The goat was tethered near the house, but Oyvind wandered off, with his
eyes fixed on the cliff. The mother came and sat down beside him; he
asked her to tell him stories about things that were far away, for now
the goat was no longer enough to content him. So his mother told him
how once everything could talk: the mountain talked to the brook, and
the brook to the river, and the river to the sea, and the sea to the
sky; he asked if the sky did not talk to any one, and was told that it
talked to the clouds, and the clouds to the trees, the trees to the
grass, the grass to the flies, the flies to the beasts, and the beasts
to the children, but the children to grown people; and thus it
continued until it had gone round in a circle, and neither knew where
it had begun. Oyvind gazed at the cliff, the trees, the sea, and the
sky, and he had never truly seen them before. The cat came out just
then, and stretched itself out on the door-step, in the sunshine.

"What does the cat say?" asked Oyvind, and pointed.

The mother sang,--

"Evening sunshine softly is dying,
On the door-step lazy puss is lying.
'Two small mice,
Cream so thick and nice;
Four small bits of fish
Stole I from a dish;
Well-filled am I and sleek,
Am very languid and meek,'
Says the pussie."[1]