Prevod
There was once a cottager who had three sons. He had no inheritance to leave them and no work to set them to, nor did he know what else to do with them. So he told them they were free to take up whatever they pleased and liked best, and go wherever they wished; he would gladly go part of the way with them, and so he did. He went with them until they came to a place where three roads met. There each took his own road, and their father bade them farewell and went home again. What became of the two eldest I have never heard, but the youngest walked far and long.
One night, as he was passing through a great forest, he was caught in dreadful weather. The wind blew and the snow swirled so fiercely that he could scarcely keep his eyes open, and before he knew it he was hopelessly lost and could find neither road nor path. But as he wandered along, he at last saw a light far away in the forest. He thought he had better try to reach it, and after a long while he did. There stood a large house, with such a bright fire burning inside that he could tell the people had not yet gone to bed. So he went in, and there was an old woman going about her work.
“Good evening!” said the lad. “Good evening!” said the old woman. “Brrr, what dreadful weather it is out there tonight,” said the lad. “So it is,” said the old woman. “May I sleep here and have shelter for the night?” asked the lad. “It would hardly be safe for you to sleep here,” said the old woman, “for if the people who live here come home and find you, they will kill us both.” “What sort of people live here, then?” said the lad. “Oh, robbers and such riffraff,” said the old woman. “They carried me off when I was little and have kept me as their housekeeper ever since.” “I think I shall lie down all the same,” said the lad. “Let things turn out as they may; I am not going out again at night in weather like this.” “Well, you will be the one to suffer for it,” said the old woman.
So the lad lay down in a bed that stood there, but he dared not sleep. Before long the robbers came home, and the old woman told them that a strange fellow had arrived whom she could not persuade to leave.
“Did you see whether he had any money?” said the robbers. “Money? That poor wretch?” said the old woman. “He has scarcely enough clothes to cover his back.” Then the robbers began talking quietly among themselves about what to do with him, whether to kill him or what else they might do. Meanwhile the lad got up and began talking to them, asking whether they needed a serving man, for he would be quite willing to work for them. “Yes,” they said, “if you are willing to practise our trade, you can certainly find employment here.” “Well, it makes no difference to me what trade it is,” said the lad, “for when I left home my father gave me leave to take up whatever I pleased.” “Would you care to steal, then?” said the robbers. “Yes,” said the lad; he thought he could learn that trade well enough.
Now a man who lived some way off had three oxen. He was going to take one of them to town to sell, and the robbers had heard of it. So they told the lad that if he could steal the ox from him on the road without his knowing it, and without doing him any harm, he could stay as their serving man. Well, the lad took a fine shoe with a silver buckle that stood there and set off. He placed it in the road where the man would pass with his ox, then went into the forest and hid beneath a bush. When the man came along, he saw the shoe at once. “That is a splendid shoe,” he said. “If I had its fellow, I would take it home with me, and perhaps for once I could put my wife in a good humour.” For his wife was so ill-tempered and wicked that she gave him a beating every little while. But he thought one shoe was no use to him without its fellow, so he went on and left it where it stood. The lad picked up the shoe and hurried through the forest as fast as he could to get ahead of the man, then set it in the road before him again. When the man came up with his ox, he was vexed with himself for having been so foolish as to leave the matching shoe behind instead of taking it along. “I had better run back and fetch the other,” he said to himself, and tied the ox to the rail fence. “Then I shall have a pair of good shoes for my wife, and perhaps she will be in a good humour for once.” So he went back and searched high and low, far and wide, but no shoe could he find. At last he had to return with the one he had. Meanwhile the lad had taken the ox and made off with it. When the man returned and saw that the ox was gone, he began to weep and wail, for he was afraid his wife would beat him to death when she heard it was lost. But then it occurred to him to go home and fetch the second ox, take it to town and get a good price for it, and never let his wife know anything about it. And so he did: he went home and fetched the ox without his wife knowing, and set off for town with it. But the robbers knew all about it, and they told the lad that if he could take this one too, without the man knowing it and without doing him any harm, he would be their equal. Yes, the lad thought that would be no great matter.
This time he took a rope with him and hung himself by the armpits from a tree right in the man’s path. When the man came along with his ox and saw this dreadful sight hanging there, he felt rather strange. “You must have had a heavy heart indeed to hang yourself there!” he said. “Ah well, you may hang there for all I can do; I cannot breathe life into you again.” And on he went with his ox. Down came the lad from the tree, ran by a shortcut to get ahead of him, and hung himself right in his path again.
“I wonder whether your heart was really so heavy that you hanged yourself there, or whether it is only a ghost I am seeing,” said the man. “Ah well, you may hang there for all I care, whether you are a ghost or whatever you are.” And on he went with his ox. The lad did just as he had done twice before: he jumped down from the tree, ran by a shortcut through the forest, and hung himself right in the man’s path again. When the man saw him once more, he said to himself, “This is dreadful! Can all three of them have been so heavy-hearted that they hanged themselves? No, I cannot believe it is anything but ghosts playing tricks on me. But now I mean to know for certain,” he said. “If the other two are still hanging there, then it is real; but if they are not, it is only a haunting.” So he tied up his ox and ran back to see whether they really were hanging there. While he went about peering up into all the trees, the lad jumped down, took his ox, and made off with it. When the man returned and saw that the ox was gone, he was in a terrible state, as you may well imagine, and began weeping and wailing. At last, however, he took comfort and thought to himself: there is nothing for it but to go home and fetch the third without my wife knowing, and I must try all the harder to sell that one well and get plenty of money for it. So he went home, fetched it, and set off without his wife knowing anything about it. But the robbers knew very well, and they told the lad that if he could steal this one as he had the other two, he would be master of them all.
Well, the lad set off and ran into the forest, and when the man came along with the ox, he began bellowing mightily among the trees, just like a great ox. When the man heard it, he was overjoyed, for he thought he recognized the voice of his big ox, and now he hoped to find them both again. So he tied up the third and ran off the road to search in the forest. Meanwhile the lad made off with the third ox.
When the man returned and found that he had lost this one too, there was no end to his distress. He wept and wailed, and for many days he dared not go home, for fear his wife would beat him to death.
The robbers were none too pleased either at having to admit that the lad was master of them all. One day they decided to try to do something he could not manage, so they all set off together and left him at home alone.
The very first thing he did, once they were well away, was to drive the oxen out onto the road, so that they went home again to the man he had taken them from; and glad the man was, as you may well imagine. Then he took all the robbers’ horses and loaded them with the best he could find of gold and silver and clothes and other splendid things. He asked the old woman to give the robbers his regards and his thanks: he was leaving now, and they would find it no easy matter to catch him again. And with that he was off.
