instantly.
“Oh, now I have no horse at all,” said Little Claus, weeping. But after a
while he took off the dead horse’s skin, and hung the hide to dry in the
wind. Then he put the dry skin into a bag, and, placing it over his shoulder,
went out into the next town to sell the horse’s skin. He had a very long way
to go, and had to pass through a dark, gloomy forest. Presently a storm
arose, and he lost his way, and before he discovered the right path, evening
came on, and it was still a long way to the town, and too far to return home
before night. Near the road stood a large farmhouse. The shutters outside
the windows were closed, but lights shone through the crevices at the top. “I
might get permission to stay here for the night,” thought Little Claus; so he
went up to the door and knocked. The farmer’s wife opened the door; but
when she heard what he wanted, she told him to go away, as her husband
would not allow her to admit strangers. “Then I shall be obliged to lie out
here,” said Little Claus to himself, as the farmer’s wife shut the door in his
face. Near to the farmhouse stood a large haystack, and between it and the
house was a small shed, with a thatched roof. “I can lie up there,” said Little
Claus, as he saw the roof; “it will make a famous bed, but I hope the stork
will not fly down and bite my legs;” for on it stood a living stork, whose
nest was in the roof. So Little Claus climbed to the roof of the shed, and
while he turned himself to get comfortable, he discovered that the wooden
shutters, which were closed, did not reach to the tops of the windows of the
farmhouse, so that he could see into a room, in which a large table was laid
out with wine, roast meat, and a splendid fish. The farmer’s wife and the
sexton were sitting at the table together; and she filled his glass, and helped
