The animals--or whatever they were--scurried across the ditch up on to the road and then went rushing down an incline into the lake. Now what sort of creatures could they be, to behave in that way? Had they been of God’s creation there would surely have been some end to them; but these kept coming in limitless numbers. The horse had now become fairly calm. Only when the little animals ran between his feet he would snort and draw back. Fru Raklitz, meanwhile, was far from calm. Her teeth chattered from fright, and she mumbled and talked to herself. However, she sat still as long as they were in the field. But the horse was not going to stand out there the whole night. He began to move on his own accord; he walked slowly, lifting his feet and putting them down very carefully; but at least he went forward and not backward. The strange little animals got into the way of the horse and wagon, and there was a grinding, crunching noise as the wheels passed over the tiny bodies. When Fru Raklitz heard that grinding she jumped to her feet, and began to shriek wildly. Long-Bengt quickly caught her round the waist, to prevent her throwing herself out of the chaise. “They’re after me! They’re after me!” she cried. “They’re on the wheels--they’re on the step--they’re in the wagon!” The horse increased his speed. The chaise moved joltingly as the wheels went over the little animals. “They’re in the chaise, they’re in the chaise!” screamed Fru Raklitz, springing up on to the seat. “They’re pulling at my skirt--they mean to drag me to the lake!” Now Long-Bengt had to stand up to hold her back. “By rights, I ought to let you tumble into the road for your meanness,” he muttered. All the same he kept his arm round her. They were at last back on the road and had driven over great swarms of the roving animals, when Svarten suddenly stopped and neighed contentedly. “It’s all over now,” said Long-Bengt. “Sit down, Frua.” But Fru Raklitz went on shrieking, “They’re in the chaise; they’re pulling at my skirt; they’ll drag me to the lake.” Long-Bengt had to pull her down by main force and set her on the seat. She struggled so hard he dared not let go of her. “Go on, Svarten!” he said. “You’ll have to find the way without me holding the reins.” The horse set off at a trot, while Fru Raklitz, shaking and blubbering, rambled on about their climbing the wheels and trying to get into the chaise. “You’ll have to run, Svarten,” said Long-Bengt, “or she’ll go clean off her head before we get her home.” Svarten perhaps understood. Anyhow, he must have wanted to get home to his crib, for he took the hills up and down at top speed. Long-Bengt sat there with beads of cold sweat standing on his forehead; he tried to assure Fru Raklitz that the trouble was over, but she would not believe him. “You are very kind, Bengt,” she whimpered; “but don’t tell me we are safe; I hear them, I see them, they are after us, and mean to drive me into the lake.”