After a long while he came to the road he had followed when he first found the robbers. As he drew near his father’s home, he put on a uniform he had found among the things he had taken from the robbers, made just like a general’s, and drove into the yard like some great gentleman. Then he went in and asked whether he could lodge there. No, that he certainly could not. “How could I give lodging to such a grand gentleman?” said the man. “I have scarcely any bedding to sleep on myself, and poor stuff it is.” “You were always hard-hearted,” said the lad, “and so you are still, if you will not give your own son shelter.” “Are you my son?” said the man. “Do you not recognize me?” said the lad. Yes, then he recognized him well enough. “But what have you taken up, to have become such a fine fellow in so short a time?” said the man. “Well, I will tell you,” said the lad. “You said I could take up whatever I pleased, so I apprenticed myself to some thieves and robbers. Now I have finished my apprenticeship and become a master thief.” Now close to his father’s cottage there lived a governor, who had such a great estate and so much money that he could not count it all, and he had a daughter too, who was both pretty and fair. The Master Thief wanted her for his wife, and told his father to go to the governor and ask for his daughter’s hand on his behalf. “If he asks what trade I follow, you can say I am a master thief,” he said. “I think you must be out of your wits,” said the man, “for you cannot be in your right mind if you are thinking of such madness.” But go he must to the governor and ask for his daughter; there was no help for it, said the lad.
“No indeed, I dare not go and speak for you to the governor, rich as he is, with all his money,” said the man. But the Master Thief said there was no help for it: he must go, willing or not, and if he would not go by fair means, he would make him go by foul. Still the man refused, so the lad followed him with a great birch cudgel and threatened him until he went weeping straight through the governor’s door. “Well, my good man, what is the matter?” said the governor. So he told him that he had three sons who had gone away one day, and that he had promised them they might go wherever they pleased and take up whatever they liked. “And now the youngest has come home, and he has threatened me into coming to ask for your daughter on his behalf, and to tell you he is a master thief,” said the man, weeping and wailing. “There, there, my good man, set your mind at rest,” said the governor, laughing. “Tell him from me that he must prove it first. If he can steal the roast from the spit in the kitchen on Sunday, while we are all watching it, he shall have my daughter. Tell him that!” So the man did, and the lad thought it would be an easy matter. He got hold of three live hares, put them in a sack, and dressed himself in rags until he looked so poor and wretched that he was a pitiful sight. Then on Sunday morning he slipped into the passage with his sack, like any ragged beggar boy.
The governor himself and all his household were in the kitchen, keeping watch over the roast. Before long the lad let out one of the hares, and away it dashed, racing about the yard.
“Oh, look at that hare!” cried the people in the kitchen, and they wanted to go out and catch it. The governor saw it too. “Oh, let it run,” he said. “There is no use thinking you can catch a hare on the run.” Before long the lad let out the second hare. They saw it from the kitchen and thought it was the same one, and again they wanted to go out and catch it, but the governor said it was no use. After a while the lad let out the third as well, and it dashed away and ran about the yard. They saw this one from the kitchen too, and thought it was the same hare running about again, and wanted to go out and catch it. “That is a strange hare indeed,” said the governor. “Come, let us see whether we can get hold of it.” Out he went with all the others, the hare in front and everyone after it, and a fine chase it was. Meanwhile the Master Thief took the roast and ran off with it. Where the governor found a roast for his dinner that day I cannot say, but this I do know: it was not roast hare, though he ran until he was hot and weary.
The parson came to dinner, and when the governor told him the trick the Master Thief had played on him, there was no end to his mockery.
“I cannot imagine how I could ever let myself be fooled by such a fellow!” said the parson. “Well, you had better take care!” said the governor. “Perhaps he will be paying you a visit before you know it.” But the parson stuck to his opinion and went on making fun of the governor for letting himself be fooled.
Later that afternoon the Master Thief came to claim the governor’s daughter, as he had been promised. “You must give us a few more proofs of your skill first,” said the governor coaxingly, “for what you did today was nothing so very remarkable. Could you not play a really fine trick on the parson? He is sitting in there making fun of me for letting a fellow like you lead me by the nose.” Yes, that would be no trouble, said the Master Thief. He dressed himself up as a bird, draped a large white sheet over himself, broke the wings off a goose and fastened them to his back, then climbed into a great maple tree in the parson’s garden. When the parson came home that evening, the lad began to cry, “Master Lars! Master Lars!” for the parson’s name was Master Lars. “Who is calling me?” said the parson. “I am an angel sent by Our Lord to proclaim that, for your godliness, you are to be taken alive into the kingdom of God,” said the Master Thief. “Next Monday evening you must be ready for your journey, for then I shall come and fetch you in a sack. All your gold and silver, and whatever you possess of this world’s vanities, you must gather into a heap in your parlour.” Master Lars thanked the angel and fell upon his knees before him, and the following Sunday he preached a farewell sermon. He told how an angel from God had come into the great maple tree in his garden and proclaimed that, for his godliness, he was to enter the kingdom of God alive. He preached and expounded so movingly that everyone in the church wept, both young and old.
On Monday the Master Thief came again as an angel, and the parson knelt and thanked him before being put into the sack. Once he was safely inside, the Master Thief hauled and dragged him away over stock and stone. “Ow!
Ow!” cried the parson in the sack. “Where is this taking me?” “This is the narrow way that leads to the kingdom of Heaven!” said the Master Thief, dragging him along so roughly that he nearly killed him. At last he threw him into the governor’s goose-house, and the geese began hissing and nipping him until he was more dead than alive. “Ow, ow, ow! Where am I now?” said the parson. “Now you are in Purgatory, to be cleansed and purified for eternal life!” said the Master Thief. Then he went away and took all the gold and silver and splendid things the parson had piled up in his parlour.
In the morning, when the goose-girl came to let the geese out, she heard the parson lying in the sack and moaning inside the goose-house. “Oh, in Jesus’ name, who is there, and what is the matter with you?” she said. “Oh, if you are an angel from Heaven, let me out and allow me to return to earth, for it is worse here than in Hell! The little devils are pinching me with tongs!” said the parson. “I am no angel, God help us!” said the girl, helping the parson out of the sack. “I only look after the governor’s geese, and I daresay those are the little devils that have been nipping Your Reverence.” “Oh, this is the Master Thief’s doing! Oh, my gold and my silver and my splendid clothes!” cried the parson, making such a fuss and running home so wildly that the goose-girl thought he had lost his wits on the spot.
When the governor heard what had happened to the parson, and how he had travelled the narrow way and been in Purgatory, he nearly split his sides laughing. But when the Master Thief came to claim his daughter as promised, he spoke coaxingly to him and said, “You must give me a better proof of your skill, so that I can truly see what you are capable of.
