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Without；　not　far　from　the　house；　is　a　hill　covered　with
red…thorn　and　broom。　Here　lies　an　old　grave…stone；　which　was　brought　here　many　years　ago　from　the　churchyard　of　the　provincial　town；　a　remembrance　of　one　of　the　most　honored　councillors　of　the　place；　his　wife　and　his　five　daughters；　all　with　folded　hands　and　stiff　ruffs；　stand　round　him。　One　could　look　at　them　so　long；　that　it　had　an　effect　upon　the　thoughts；　and　these　reacted　upon　the　stones；　as　if　they
were　telling　of　old　times；　at　least　it　had　been　so　with　the　man　who
was　in　search　of　the　Story。

As　he　came　nearer；　he　noticed　a　living　butterfly　sitting　on　the
forehead　of　the　sculptured　councillor。　The　butterfly　flapped　its
wings；　and　flew　a　little　bit　farther；　and　then　returned　fatigued　to
sit　upon　the　grave…stone；　as　if　to　point　out　what　grew　there。

Four…leaved　shamrocks　grew　there；　there　were　seven　specimens　close
to　each　other。　When　fortune　comes；　it　comes　in　a　heap。　He　plucked
the　shamrocks　and　put　them　in　his　pocket。

〃Fortune　is　as　good　as　red　gold；　but　a　new　charming　story　would　be
better　still；〃　thought　the　man；　but　he　could　not　find　it　here。

And　the　sun　went　down；　round　and　large；　the　meadow　was　covered
with　vapor。　The　moor…woman　was　at　her　brewing。
It　was　evening。　He　stood　alone　in　his　room；　and　looked　out　upon
the　sea；　over　the　meadow；　over　moor　and　coast。　The　moon　shone
bright；　a　mist　was　over　the　meadow；　making　it　look　like　a　great
lake；　and；　indeed；　it　was　once　so；　as　the　legend　tells…　and　in　the
moonlight　the　eye　realizes　these　myths。

Then　the　man　thought　of　what　he　had　been　reading　in　the　town；　that
William　Tell　and　Holger　Danske　never　really　lived；　but　yet　live　in
popular　story；　like　the　lake　yonder；　a　living　evidence　for　such　myths。
Yes；　Holger　Danske　will　return　again！

As　he　stood　thus　and　thought；　something　beat　quite　strongly
against　the　window。　Was　it　a　bird；　a　bat　or　an　owl？　Those　are　not
let　in；　even　when　they　knock。　The　window　flew　open　of　itself；　and　an
old　woman　looked　in　at　the　man。

〃What's　your　pleasure？〃　said　he。　〃Who　are　you？　You're　looking　in
at　the　first　floor　window。　Are　you　standing　on　a　ladder？〃
〃You　have　a　four…leaved　shamrock　in　your　pocket；〃　she　replied。
〃Indeed；　you　have　seven；　and　one　of　them　is　a　six…leaved　one。〃
〃Who　are　you？〃　asked　the　man　again。
〃The　Moor…woman；〃　she　replied。　〃The　Moor…woman　who　brews。　I　was　at　it。　The　bung　was　in　the　cask；　but　one　of　the　little　moor…imps　pulled　it　out　in　his　mischief；　and　flung　it　up　into　the　yard；　where　it　beat
against　the　window；　and　now　the　beer's　running　out　of　the　cask；　and
that　won't　do　good　to　anybody。〃

〃Pray　tell　me　some　more！〃　said　the　man。
〃Yes；　wait　a　little；〃　answered　the　Moor…woman。　〃I've　something
else　to　do　just　now。〃　And　she　was　gone。
The　man　was　going　to　shut　the　window；　when　the　woman　already　stood　before　him　again。

〃Now　it's　done；〃　she　said；　〃but　I　shall　have　half　the　beer　to　brew
over　again　to…morrow；　if　the　weather　is　suitable。　Well；　what　have
you　to　ask　me？　I've　come　back；　for　I　always　keep　my　word；　and　you　have　seven　four…leaved　shamrocks　in　your　pocket；　and　one　of　them　is　a　six…leaved　one。　That　inspires　respect；　for　that's　an　order　that
grows　beside　the　sandy　way；　but　that　every　one　does　not　find。　What
have　you　to　ask　me？　Don't　stand　there　like　a　ridiculous　oaf；　for　I
must　go　back　again　directly　to　my　bung　and　my　cask。〃

And　the　man　asked　about　the　Story；　and　inquired　if　the
Moor…woman　had　met　it　in　her　journeyings。

〃By　the　big　brewing…vat！〃　exclaimed　the　woman；　〃haven't　you　got
stories　enough？　I　really　believe　that　most　people　have　enough　of　them。

