“Feet off the table-cloth!” said the old goblin. The sons tickled the waitresses with the fir-cones which they carried in their pockets. They took off their boots, and gave them to the ladies to hold. But their father, the old goblin, was very different; he talked pleasantly about the stately Norwegian rocks, and told fine tales of the waterfalls which dashed over them with a music like thunder or the sound of an organ. He told of the salmon that leaps in the rushing waters, while the water-god plays on his golden harp. |