“I have twelve horses in my stable,” he said, “and I shall set twelve men on them, one on each. If you can steal the horses from under them, I shall see what I can do.” “Yes, that can be managed,” said the Master Thief, “if only I am sure of getting your daughter—”
“Yes, if you can do that, I shall do my best,” said the governor. The Master Thief went to the shopkeeper and bought brandy to fill two pocket flasks. Into one he poured a sleeping draught, but in the other he left plain brandy. Then he hired eleven men to lie behind the governor’s barn that night. With fair words and payment he persuaded an old woman to lend him a ragged skirt and jacket; then he took a staff in his hand and a sack on his back, and towards evening he hobbled off to the governor’s stable. When he arrived, the men were busy watering the horses for the night and had their hands full. “What the devil do you want?” one of the stablemen said to the old woman. “Oh, brrr, it is so cold,” said the old woman, shivering and shuddering and making a great fuss. “Brrr, it is so cold a poor soul might freeze to death.” And she shook and trembled again. “Oh, dear Lord, may I sit here just inside the stable door?” she said. “The devil you may! Be off this instant, for if the governor sees you here, we shall be in for it,” said one. “Oh, the poor, bent old creature!” said another, who felt sorry for her. “Surely she can sit there; she will do no harm.” The others would not hear of it, but while they argued and tended the horses, she edged farther into the stable until at last she was sitting behind the door, and after that no one took any notice of her.
As the night wore on, the men began to feel rather cold, sitting so still on horseback. “Brrr, it is devilishly cold!” said one, flapping his arms. “Yes, I am shivering with cold,” said another. “If only we had a little tobacco!” said a third. Well, one of them had a quarter of a pound, and they shared it out. There was not much for each man, but they chewed and spat. That helped a little, but before long they were just as badly off as ever. “Brrr!” said one of them, shaking himself. “Brrr!” said the old woman, her teeth chattering and rattling in her head. Then she took out the flask of plain brandy, her hand trembling so much that the liquor splashed about inside it, and drank with a loud gurgle. “What have you got in that flask, old woman?” said one of the stablemen. “Oh, just a little drop of brandy, master,” she said. “Brandy?
What is that? Let me have a sip! Let me have a sip!” all twelve cried at once. “Oh, I have so little,” whined the old woman. “It would not even wet your mouths.” But they wanted some and must have some; there was no help for it. So she took the flask with the sleeping draught and put it to the first man’s lips. Her hands no longer shook; she guided the flask so that each got as much as he needed, and before the twelfth had drunk, the first was already sitting there snoring. Then the Master Thief threw off his beggar’s rags, lifted down the men one after another as easily as could be, and set them astride the stall partitions. Then he called his eleven men and made off with the governor’s twelve horses.
When the governor came out towards morning to see how the men were doing, they were just beginning to stir. They dug their spurs into the partitions until the splinters flew; some fell off, while others remained dangling there, looking like fools. “Oh yes,” said the governor, “I can see well enough who has been here. But what a miserable lot you are, sitting here and letting the Master Thief steal the horses from under your very backsides!” And they got a thrashing for not keeping better watch.
Later that day the Master Thief came again, told the governor how he had done it, and asked for his daughter as promised. But the governor gave him a hundred dollars and said he must do something better still.
“Do you think you can steal my horse from under me while I am out riding it?” said the governor. “Oh, that can be managed,” said the Master Thief, “if only I am sure of getting your daughter.” Well, he would see what he could do, said the governor, and he named a day when he would ride out on a large parade ground.
The Master Thief at once got hold of an old, worn-out jade, made a harness out of nothing but willow withies and broom twigs, and bought a ramshackle old cart and a large barrel. Then he told an old toothless beggar woman that he would give her ten dollars if she would lie inside the barrel with her mouth open over the bunghole, where he would put his finger. No harm would come to her; she would merely be taken for a little ride, and if he took his finger out more than once, she should have ten dollars more. He dressed himself in rags, smeared himself with soot, and put on a wig and a great beard of goat hair, so that no one could recognize him. Then he set off for the parade ground, where the governor had already been riding for some time.
When he arrived, he moved so slowly and feebly that he scarcely seemed to get anywhere. He crawled and crept along, then came to a complete standstill, then crept a little farther; it was such a sorry performance that the governor could never have imagined this was the Master Thief. He rode straight up to him and asked whether he had seen anyone prowling about in the forest nearby. “No,” said the man, he had seen no one at all. “Now listen,” said the governor. “If you will ride into the forest and look carefully to see whether you can find anyone lurking there, you may borrow my horse, and I shall give you a handsome tip for your trouble.” “No, I cannot do that,” said the man, “for I am on my way to a wedding with this barrel of mead I have been sent to fetch, and the bung fell out on the road, so now I have to walk along with my finger in the hole.” “Go on and ride,” said the governor. “I shall look after both your horse and the barrel.” Well, then he would do it, but he begged the governor to take great care and be quick to put his finger into the bunghole when he drew his own out. Yes, the governor said he would do his best, and the Master Thief mounted the horse. But time passed, and the hours wore on, and no one came back. At last the governor grew tired of walking about with his finger in the bunghole and pulled it out. “Now I am to have ten dollars more!” shrieked the old woman inside the barrel. Then he understood how matters stood and set off for home. But he had only gone a little way when someone met him with a horse, for the Master Thief had already been to his house.
The next day he went to the Governor and asked for his daughter, as he had been promised. The Governor coaxed him once again, gave him two hundred dalers, and said he must perform one more feat; if he could manage that, he should have her. Oh yes, the Master Thief thought he could, once he had heard what it was. “Do you think you can steal the sheet from our bed and the shift off my wife?” said the Governor. “That can surely be done,” said the Master Thief, “so long as I truly get your daughter afterward.” When night drew on, the Master Thief went out and cut down a thief who was hanging from the gallows, slung him over his shoulder, and carried him away. Then he got hold of a long ladder and set it against the Governor’s bedroom window, climbed up, and bobbed the dead man up and down, just as though someone were peeping in. “There’s the Master Thief, Mother!” said the Governor, nudging his wife. “Now I’ll shoot him,” he said, taking up a rifle he had laid beside the bed. “Oh no, you mustn’t do that,” said his wife. “You asked him to come here yourself.” “Yes, I’ll shoot him, Mother,” he said, and lay there taking aim and taking aim. But one moment the head was up, so that he could just glimpse it, and the next it was gone again. At last he got a clear shot. The rifle cracked, and the dead man fell with a thud to the ground. The Master Thief scrambled down as fast as he could.
