behind, would put out a claw from his big soft foot--a great white
claw as big as an owl's beak--and pull him suddenly back. At last
Martin would lose his temper, and picking up a stick would turn on
his playmate; and away the animal would fly, pretending to be afraid,
and going over bushes and big stones with tremendous leaps to
disappear from sight on the mountain side. But very soon he would
steal secretly back by some other way to spring upon Martin unawares
and roll him over and over on the ground, growling as if angry, and
making believe to worry him with his great white teeth, although
never really hurting him in the least. He played with Martin just as
a cat plays with its kitten when it pretends to punish it.

Whenever Martin began to show the least sign of weariness the Lady
of the Hills would call him to her. Then, lying back among the ferns,
she would unbind her long silky tresses to let him play with them,
for this was always a delight to him. Then she would gather her hair
up again and dress it with yellow flowers and glossy dark green
leaves to make herself look more lovely than ever. At other times,
taking him on her shoulders, she would bound nimbly as a wild goat up
the steepest places, springing from crag to crag, and dancing gaily
along the narrow ledges of rock, where it made him dizzy to look down.
Then when the sun was near setting, when long shadows from rocks and
trees began to creep over the mountain, and he had eaten the fruits
and honey and other wild delicacies she provided, she would make him
lie on her bosom. Playing with her loose hair and listening to her
singing as she rocked herself on a stone, he would presently fall
asleep.

In the morning on waking he would always find himself lying still
clasped to her breast in that great dim cavern; and almost always