It was one of the last days of fair weather.

It had rained early in the morning and had remained overclouded far
down into the forenoon; but now the sun had come forth. Its rays were
so strong and warm, that the garden-paths, the lawns and the branches
of the trees were enveloped in a fine filmy mist. The councilor walked
about cutting asters. Mogens and Camilla were in a corner of the
garden to take down some late winter apples. He stood on a table with
a basket on his arm, she stood on a chair holding out a big white
apron by the corners.

"Well, and what happened then?" she called impatiently to Mogens, who
had interrupted the fairy-tale he was telling in order to reach an
apple which hung high up.

"Then," he continued, "the peasant began to run three times round
himself and to sing: 'To Babylon, to Babylon, with an iron ring
through my head.' Then he and his calf, his great-grandmother, and his
black rooster flew away. They flew across oceans as broad as Arup
Vejle, over mountains as high as the church at Jannerup, over
Himmerland and through the Holstein lands even to the end of the
world. There the kobold sat and ate breakfast; he had just finished
when they came.

"'You ought to be a little more god-fearing, little father,' said the
peasant, 'otherwise it might happen that you might miss the kingdom of
heaven.'"

"Well, he would gladly be god-fearing."