“Well, I may be the highest authority here,” said the Governor, “but people are quick to talk, and it would be an awkward business if they saw this dead man. I had better go out and bury him.” “Do as you think best, Father,” said his wife. The Governor got up and went downstairs, and the moment he had gone out through the door, the Master Thief slipped in and hurried straight up to his wife. “Well, Father,” she said, for she thought it was her husband, “have you finished already?” “Oh yes, I put him in a hole,” he said, “and scraped a little earth over him, just enough to hide him, for the weather is so foul out there. I’ll do it properly later. But let me have the sheet to wipe myself with, for he was so bloody that I’ve got it all over me.” She gave it to him. “You’ll have to let me have your shift as well,” he said, “for I find the sheet isn’t enough.” Oh yes, she would. But then he remembered that he had forgotten to shut the door, and he would have to go down and do that before he could get back into bed. And off he went with both the sheet and the shift. A little while later, the real Governor came back.
“My, what a time you’ve taken to shut that door, Father,” said his wife. “Where have you put the shift and the sheet?” “What’s that?” said the Governor. “I’m asking where you’ve put the shift and the sheet I gave you to wipe the blood off yourself,” she said. “Well, damn him!” said the Governor. “Has he managed that too?” That day the Master Thief came and demanded the Governor’s daughter, as he had been promised, and the Governor dared do nothing but give her to him, with a great deal of money besides. For he was afraid the Master Thief would steal the very eyes out of his head, and that he himself would become the talk of the town if he refused. After that the Master Thief lived in ease and comfort. Whether he ever stole again I cannot say, but if he did, it was surely only for the fun of it.
Izvirnik
Der var engang en Huusmand, som havde tre Sønner. Han havde ikke nogen Arv at give dem og ikke Noget at sætte dem til, og ikke vidste han hvad han skulde gjøre af dem heller; men saa sagde han, at de kunde faae Lov at tage sig til det, de vilde og havde bedst Lyst til, og reise did de selv vilde, han skulde gjerne følge dem paa Veien, og det gjorde han ogsaa. Han fulgte dem, til de kom til et Sted, hvor der var tre Veie; der tog de hver sin Vei, og Faderen tog da Farvel med dem og reiste hjem igjen. Hvor det blev af de to Ældste har jeg aldrig faaet spurgt, men den Yngste han gik baade langt og længe.
Saa var det en Nat, han gik over en stor Skov, at det kom saadant et slemt Veir paa ham; det blæste og føg saa han næsten ikke kunde holde Øinene oppe, og førend han vidste Ordet af det, var han kommen reent paa Vildstraa og kunde hverken finde Vei eller Sti; men hvorledes han gik, saa fik han tilsidst see det lyste langt borte i Skoven. Did syntes han da han maatte prøve at komme, og langt om længe saa kom han did ogsaa. Der var en stor Bygning, og det brændte saa friskt paa Varmen derinde, at han kunde skjønne, de ikke havde lagt sig endda. Saa gik han ind, og derinde gik en gammel Kjærring og stelte.
„God Kveld!“ sagde Gutten. „God Kveld!“ sagde Kjærringen. „Hutetu, det er saadant fælt Veir ude i Nat,“ sagde Gutten. „Det er saa,“ sagde Kjærringen. „Kan jeg faa ligge her og faae Huus i Nat?“ spurgte Gutten. „Det er nok ikke godt for dig at ligge her,“ sagde Kjærringen, „for komme Folkene hjem og træffe dig, saa dræber de baade mig og dig.“ „Hvad er det for Folk, som boe her da?“ sagde Gutten. „Aa, det er Røvere og sligt Pak, det,“ sagde Kjærringen, „og mig har de røvet da jeg var liden, og havt til Huusholderske for sig,“ sagde hun. „Jeg troer nok jeg lægger mig ligevel, jeg,“ sagde Gutten, „det for gaae som det vil, for ud vil jeg ikke mere i sligt Veir ved Nattetid.“ „Ja, det bliver værst for dig selv, det,“ sagde Kjærringen.
Gutten lagde sig da i en Seng, som stod der, men sove turde han ikke, og bedst det var, kom Røverne, og saa fortalte Kjærringen at der var kommen en fremmed Karl der, som hun ikke kunde faae til at gaae igjen. „Saa du om han havde Penge?“ sagde Røverne. „Ja han Penge, den Stymperen?“ sagde Kjærringen, „det var ikke mere end netop han havde Klæder paa Kroppen.“ Røverne begyndte da at smaasnakke med hverandre om, hvad de skulde gjøre med ham, om de skulde dræbe ham, eller hvad de ellers skulde gjøre. Imedens stod Gutten op og begyndte at tale med dem og spurgte dem om de ikke trængte til Tjenestekarl, for han kunde nok have Lyst til at tjene hos dem. „Jo,“ sagde
de, „har du Lyst og du vil drive paa det Haandværket, vi drive, saa kan du nok faae Tjeneste her.“ „Ja, det er sligt Slag,“ sagde Gutten, „hvad Haandværk det er, for da jeg reiste hjemme fra fik jeg Lov af Faer min at tage mig til det, jeg vilde.“ „Har du Lyst til at stjæle da?“ sagde Røverne. „Ja,“ sagde Gutten, det Haandværk skulde han nok lære, meente han. Saa boede der en Mand et Stykke fra dem, som havde tre Oxer; en af dem skulde han reise til Byen med og sælge, og det havde Røverne faaet spurgt; saa sagde de til Gutten, at hvis han var god for at stjæle fra ham Oxen paa Veien, saaledes at han ikke vidste om det, og saa at han ikke gjorde ham Noget, saa skulde han faae Lov at være Tjenestekarl hos dem. — Jo, Gutten tog med sig en vakker Sko, som stod der, med
Sølvspænde i, og lagde afsted; den satte han i Veien, der hvor Manden skulde forbi med Oxen sin, og selv gik han ind i Skoven og gjemte sig under en Buske. Da Manden kom, saa han strax Skoen. „Det var en gjæv Sko,“ sagde han, „havde jeg Mage til den, skulde jeg tage den med mig hjem, saa havde jeg vel faaet Kjærringen min blid engang;“ for han havde en Kjærring saa sindt og saa slem, at det ikke var længe mellem hver Gang, hun dængte ham. Men saa syntes han, han ikke kunde gjøre Noget med den ene Skoen, naar han ikke havde Mage til den, og saa reiste han videre og lod den staae. Gutten tog Skoen og skyndte sig, det bedste han kunde, at komme foran Manden bortigjennem Skoven, og saa satte han Skoen i Veien
for ham igjen. Da Manden kom did med Øxen, blev han harm, fordi han havde været saa dum at lade Magen til den staae igjen og ikke taget den med sig. „Jeg faaer vel rende tilbage igjen og tage den anden,“ sagde han ved sig selv og bandt Oxen ved Skigaarden, „saa faaer jeg da et Par gode Sko til Kjærringen, for da kanskee hun tør blive blid engang hun med.“ Han gik nu og ledte og ledte efter Skoen i syv Lange og syv Brede, men ingen Sko fandt han; tilsidst maatte han gaae tilbage med den ene, han havde. Imedens havde Gutten taget Oxen og reist med. Da Manden kom igjen og fik see, at Oxen var borte, begyndte han at græde og bære sig, for han var ræd, at Kjærringen skulde slaae ham ihjel, naar hun fik vide at Oxen
var væk. Men saa faldt han paa at gaae hjem og tage den andre Oxen og reise til Byen med og faae god Ret for den, og ikke lade Kjærringen faae vide Noget om det. Det gjorde han; han gik hjem og tog Oxen, saa at Kjærringen ikke vidste Noget om det, og reiste til Byen med; men Røverne de vidste det vel, og saa sagde de til Gutten, at hvis han kunde tage den ogsaa, uden at Manden fik vide om det, og saa at han ikke gjorde ham nogen Skade, saa skulde han være jevngod med dem. Ja, det meente Gutten skulde ikke være nogen Sag.
