And now as the chaise moved rapidly along the shore road toward Sunne, Fru Raklitz sat thinking how she would worry and torment the poor stepdaughter in order to break her will. Of course it was only for the girl’s own good, she flattered herself so that she need have no conscience in the matter. Then, all at once, Svarten, the horse, shied with a jerk that nearly upset the chaise. He acted as if he had the staggers; he dashed off the road, across the ditch, and was down in a field before Long-Bengt, the driver, could check him. When the horse was finally under control he was all a-tremble. Without moving from the spot where he stood he lifted his feet, one at a time, then suddenly gave a shriek such as is seldom heard from a horse--and leaped into the air. Back on to the road he would not go. When Long-Bengt tried to urge him on, he reared and came near kicking the chaise to pieces. “What is it, Bengt, what is it?” gasped Fru Raklitz, clutching the man’s arm in her fright. “Has the horse gone mad?” “That horse has more sense than Frua and me both,” answered Long-Bengt. “He’s not mad, he sees something we ain’t got eyes for to see.” Svarten nosed the ground, snorted, and backed, regardless of the chaise and those in it. Luckily, they were in a field where the summer’s rye had been cut, so that the ground was quite smooth and even. They noticed that they were backing toward a broad, deep ditch; but when the vehicle was at the very edge, the horse stopped; he probably thought he had got past the worst danger. Though still nosing the ground and snorting, he made no more leaps. “You’d better get out, Frua,” said Long-Bengt, “while I try to urge him past whatever ’tis he sees.” Fru Raklitz unbuttoned the carriage apron and was about to set foot to the ground, when she drew back with a cry. “I can’t step down, Bengt,” she said.... “It’s moving!” “I believe Frua’s as daft as the horse,” laughed Long-Bengt. “What’s moving?” “The ground under us is moving, the whole field is moving.” Her voice shook and she felt a lump in her throat. “_Asch!_” said Long-Bengt, and jumped out. He thought it was a ghost that had frightened the horse. But ghosts were supposed to come out of the air; he had never heard of their creeping along the ground. And now he wasn’t long getting back into the chaise himself, nor did he venture out of it again. What the mistress had said was true--the ground certainly appeared to be moving. It did not tremble as in an earthquake, nor glide away as in a landslide; but it was as if every clod of earth in the field had taken feet and was running toward the lake. The two in the chaise sat gazing at the ground--and at last they saw what it was that moved: the field was over-run by hordes of little animals; but they were none the less frightened, the two of them. It couldn’t be anything real or natural, they thought. Where had they come from--all those creatures? Every spot in the field was alive with them!