‘load; and if you will do me any further favour, give the boy that pleaſes you a Whitſuntide-gift, to buy him a couple of cakes. His father comes to-morrow, and he will bring us ſome white bread out of Bohemia.’ The ſpirit anſwered, I will help thee up with thy burden with all my heart; but unleſs thou wilt give me up the boy entirely, he ſhall have no gift from me.’ ‘It is well,’ replied the woman, and went her way.
The farther ſhe went, the heavier grew the baſket: ſhe at laſt almoſt fainted under the load, and was forced to breathe every ten ſteps. This ſeemed extremely odd: it made her ſuſpect all was not right; ſhe imagined Number-Nip had ſerved her ſome trick; ſo ſhe ſet the baſket on the next ſtone, and turned it topſy-turvy, in order to examine if he had not ſlipped ſome ſtones into it unawares: nothing, however, but leaves fell out, and not a ſingle ſtone; ſhe therefore filled it again only half, and ſcraped as many leaves into