Den Gang tog han med sig et Reb og hængte sig op under Armene, midt i Veien for Manden. Da Manden kom med Øxen sin og fik see dette Spektakel, som hang der, blev han lidt rar af sig. „Men, hvor tungt du har tænkt, som har hængt dig der da!“ sagde han; „aa ja, du faaer hænge for mig, jeg kan ikke blæse Liv i dig igjen,“ og saa gik han videre frem med Oxen sin. Gutten ned af Træet, løb en Beenvei og kom foran ham og hængte sig midt i Veien for ham igjen.
„Montro du virkelig har tænkt saa tungt, at du har hængt dig der, eller det bare er et Spøgelse for mig da?“ sagde Manden. „Aa ja, du faaer hænge for mig, enten du er Spøgelse eller hvad du er,“ sagde han og gik med Oxen sin. Gutten gjorde akkurat ligedan som begge de forrige Gange, hoppede ned af Træet, sprang Beenvei gjennem Skoven og hængte sig midt i Veien for ham igjen. Da Manden fik see det igjen, saa sagde han ved sig selv: „Det var fælt dette da! Skulde de have tænkt saa tungt, at de har hængt sig alle disse Tre? Nei jeg kan ikke troe, det er andet end Spøgeri for mig. Men nu vil jeg vide det vist,“ sagde han; „hænger de der, de andre to, saa er det virkelig saa, men hænge de der ikke, saa er det ikke andet end Spøgeri for mig.“ Han bandt da Oxen sin og sprang tilbage og skulde
see, om de virkelig hang der. Imedens han gik og kikkede op i alle Træerne, hoppede Gutten ned og tog Oxen hans og reiste afsted med. Da Manden kom tilbage og saa at Oxen var borte, blev det galt med ham, det kan En sagtens vide, han baade til at græde og bære sig ilde; men tilsidst gav han sig tiltaals, og saa tænkte han ved sig selv; der er ikke andet Raad end at gaae hjem og tage den tredie, saa Kjærringen ikke veed om det, og den faaer jeg prøve at afhænde saameget desto bedre, saa jeg faaer mange Penge for den. Han gik hjem og tog den og reiste med den, saa Kjærringen ikke vidste Noget om det. Men Røverne de vidste vel Besked om det, og saa sagde de til Gutten, at hvis han kunde stjæle den ligeens som de andre to, skulde
han være Mester over dem Allesammen. Ja, Gutten lagde af Gaarde og sprang til Skovs, og da Manden kom med Oxen, satte han til at brøle saa fælt ligesom en stor Oxe, inde i Skoven. Da Manden hørte det, blev han saa glad, for han syntes, han kjendte igjen Maalet paa Storstuden sin, og tænkte at nu skulde han finde dem igjen begge to, bandt saa den tredie og sprang af Veien og til at lede inde i Skoven. Imedens reiste Gutten afsted med den tredie Oxen.
Da Manden kom tilbage og havde mistet den ogsaa, blev han saa ilde ved, at der ikke var nogen Maade paa det, han baade græd og bar sig, og han turde ikke gaae hjem paa mange Dage, for han var bange, at Kjærringen skulde slaae ham reent ihjel. Røverne vare nu heller ikke meget glade over det, at de maatte sige, Gutten var Mester over dem Allesammen. Saa tænkte de engang, de skulde prøve paa at gjøre Noget, som ikke han var god for; de reiste saa i Veien Allesammen og lod ham blive alene hjemme.
Det Første han gjorde, da de vel vare komne af Gaarde, det var at jage Oxerne ud paa Veien, saa at de gik hjem til Manden, han havde taget dem fra, igjen, og glad blev han, det kan du nok vide. Saa tog han alle Hestene, som Røverne havde, og læssede paa dem Alt det Bedste han fandt, af Guld og Sølv og Klæder og andre prægtige Ting, og bad saa Kjærringen at hilse Røverne og sige Tak for ham, nu reiste han og de skulde have ondt for at tage ham igjen, og dermed foer han af Gaarde.
