But don’t for a moment imagine it! Once more it began to back. That sledge must have been greased with real witch-oil. If it made a third attempt it would surely succeed. Whatever would she do when she got in amongst witches and all the Hosts of Darkness! To be sure she had heard tell of such, but she had never wanted to believe in them. There is so much one would rather not believe until one has seen for oneself whether it is true. “Merciful Lord, lead me not into temptation,” she prayed. All her life she had endured poverty and contempt without a murmur. But were she now to be offered riches and power, would she be able to resist? Or, were she to learn the magic words that cure sickness in humans and animals, or the ones that make the ground yield good harvests, or those that awaken love in young folk, could she withstand the temptation to use them? Might she only be granted strength to rise above temptation and so preserve her soul unto salvation. Just then the sledge took a third lunge. Now it tore ahead, creating a rush of wind that whizzed about her ears. She shut her eyes lest she turn giddy, for in the wink of an eyelid she knew she would be soaring high above the earth--high as the lark. Crash! Now, surely, the wall had given way.... But, thanks be to God! the good board wall still held; it was only the sledge that had broken down. With that, it must have lost all zest for travel. The sledge having come to a dead stop, the wardswoman managed to crawl out and drop down on a heap of straw, to rest after her perilous ride. When in the morning she told it all to the maids and it eventually came to the ears of Grandmother Lagerlöf, the latter thought it sounded a bit queer. Though Grandmother was herself a firm believer in the supernatural, there had to be some semblance of reason and probability behind it. That one could ride to _Blåkulla_ on a light summer’s night, and in a sleigh at that, was something unheard of. Grandmother, of course, went down to the barn and examined the sledge. Finding a couple of long ropes attached to it, she immediately summoned the stableboy and two or three of his companions. After questioning the boys thoroughly, she gave them a good dressing down. This, too, was one of the Lieutenant’s boy-prank yarns. There were many more up his sleeve; but when he had told this and the one about Mamselle Brorström, Fru Lagerlöf would say: “Now that is enough for this evening. It’s time for the children to say Good-night, and go to bed.” IV BELLMAN BALLADS