the horse’s back. In another moment he was away over the mountain, with Eisenkopf running fast behind him.
On they went through thick forests where the sun never shone, over rivers so wide that it took a whole day to sail across them, up hills whose sides were all of glass; on they went through seven times seven countries till Peter reined in his horse before the house of an old woman.
‘Good day, mother,’ said he, jumping down and opening the door.
‘Good day, my son,’ answered she, ‘and what are you doing here, at the world’s end?’
‘I am flying for my life, mother, flying to the world which is beyond all worlds; for Eisenkopf is at my heels.’
‘Come in and rest then, and have some food, for I have a little dog who will begin to howl when Eisenkopf is still seven miles off.’
So Peter went in and warmed himself and ate and drank, till suddenly the dog began to howl.
‘Quick, my son, quick, you must go,’ cried the old woman. And the lightning itself was not quicker than Peter.
‘Stop a moment,’ cried the old woman again, just as he was mounting his horse, ‘take this napkin and this cake, and put them in your bag where you can get hold of them easily.’ Peter took them and put them into his bag, and waving his thanks for her kindness, he was off like the wind.
Round and round he rode, through seven times seven countries, through forests still thicker, and rivers still wider, and mountains still more slippery than the others he had passed, till at length he reached a house where dwelt another old woman.
‘Good day, mother,’ said he.
‘Good day, my son! What are you seeking here at the world’s end?’
