West of the Moon Read Online Free PDF Page B

barley porridge. Me that does half the work around here, me that sweeps and dusts, me that polishes away cobwebs!” Recalling the dirt he had seen earlier, Peer doubted that it did any of these things well, but he did not say so.
    â€œAnd they has mountains of butter,” went on the Nis, working itself up, “in the dairy. In a wooden barrel,” it added darkly, “to keep off cats and mice and the likes of me. Plain groute they puts in my bowl by the fire, and I sees it, and I fetches it away, and I tastes it – and no butter!”
    â€œI know how you feel,” said Peer, “they didn’t leave me any stew, either.”
    â€œNo butter.” It was still brooding over its wrongs. “Could you get me butter?”
    â€œI shouldn’t think so,” said Peer gloomily, “if they caught me stealing butter I should think they’d half kill me. I don’t suppose I’m going to get much to eat here. I’m sorry,” he added.
    â€œHave an egg!” said the Nis with a squeak of laughter. And it spoke no more that night.
    In the morning when Peer woke up, he wondered if it had been a dream. Then he felt something in the straw just under his hand. It was a smooth brown hen’s egg. Loki looked eagerly at it, ears pricked. He knew what an egg was.
    â€œThanks!” said Peer to the rafters. He broke the egg for Loki, who lapped it up as noisily as the Nis, while Peer stretched and brushed straw from his clothes.
    â€œCome on, Loki,” he said, pushing the barn door open. “Let’s go and explore!”

Chapter 4
Meeting Hilde
    T HE SKY WAS fresh and clear. It was still very early. Peer splashed through the puddles, keeping a wary eye on the silent mill with its blind shutters and tattered thatch. A dismal thread of smoke wavered from the roof and trickled into the yard. There was no sign of anyone about.
    Peer walked around the end of the building to the bridge. He leaned on the rail, looking upstream at the big wooden waterwheel. It towered higher than his head, its dark teeth dripping. A cold breath came off the water, which flowed listlessly under the bridge in inky creases.
    He crossed over and turned up the bank to visit the millpond. It was a gloomy place, even on this bright morning. Patches of green slime rotated on the dark water, which seemed hardly to move except at the very edge of the weir. Peer sniffed. There was a damp reek in the air.
    He walked further, till his way was blocked by a narrow, deep-cut channel, fed by an open sluice in the side of the millpond. The water sprayed in a glittering arc over a sill slotted between wooden posts, and dashed noisily away to join the tailrace below the bridge.
    Loki had run off, nosing into the reeds with his tail high. He dashed back and jumped at Peer with muddy paws.
    â€œDown!” Peer pushed him off. “Phew. That stinks!” It was thick, black mud, the sort that dries to a hard grey shell. He tried to wipe Loki’s paws with a handful of grass, and Loki tried to help by lavishly licking his own paws and Peer’s fingers. In the middle of this mess Peer heard a pony coming down the lane towards the mill.
    A girl of about his own age was riding it, brightly dressed in a blue woollen dress with red stitching. On her head she wore a jaunty red and yellow cap, and her hair was done in two long plaits tied with pieces of red and blue ribbon. She sat sideways on the shaggy little pony, with a basket on her knee. Her eyes widened when she saw Peer, and she pulled the pony to a stop. “Hello! Who are you?”
    Peer tried to wipe his muddy hands on his clothes. “My name’s Peer. Peer Ulfsson.”
    â€œ Ulf’s son?” said the girl. “Now wait, I know everyone, don’t tell me. I’ll get it. Yes! There was an Ulf who was old Grim’s stepson. Is that him?”
    Peer nodded. “But he died last week,” he told her. “Oh, I’m sorry!