St. John's day, when the days were longest and the nights shortest, was
now come. Old and young kept the holiday, had all sorts of plays, and
told all kinds of stories. John could now no longer contain himself, but
the day after the festival he slipt away to the Nine-hills, and when it
grew dark laid himself down on the top of the highest of them, where
Klas had told him the underground people had their principal
dancing-place. John lay quite still from ten till twelve at night. At
last it struck twelve. Immediately there was a ringing and a singing in
the hills, and then a whispering and a lisping, and a whiz and a buzz
all about him, for the little people were now, some whirling round and
round in the dance, and others sporting and tumbling about in the
moonshine, and playing a thousand merry pranks and tricks. He felt a
secret dread come over him at this whispering and buzzing, for he could
see nothing of them, as the caps they wore made them invisible, but he
lay quite still with his face in the grass, and his eyes fast shut,
snoring a little, just as if he were asleep. Now and then he ventured to
open his eyes a little and peep out, but not the slightest trace of them
could he see, though it was bright moonlight.

It was not long before three of the underground people came jumping up
to where he was lying, but they took no heed of him, and flung their
brown caps up into the air, and caught them from one another. At length
one snatched the cap out of the hand of another and flung it away. It
flew direct, and fell upon John's head. The moment he felt it he caught
hold of it, and, standing up, bid farewell to sleep. He flung his cap
about for joy and made the little silver bell of it jingle, then set it
upon his head, and--oh wonderful! that instant he saw the countless and
merry swarm of the little people.