Next morning they rose early and buckled on their swords and coats of mail, and fastened on their heads helmets that they had made the day before from the lump of gold. In the centre of Slagfid's helmet was the green stone, and in the centre of Eigil's was the blue stone, and in the centre of Wayland's was the red stone; and when they were ready they put their reindeer into their sledges, and set out over the snow. When they reached the mountains where only yesterday they had been digging they saw by the light of the moon a host of little men running to meet them. They were dressed all in grey, except for their caps, which were red; they had red eyes, too, and black tongues, which never ceased chattering. These were the mountain elves, and when they came near they formed themselves into a fairy ring, and sang while they danced round it: Will you leave us? Will you leave us? Slagfid, Eigil, and Wayland, sons of a King. Is not the emerald better than grass? Is not the ruby better than roses? Is not the sapphire better than the sky? Why do you leave the mountains of Finmark? [Illustration: The Three Women By The Stream] But Eigil was impatient and struck his reindeer, that willing beast which flies like the wind and needs not the touch of a whip. It bounded forward in surprise, and knocked down one of the elves that stood in its path. But the hands of his brothers laid hold of the reins, and stopped the reindeer, and sang again, The Finlander's world, the Finlander's joy, Lies under the earth; Seek not without what we offer within, Despise not the elves, small and dark though they be. The best is within, do not seek it without: The Finlander's world, the Finlander's joy, Lies under the earth. Slagfid struck his reindeer. It bounded forward and struck down an elf who stood in its road. Then his brothers stood in its path, and stopped the reindeer, and sang: Because Slagfid struck his reindeer, Because Eigil struck his reindeer, Our hatred shall follow you. A time of weal, a time of woe, a time of grief, a time of joy. Because Wayland also forsook us, Though he struck not the reindeer, A time of weal, a time of woe, a time of grief, a time of joy. Farewell, O Finlanders, sons of a King. Their voices died away as they crossed a bright strip of moonlight which lay between them and the mountains and were seen no more. The brothers thought no more about them or their words, but went swiftly on their way south, sleeping at night in their reindeer skins.