Langt om længe kom han paa den Veien, han gik, da han kom til Røverne. Da han kom hjemover, der hvor hans Fader boede, saa tog han paa sig en Mundering, han havde fundet iblandt det, han havde taget fra Røverne, som var gjort ligesom til en General, og kjørte ind paa Gaarden, som en anden Storkarl. Siden saa gik han ind og spurgte, om han kunde faae Huus der. Nei, det kunde han da slet ikke. „Hvorledes skulde jeg kunne laane Huus til saadan en stor Herre, jeg?“ sagde Manden, „det er netop jeg har Klæder at ligge paa selv, og usle nok er de.“ „Du har altid været haard du,“ sagde Gutten, „og det er du nok endnu, siden du ikke vil laane Sønnen din Huus.“ „Er du Sønnen min?“ sagde Manden. „Kjender
du mig ikke igjen da?“ sagde Gutten. Jo, saa kjendte han ham nok igjen. „Men hvad har du taget dig til, siden det er bleven saadan Karl af dig i slig en Hast?“ sagde Manden. „Jo, det skal jeg sige dig“ sagde Gutten, „du sagde, jeg kunde faa tage mig til hvad jeg vilde, og saa gav jeg mig i Lære hos nogle Tyve og Røvere, og nu har jeg staaet ud Læren og er bleven Mestertyv,“ sagde han. — Saa boede der en Amtmand tæt ved, der Stuen til hans Fader laa; og han havde saadan en stor Gaard og saa mange Penge, at han ikke viste noget Tal paa dem, og en Datter havde han ogsaa, som baade var peen og vakker. Hende vilde Mestertyven have, og saa sagde han til Fader sin, at han skulde gaae til Amtmanden og begjære Datter hans til ham. „Spørger
han, hvad Haandværk jeg driver paa, kan du sige, jeg er Mestertyv,“ sagde han. „Jeg mener du er tullet jeg,“ sagde Manden, „for klog kan du ikke være, naar du tænker paa slig Galskab.“ Jo, han skulde og maatte gaae til Amtmanden og bede om Datteren hans, der var intet Raad for det, sagde Gutten. „Neimen tør ikke jeg gaae til Amtmanden og være Talsmanden din, han som er saa rig og har saa mange Penge,“ sagde Manden. Jo, der var ingen Hjælp for det, meente Mestertyven, han skulde, enten han vilde eller ei, gik han ikke med det Gode, saa skulde han nok faae ham til at gaae med det Onde; men Manden vilde endda ikke til, og saa gik han efter og truede ham med en stort Birkekavle, saa at han kom grædende
lige ind igjennem Døren hos Amtmanden. „Nu, min Mand, hvad feiler dig?“ sagde Amtmanden. Ja, saa fortalte han, at han havde tre Sønner, som havde reist sin Vei en Dag, og saa havde han lovet dem, at de skulde faae reise hen, hvor de vilde, og tage sig til hvad de vilde ogsaa, „og nu er den yngste af dem kommen hjem, og han har nu truet mig til at gaae til dig og begjære Datter din til ham og sige, at han er Mestertyv,“ sagde Manden og græd og bar sig. „Giv du dig tilfreds, du min Mand,“ sagde Amtmanden og lo, „og saa kan du sige til ham fra mig, at han faaer bevise det først. Hvis han kan stjæle Stegen af Spiddet i Kjøkkenet om Søndagen, imedens de passede paa den Allesammen, saa skal han faae min Datter; siig til ham det du!“ Ja, han gjorde saa, og det
meente Gutten, skulde være en let Sag at gjøre. Han fik sig da fat paa tre levende Harer, tog dem i en Sæk og hængte paa sig nogle Filler saa at han saa saa ussel og elendig ud at det var ynkeligt at see det, og saa sneg han sig ind i Gangen som en anden Fillegut med Sækken sin om Søndags Formiddagen. Amtmanden selv og alle Husets Folk vare nu i Kjøkkenet og skulde passe Stegen. Ret som det var, saa slap Gutten ud en Hare, og den satte afsted og fløi omkring ude paa Gaarden.
„Nei, see den Haren da!“ sagde de inde i Kjøkkenet, og vilde ud at tage den. Ja, Amtmanden saa den ogsaa. „Aa lad den løbe,“ sagde han, „det nytter ikke at tænke paa at tage Haren paa Spranget.“ Det varede ikke længe, saa slap Gutten den anden, og de saae den inde i Kjøkkenet og troede at det var den samme; saa vilde de ud at tage den igjen, men Amtmanden sagde det kunde ikke nytte. Men om en Stund saa slap han den tredie ogsaa, og den satte afsted og løb omkring ude paa Gaarden; den saae de ogsaa fra Kjøkkenet og troede, det var den samme igjen, som løb der, og saa vilde de ud at fange den. „Det var da en rar Hare ogsaa,“ sagde Amtmanden, „kom og lad os see om vi kan faae fat paa den.“ Han ud og de Øvrige med, og Haren fore og de efter, saa det havde
god Skik. Men imedens tog Mestertyven Stegen og løb med, og hvor Amtmanden da fik sig en Steg fra til Middags, veed ikke jeg, men det veed jeg, at Haresteg fik han ikke, endda han løb sig baade sved og træt. Til Middags kom Præsten did, og da Amtmanden havde fortalt ham det Pudset, Mestertyven havde gjort ham, gjorde han saaledes Nar af ham, at der ikke var nogen Maade paa det.
„Jeg veed ikke, hvorledes det skulde gaae til, naar jeg skulde lade mig narre af en saadan Karl!“ sagde Præsten. „Ja pas dig bare du!“ sagde Amtmanden, „kanskee han er hos dig, førend du veed Ordet af det.“ Men Præsten blev ved Sit, han, og gjorde Nar af Amtmanden, fordi han havde ladet sig narre. Ud paa Eftermiddagen kom Mestertyven og vilde have Datter til Amtmanden, som han havde lovet, han skulde faae.
„Du faaer nok gjøre flere Prøvestykker først,“sagde Amtmanden, og godsnakkede med ham, „for det du gjorde i Dag, det var nu ikke noget videre, det. Kunde du ikke gjøre Præsten et dygtigt Peg, for han sidder inde og gjør Nar af mig, fordi jeg har ladet mig tage ved Næsen af en saadan Karl.“ Jo, det skulde ikke være nogen Sag, sagde Mestertyven. Han klædte sig ud som en Fugl, tog et stort hvidt Lagen over sig, brød Vingerne af en Gaas og satte paa Ryggen og kløv saa op i en stor Løn, som stod i Haven til Præsten. Da saa Præsten kom hjem om Aftenen, gav Gutten sig til at skrige: „Hr. Lars! Hr. Lars!“ for Præsten hedte Hr. Lars. „Hvo er det, som kalder paa mig?“ sagde Præsten. „Jeg er en Engel, som er udsendt fra Vorherre, forat forkynde dig, at du skal blive optaget
levende til Gudsrige for din Gudfrygtigheds Skyld,“ sagde Mestertyven. „Næste Mandagskvelden maa du holde dig reisefærdig, for da kommer jeg og henter dig i en Sæk, og alt dit Guld og Sølv og hvad du har af denne Verdens Forfængelighed skal du lægge sammen i en Haug i Storstuen din.“ Ja, Hr. Lars baade takkede og faldt paa Knæ for Engelen, og Søndagen efter gjorde han en Afskedspræken, og lagde ud om at der var kommen en Engel fra Gud i den store Lønnen i Haven hans, som havde forkyndt, at han skulde komme levende i Gudsrige for sin Gudfrygtigheds Skyld, og han prækede og lagde saaledes ud, at de græd Alle, som i Kirken vare, baade Gamle og Unge.
