When the Black Ant came, he shook himself, and behold, he had a twisted leg, and a hump back, and was as black as the ant. Then he ran to the woman. “Look, what a figure I am!” he said; but she only told him to climb the tree, as she had told Pivi. But Kabo climbed with both hands and feet, and he threw down the nuts, instead of carrying them down, and he put them in the hut. And when he went back for them there he found two horrid old black hags, wrangling, and scolding, and scratching! So back he went to Pivi with his two beautiful wives, and Pivi was very sorry, but what could he do? Nothing, but sit and cry. So, one day, Kabo came and asked Pivi to sail in his canoe to a place where he knew of a great big shell-fish, enough to feed on for a week. Pivi went, and deep in the clear water they saw a monstrous shell-fish, like an oyster, as big as a rock, with the shell wide open. “We shall catch it, and dry it, and kipper it,” said Pivi, “and give a dinner to all our friends!” “I shall dive for it, and break it off the rock,” said Kabo, “and then you must help me to drag it up into the canoe.” There the shell-fish lay and gaped, but Kabo, though he dived in, kept well out of the way of the beast. Up he came, puffing and blowing: “Oh, Pivi,” he cried, “I cannot move it. Jump in and try yourself!” Pivi dived, with his spear, and the shell-fish opened its shell wider yet, and sucked, and Pivi disappeared into its mouth, and the shell shut up with a snap! Kabo laughed like a fiend, and then went home. “Where is Pivi?” asked the two pretty girls. Kabo pretended to cry, and told how Pivi had been swallowed. “But dry your tears, my darlings,” said Kabo, “I will be your husband, and my wives shall be your slaves. Everything is for the best, in the best of all possible worlds.” “No, no!” cried the girls, “we love Pivi. We do not love anyone else. We shall stay at home, and weep for Pivi!” “Wretched idiots!” cried Kabo; “Pivi was a scoundrel who broke my leg, and knocked me into the river.” Then a little cough was heard at the door, and Kabo trembled, for he knew it was the cough of Pivi! “Ah, dear Pivi!” cried Kabo, rushing to the door. “What joy! I was trying to console your dear wives.” Pivi said not one word. He waved his hand, and five and twenty of his friends came trooping down the hill. They cut up Kabo into little pieces. Pivi turned round, and there was the good woman of the river. “Pivi,” she said, “how did you get out of the living tomb into which Kabo sent you?” “I had my spear with me,” said Pivi. “It was quite dry inside the shell, and I worked away at the fish with my spear, till he saw reason to open his shell, and out I came.” Then the good woman laughed; and Pivi and his two wives lived happy ever afterwards. [Moncelon. Bulletin de la Societe d’Anthropologie. Series iii. vol. ix., pp. 613-365.] The Elf Maiden