Here　are　other　things　to　take　notice　of；　other　things　to　examine。　Even
the　children　have　gone　beyond　that。　Give　the　little　boy　a　cigar；　and
the　little　girl　a　new　crinoline；　they　like　that　much　better。　To　listen
to　stories！　No；　indeed；　there　are　more　important　things　to　be　done
here；　and　other　things　to　notice！〃

〃What　do　you　mean　by　that？〃　asked　the　man；　〃and　what　do　you　know　of　the　world？　You　don't　see　anything　but　frogs　and　Will…o'…the…Wisps！〃

〃Yes；　beware　of　the　Will…o'…the…Wisps；〃　said　the　Moor…woman；
〃for　they're　out…　they're　let　loose…　that's　what　we　must　talk　about！
Come　to　me　in　the　moor；　where　my　presence　is　necessary；　and　I　will
tell　you　all　about　it；　but　you　must　make　haste；　and　come　while　your
seven　four…leaved　shamrocks；　for　which　one　has　six　leaves；　are　still
fresh；　and　the　moon　stands　high！〃

And　the　Moor…woman　was　gone。

It　struck　twelve　in　the　town；　and　before　the　last　stroke　had
died　away；　the　man　was　out　in　the　yard；　out　in　the　garden；　and　stood
in　the　meadow。　The　mist　had　vanished；　and　the　Moor…woman　stopped　her　brewing。

〃You've　been　a　long　time　coming！〃　said　the　Moor…woman。　〃Witches
get　forward　faster　than　men；　and　I'm　glad　that　I　belong　to　the　witch
folk！〃

〃What　have　you　to　say　to　me　now？〃　asked　the　man。　〃Is　it　anything
about　the　Story？〃

〃Can　you　never　get　beyond　asking　about　that？〃　retorted　the　woman。

〃Can　you　tell　me　anything　about　the　poetry　of　the　future？〃　resumed
the　man。

〃Don't　get　on　your　stilts；〃　said　the　crone；　〃and　I'll　answer
you。　You　think　of　nothing　but　poetry；　and　only　ask　about　that　Story；
as　if　she　were　the　lady　of　the　whole　troop。　She's　the　oldest　of　us
all；　but　she　takes　precedence　of　the　youngest。　I　know　her　well。　I've
been　young；　too；　and　she's　no　chicken　now。　I　was　once　quite　a　pretty
elf…maiden；　and　have　danced　in　my　time　with　the　others　in　the
moonlight；　and　have　heard　the　nightingale；　and　have　gone　into　the
forest　and　met　the　Story…maiden；　who　was　always　to　be　found　out　there；　running　about。　Sometimes　she　took　up　her　night's　lodging　in　a
half…blown　tulip；　or　in　a　field　flower；　sometimes　she　would　slip
into　the　church；　and　wrap　herself　in　the　mourning　crape　that　hung　down　from　the　candles　on　the　altar。〃

〃You　are　capitally　well…informed；〃　said　the　man。

〃I　ought　at　least　to　know　as　much　as　you；〃　answered　the
Moor…woman。　〃Stories　and　poetry…　yes；　they're　like　two　yards　of　the
same　piece　of　stuff；　they　can　go　and　lie　down　where　they　like；　and　one　can　brew　all　their　prattle；　and　have　it　all　the　better　and　cheaper。

You　shall　have　it　from　me　for　nothing。　I　have　a　whole　cupboard…full　of　poetry　in　bottles。　It　makes　essences；　and　that's　the　best　of　it…
bitter　and　sweet　herbs。　I　have　everything　that　people　want　of
poetry；　in　bottles；　so　that　I　can　put　a　little　on　my　handkerchief；
on　holidays；　to　smell。〃

〃Why；　these　are　wonderful　things　that　you're　telling！〃　said　the
man。　〃You　have　poetry　in　bottles？〃

〃More　than　you　can　require；〃　said　the　woman。　〃I　suppose　you　know
the　history　of　'the　Girl　who　Trod　on　the　Loaf；　so　that　she　might　not
soil　her　shoes'？　That　has　been　written；　and　printed　too。〃

〃I　told　that　story　myself；〃　said　the　man。

〃Yes；　then　you　must　know　it；　and　you　must　know　also　that　the
girl　sank　into　the　earth　directly；　to　the　Moor…woman；　just　as　Old
Bogey's　grandmother　was　paying　her　morning　visit　to　inspect　the
brewery。　She　saw　the　girl　gliding　down；　and　asked　to　have　her　as　a
remembrance　of　her　visit；　and　got　her　too；　while　I　received　a
present　that's　of　no　use　to　me…　a　travelling　druggist's　shop…　a
whole　cupboard…full　of　poetry　in　b