Om Mandagen kom Mestertyven som en Engel igjen, og Præsten faldt baade paa Knæ og takkede førend han blev puttet i Sækken, og da han vel var kommen indi, saa drog og slæbte Mestertyven ham efter sig baade over Stok og Steen. „Au! au!“ skreg Præsten i Sækken, „hvor bærer dette hen?“ „Det er den trange Vei, som fører til Himmeriges Rige!“ sagde Mestertyven og drog afsted med ham, saa at han næsten slog ham ihjel; tilsidst kastede han ham ind i Gaasehuset til Amtmanden, og Gjæssene til at hvæse og klype ham, saaat han var mere død end levende. „Au, au, au, hvor er jeg nu?“ sagde Præsten. „Nu er du i Skjærsilden for at renses og luttres til det evige Liv!“ sagde Mestertyven og gik sin
Vei og tog alt det Guld og Sølv og alle de prægtige Ting, Præsten havde lagt sammen i Storstuen sin. Om Morgenen, da Gaasegjenten kom og skulde slippe Gjæssene ud, saa hørte hun Præsten laa i Sækken og jamrede sig inde i Gaasehuset. „Aa i Jesu Navn, hvem er det, og hvad feiler Jer da?“ sagde hun. „Aa, er du en Engel fra Himmerige, saa slip mig ud og lad mig komme tilbage til Jorden igjen, for her er værre end i Helvede; Smaadjævlene kniber mig jo med Tænger!“ sagde Præsten. „Jeg er nok ingen Engel, Gud bedre os!“ sagde Gjenten og hjalp Præsten ud af Sækken, „jeg passer bare Gjæssene til Amtmanden, jeg, og det er nok de Smaadjævlene, som har klypt ham Faer.“ „Aa, det har Mestertyven gjort! Aa mit Guld og mit Sølv og mine prægtige
Klæder!“ skreg Præsten og bar sig og løb hjem, saa at Gjætergjenten troede, han var gaaet fra Viddet med det samme. Da Amtmanden fik vide, hvorledes det var gaaet med Præsten, at han havde baade været paa den trange Vei og i Skjærsilden, lo han sig næsten fordærvet; men da Mestertyven kom og vilde have hans Datter, som han havde lovet ham, saa godsnakkede han med ham og sagde: „Du faaer nok gjøre et Prøvestykke som er bedre, saa at jeg rigtig kan see, hvad du duer til.
„Jeg har tolv Heste paa Stalden,“ sagde han, „og dem skal jeg sætte tolv Karle paa, en paa hver; er du saa god for at stjæle Hestene unna dem, saa faaer jeg see, hvad jeg kan gjøre.“ „Ja, det gaaer nok an,“ sagde Mestertyven, „fik jeg saasandt Datter din, saa“ —. „Ja, kan du det, skal jeg gjøre mit Bedste,“ sagde Amtmanden. Mestertyven lagde da til Kræmmeren og kjøbte Brændeviin paa to Lommeflasker, og saa slog han en Dvaledrik paa den ene, men paa den anden havde han Brændeviin, og bestilte saa elleve Karle til at lægge sig bag Loven til Amtmanden om Natten. For gode Ord og Betaling laante han en fillet Stak og en Trøie af en gammel Kjærring, tog sig saa en Stav i Haanden og en Pose paa Nakken, og da det led mod Kvelden
saa hinkede han afsted bort imod Stalden til Amtmanden. Da han kom did holdt de paa at vande Hestene til Kvelds, og havde nok at bestille med det. „Hvad Fanden vil du?“ sagde en af Staldkarlene til Kjærringen. „Aa hutetu, det er saa koldt,“ sagde Kjærringen og huklede og frøs, og bar sig ilde. „Hutetu, det er saa koldt, at en Stakkel gjerne kan fryse ihjel,“ og saa skjalv og rystede hun igjen. „Aa Herre Gud, faaer jeg Lov at være her og sidde indenfor Stalddøren?“ sagde hun. „Du faaer Fanden heller, pak dig strax, for hvis Amtmanden faaer see dig her, saa faaer vi vor Dands,“ sagde En. „Aa, den gamle skrøbelige Krogen!“ sagde en anden En, som syntes, han havde Ondt af hende; „den Krogen kan jo gjerne sidde der, hun gjør
vist ikke noget Ondt, hun.“ De øvrige meente det skulde ikke blive Noget af, men alt som de trættedes og stelte Hestene, trak hun sig længere ind i Stalden, saa hun tilsidst blev siddende bag Døren, og siden var der Ingen, som lagde Mærke til hende. Da det led ud paa Natten faldt det lidt koldt for Karlene at sidde saa stille og roligt paa Hesteryggen. „Hutetu, det er da Djævlen saa koldt!“ sagde En og slog i Armene. „Ja, jeg fryser, saa jeg ryster“ sagde en anden En. „Den, som havde sig lidt Tobak!“ var det En, som sagde. Ja, saa var der En, som havde et Kvart; det deelte de, det blev nu ikke stort til Mands, og saa tyggede de og spyttede. Det hjalp lidt, men ret som det var, saa var det lige galt igjen. „Huttetu“, sagde En af dem og ristede paa sig. „Huttetu!“ sagde Kjærringen og hakkede
Tænder, saa at de skranglede i Kjæften paa hende; saa tog hun op en Flaske med bare Brændeviin, og saa skjalv hun saa paa Haanden, at det skvalpede i Flasken, og saa drak hun, saa det sagde Kulk i Halsen paa hende. „Hvad er det, du har paa Flasken din Kjærring?“ sagde en af Staldkarlene. „Aa, det er nok en liden Draabe Brændeviin, Faer!“ sagde hun. „Brændeviin? hvad for Noget? Lad mig faae en Taar! lad mig faae en Taar!“ skreg de alle Tolv i Munden paa hverandre. „Aa, det er saa lidet, jeg har,“ suttrede Kjærringen, „I blive ikke vaade i Munden af det en Gang.“ Men de vilde have og de maatte have, der var ikke noget Raad for det; og saa tog hun da Flasken med Dvaledrikken og satte for Munden paa den Første,
da skjalv hun ikke mere, men styrede Flasken, saa at Hver af dem fik hvad han behøvede, og den Tolvte havde ikke drukket, førend den Første alt sad og snorkede. Saa kastede Mestertyven Fantefillerne af sig og tog den ene Karlen efter den anden nok saa let og satte dem skrævs over Bolkene, raabte saa paa de elleve Karlene sine og satte afsted med de tolv Hestene til Amtmanden.
Da Amtmanden kom ud og skulde see til Karlene paa Morgensiden, skulde de til at friske paa sig, de til at hugge i Bolkene med Sporerne, saa Fliserne sprutede, og Nogle faldt ned og Nogle bleve hængende og sad der som Narre. „Aa jo,“ sagde Amtmanden, „jeg kan nok skjønne, hvem der har været her nu. Men I ere nogle usle Karle, som sidde her og lade Mestertyven stjæle Hestene unna Enden paa Jer!“ Og saa fik de Smurning, fordi de ikke havde passet bedre paa.
Ud paa Dagen kom Mestertyven igjen og fortalte, hvorledes han havde baaret sig ad og vilde have Datter til Amtmanden, som han havde lovet ham. Men Amtmanden gav ham hundrede Daler og sagde at han maatte gjøre Noget som var endda bedre. „Mener du du kan stjæle Hesten unna mig, medens jeg er ude og rider paa den?“ sagde Amtmanden. „Aa, det gaaer nok an,“ sagde Mestertyven, „fik jeg saasandt Datter din. Ja, han skulde seet hvad han kunde gjøre, og han sagde da en Dag, han vilde ride ud paa en stor Exerceerplads.
