"Oh, very well; with all my heart," said the King, "if you will have your back flayed, you're quite welcome."
"I'd much rather have the Princess," said Boots.
So next morning, at gray of dawn, the coachman let out the seven foals again, and away they went over hill and dale, through bush and bog, and Boots behind them. And so, when he too had run a long while, he came to the cleft in the rock where the old hag sat spinning at her distaff. So she bawled out to Boots,—
"Come hither, come hither, my pretty son, and let me comb your hair."
"Don't you wish you may catch me?" said Boots. "Don't you wish you may catch me?" as he ran along leaping, and jumping, and holding on by one of the foals' tails. And when he had got well past the cleft in the rock, the youngest foal said,—
"Jump up on my back, my lad. for we've a long way before us still."
So Boots jumped up on his back.
So they went on, and on, a long, long way.
"Do you see anything now?" said the foal.
"No," said Boots.
So they went on a good bit farther.
"Do you see anything now?" asked the foal.
"Oh no," said the lad.
So when they had gone a great, great way farther—I'm sure I can't tell how far—the foal asked again,—
"Do you see anything now?"
"Yes," said Boots; "now I see something that looks white—just like a tall, big birch trunk."
"Yes," said the foal; "we're going into that trunk."
