „Vis paa det er jeg ikke,“ sagde Manden, „men jeg synes, jeg seer Noget kommer langt borte.“ „Vi faaer vel reise et Stykke til da,“ sagde Ørnen. „Seer du Noget nu?“ sagde den om en Stund. „Ja, nu er han tæt efter os,“ sagde Manden.

„Du faaer slippe ned Skaarefliſene, som du tog under Graastenen ved Fjøsdøren,“ sagde Ørnen. Ja, Manden gjorde saa, og med det samme han havde sluppet dem, voxte de op til en stor tæt Skov, saa Bonde Veirsky maatte reise hjem efter Øxer for at hugge sig igjennem. Saa fløi Ørnen langt bort igjen; men da den blev træt, satte den sig i en Furu. „Seer du Noget?“ sagde den. „Ja, vis paa det er ikke,“ sagde Manden, „men jeg synes, at jeg skimter Noget langt borte.“ „Vi faaer vel reise et Stykke til da,“ sagde Ørnen, og saa satte den afsted. „Seer du Noget nu?“ sagde den om en Stund.

„Ja, nu er han tæt efter os,“ sagde Manden. „Du faaer slippe ned Kampestenen, du tog ved Fjøsdøren da,“ sagde Ørnen. Manden gjorde saa, og den blev til et stort høit Steenbjerg, som Bonde Veirsky først maatte bryde sig igjennem. Men da han var kommen midt ind i Bjerget, brak han af det ene Benet sit, og saa maatte han hjem og færde det. Men medens det stod paa, fløi Ørnen hjem til Manden baade med ham selv og med Haren, og da de var kommen hjem, gik Manden paa Kirkegaarden og havde Kristenjord paa den, saa blev den til Hans, Sønnen hans igjen.

Da det led til Marked, skabte Gutten sig om til en blak Hest, og bad Faderen reise paa Marked med ham. „Naar der kommer En, som vil kjøbe mig, skal du forlange hundrede Daler for mig; men du maa ikke glemme at tage Grimen af, ellers beholder Bonde Veirsky mig, for det er ham, som kommer og vil handle,“ sagde han. Saaledes gik det ogsaa: det kom en Mærebytter, som havde stor Hu til at handle af ham Hesten, og Manden fik hundrede Daler for den; men da Handelen var gjort, og Fader til Hans havde faaet Pengene, vilde Mærebytteren have Grimen. „Nei, det staaer nok ikke i Akkorden om det“, sagde Manden, „og Grimen faaer du ikke, for jeg har flere Heste jeg skal have til Byen.“ Saa gik de hver sin Vei. Men de vare

ikke komne langt, før Hans skabte sig om til sig selv, og da Manden kom hjem, sad han paa Ovnsbænken. Den anden Dag gjorde han sig til en bruun Hest og sagde til Faderen at han skulde reise paa Markedet med ham. „Naar det kommer En, som vil kjøbe mig, skal du forlange to hundrede Daler, for det giver han, og han skjænker dig atpaa; men hvad du drikker og hvad du gjør, saa glem ikke at tage Grimen af mig, ellers seer du mig aldrig igjen,“ sagde Hans. Ja, saaledes gik det, han fik to hundrede Daler for Hesten og Skjænk atpaa, og da de skiltes fra hverandre, var det ikke mere end netop, at han kom ihu at tage Grimen af. Men de vare ikke komne langt paa Veien, før Gutten skabte sig om, og da Manden kom hjem, sad alt Hans paa Ovnsbænken.

Tredie Dagen gik det ligeens. Gutten skabte sig til en stor sort Hest og sagde til Faderen, at der kom En og bød tre hundrede Daler og skjænkede ham god og fuld atpaa; men hvad han gjorde eller hvormeget han drak, maatte han ikke glemme at tage Grimen af, for ellers kom han ikke fra Bonde Veirsky i dette Liv. „Nei, det skulde han nok ikke glemme,“ sagde Manden. Da han kom paa Markedet, fik han de tre hundrede Dalerne, men Bonde Veirsky skjænkede ham saa fuld, at han glemte at tage Grimen af, og saa reiste Bonde Veirsky afsted med Hesten.

Da han var kommet et Stykke paa Veien, skulde han ind og have mere Brændeviin, saa satte han en gloende Spigertønde under Næsen og et Havretrug under Rumpen paa i Hesten sin, hængte Grimeskaftet ind paa et Haanddrev og gik ind til Gjæstgiveren. Hesten stod der og stampede og sparkede og fnyste og veirede. Saa kom der en Jente, som syntes Synd paa den. „Aa, Stakkels dig, hvad er det for Husbond du har, som farer saaledes med dig da?“ sagde hun og skjød Grimeskaftet af Haanddrevet for at den skulde faa vendt sig og smage paa Havren.

„Det er mig det!“ skreg Bonde Veirsky og kom farende ud igjennem Døren. Men Hesten havde alt rystet Grimen af sig og kastede sig ud i Gaasedammen og gjorde sig om til en liden Fisk i det samme. Bonde Veirsky efter og gjorde sig til en stor Gjedde. Saa gjorde Hans sig til en Due og Bonde Veirsky gjorde sig til en Høg og fløi og slog efter Duen. Men saa stod der en Prindsesse i et Vindu i Kongsgaarden og saa paa dette Nappetag. „Vidste du saa meget som jeg veed, saa kom du ind igjennem Vinduet til mig, du!“ sagde Prindsessen til Duen.

Duen kom farende ind igjennem Vinduet, skabte sig om til Hans igjen og sagde hvorledes det var. „Gjør dig til en Guldring og sæt dig paa min Finger,“ sagde Prindsessen. „Nei, det gaaer ikke an,“ sagde Hans, for saa gjør Bonde Veirsky Kongen syg, og saa er der Ingen, som kan gjøre ham god igjen før Bonde Veirsky kommer og læger ham, og for det forlanger han Guldringen.“ „Jeg skal sige den er efter min Moder, og at jeg slet ikke vil miste den,“ sagde Prindsessen.

Ja, saa gjorde Hans sig til en Guldring og satte sig paa Prindsessens Finger, og der kunde ikke Bonde Veirsky faa fat paa ham. Men saa gik det som Gutten havde sagt: Kongen blev syg, og der var ingen Doktor, som kunde læge ham, før Bonde Veirsky kom, og han forlangte Ringen paa Prindsessens Finger for det. Saa sendte Kongen Bud til Prindsessen efter Ringen. Men hun vilde ikke miste den, sagde hun, for hun havde den efter sin Moder. Da Kongen hørte det, blev han vred, og sagde, at han vilde have Ringen, hvem hun saa havde den efter.

„Ja, det hjælper nok ikke det, at du bliver vred,“ sagde Prindsessen; „jeg faaer den ikke af mig; vil du have Ringen, faaer du tage Fingeren ogsaa.“ „Jeg skal hjælpe, saa skal nok Ringen af,“ sagde Bonde Veirsky. „Nei Tak, jeg skal nok prøve selv,“ sagde Prindsessen, og gik bort til Skorstenen og havde Aske paa. Saa gik Ringen af og blev borte i Asken. Bonde Veirsky gjorde sig til en Toppe, som spændte og sparkede efter Ringen i Skorstenen, saa Asken søg om Ørene paa dem. Men Hans gjorde sig til en Ræv og bed Hovedet af Toppen, og sad den Slemme i Bonde Veirsky, saa er det nu ude med ham.

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