Mestertyven fik sig strax fat paa en gammel udlevet Skudmær, gjorde sig sammen en Sæle af bare Vidier og Sopelimskviste, kjøbte en gammel Fillekjærre og en stor Tønde, og saa sagde han til en gammel tandløs Fattigkjærring, at han vilde give hende ti Daler, hvis hun vilde lægge sig ind i den Tønden og gabe over Taphullet, der skulde han stikke Fingeren ind — noget Ondt skulde der ikke skee hende, hun skulde bare faae kjøre lidt — og dersom han tog den ud mere end een Gang, skulde hun have ti Daler til. Selv fik han paa sig nogle Filler, sodede sig ud og satte paa sig en Paryk og et stort Skjæg af Gjederag, saa Ingen kunde kjende ham igjen, og saa lagde han afsted til Pladsen, hvor Amtmanden
alt havde redet en lang Stund. Da han kom frem der, saa gik det saa smaat og saa sagte, at han næsten ikke kom af Flækken; det seg og det seg frem med ham, saa stod det reent stille, saa seg det lidt igjen, og det gik da saa bedrøveligt, at Amtmanden aldrig kunde falde paa, at det skulde være Mestertyven. Han red da lige hen til ham og spurgte om han ikke havde seet Nogen, som gik omkring og luskede i Skoven der. „Nei,“ sagde Manden, det havde han slet ikke seet. „Hør nu!“ sagde Amtmanden, „vil du ride ind i Skoven og see vel efter, om du ikke kan træffe paa Nogen, som gaaer og lusker der, skal du faae laant Hesten min, og en god Drikkeskilling skal du faae for Umagen.“ „Nei om jeg det kan,“ sagde Manden, „for jeg skal til Bryllups med denne Mjødtønden,
som jeg har været efter, og saa er Tappen faldt ud for mig paa Veien, og nu maa jeg gaae og holde Fingren i Hullet.“ „Ja, rid du,“ sagde Amtmanden, „jeg skal nok passe baade Hesten og Tønden.“ Ja, saa skulde han da gjøre det, men han bad Amtmanden, at han endelig maatte passe vel paa og være snøg til at sætte Fingeren i Taphullet, naar han tog sin ud. Ja, Amtmanden sagde, han skulde gjøre det Bedste han kunde, og saa satte da Mestertyven sig op paa Hesten. Men Tiden gik, og det led og det led, og Ingen kom der tilbage; tilsidst blev da Amtmanden kjed af at gaae der med Fingeren i Taphullet og tog den saa ud. „Nu skal jeg have ti Daler til!“ skreg Kjærringen i Tønden; saa kunde han skjønne hvorledes det hang sammen
og gav sig paa Hjemveien; men da han havde gaaet et Stykke, mødte de ham med Hest, for Mestertyven havde alt været hjemme hos ham. Dagen efter kom han til Amtmanden og vilde have Datteren hans, som han havde lovet ham. Amtmanden godsnakkede nu med ham igjen, gav han to hundrede Daler og sagde han maatte gjøre et Prøvestykke til; kunde han det, skulde han faae hende. Aa ja, Mestertyven meente nok det, naar han bare fik høre hvad det var for Noget. „Mener du, at du kan stjæle Lagenet af Sengen vor, og Særken af Konen min?“ sagde Amtmanden. „Det skal nok lade sig gjøre,“ sagde Mestertyven, „fik jeg saa sandt Datter din, saa —.“ Da det led paa Natten, gik Mestertyven ud og skar ned
en Tyv, som hang i Galgen, lagde ham paa Nakken og tog ham med sig; saa fik han fat paa en stor Stige, og den satte han op til Kammervinduet til Amtmanden kløv saa op og dyttede den Døde op og ned, akkurat som det kunde være En, der tittede udenfor Vinduet. „Der er Mestertyven, Moer?“ sagde Amtmanden og puffede til Kjærringen sin. „Nu skyder jeg ham, jeg,“ sagde han og tog frem en Rifle, han havde lagt foran Sengen sin. „Aa nei, du faaer ikke gjøre det,“ sagde Fruen, „du har jo selv bestilt ham hid.“ „Jo, jeg skyder ham jeg, Moer,“ sagde han, og laa der og sigtede og sigtede, men snart var Hovedet oppe, saa at han saa lidt af det, ret som det var saa var det borte igjen, tilsidst fik han nok Sigt; det smald,
og den Døde faldt saa det dunkede i Jorden. Mestertyven ned det forteste han kunde. „Ja jeg er nu rigtignok den høie Øvrighed,“ sagde Amtmanden „men Folk faaer let Noget at sige, og det skulde dog være leit om de fik see dette døde Menneske, det bliver nok bedst at jeg gaaer ud og graver ham ned.“ Det faaer du gjøre, som du selv synes, Faer,“ sagde Fruen. Amtmanden stod op og gik ned, og med det samme han var gaaet ud gjennem Døren, smat Mestertyven ind og foer lige op til Fruen. „Nu Faer,“ sagde hun, for hun troede at det var Manden, „er du alt færdig nu?“ „Aa ja, jeg puttede ham ned i et Hul jeg,“ sagde han, „og karede over lidt Jord, saavidt han er gjemt, for der er saadant Veir ude; jeg skal gjøre det bedre siden; men lad mig faae
Lagenet at tørke mig paa, for han var saa blodig og jeg har sølet mig saa til paa ham.“ Det fik han. „Du faaer nok lade mig faae Særken din ogsaa,“ sagde han, „for Lagenet forslaaer ikke, mærker jeg.“ Aa ja; men saa kom han i Hu at han havde glemt at lukke Døren, og det maatte han da ned og gjøre, førend han kunde lægge sig igjen, og saa satte han afsted baade med Lagenet og Særken. En Stund efter kom den rette Amtmanden.
„Nei, hvor længe du var om at lukke den Døren da Faer,“ sagde Fruen, „hvor har du nu gjort af Særken og Lagenet?“ „Hvad for Noget?“ sagde Amtmanden. „Aa jeg spørger, hvor du har gjort af Særken og Lagenet, du fik at tørre Blodet af dig med jeg,“ sagde hun. „Saa til Helvedes!“ sagde Amtmanden, „har han nu gjort det med?“ Om Dagen kom Mestertyven og forlangte Datteren til Amtmanden, som han havde lovet ham, og da turde han ikke Andet end give ham hende og mange Penge til, for han var bange for at Mestertyven skulde stjæle Øinene ud paa ham, og at han selv skulde komme for meget ud iblandt Folk, hvis han ikke gjorde det. Mestertyven levede da baade godt og vel; om han stjal mere,
skal jeg ikke kunne sige, men gjorde han det, var det vist bare for Moro Skyld.