"Good evening, mother!" said the man.
"The same to you," said she; "it's hundreds of years since any one called me mother."
"Can I lodge here to-night?" asked the man.
"No," said the old hag.
But he took out his roll of tobacco, lighted his pipe, and gave the old dame a whiff, and a good pinch of snuff besides on the back of her hand. Then she was so happy that she began to jump and dance for joy, and so the man got leave to stay the night. When that was over, he began to ask after Farmer Weathersky. "No, she had never heard tell of him; but she ruled all the fish in the sea; perhaps some of them might know something about him." So she played them all home with a pipe she had, and asked them, but there wasn't one of them who knew anything about Farmer Weathersky.
"Well, well!" said the old hag, "there's one sister of us left; maybe she knows something about him. She lives six hundred miles off, but I'll lend you my horse and sledge, and then you'll get there by nightfall."
Then the man started off, and reached the house by nightfall, and there he found another old hag who stood before the grate, and stirred the fire with her nose, so long and tough it was.
"Good evening, mother!" said the man.
"The same to you," said the old hag; "it's hundreds of years since any one called me mother."
"Can I lodge here to-night?" asked the man.
"No," said the old hag.
Then the man pulled out his roll of tobacco again, and lighted his pipe, and gave the old hag such a pinch of snuff
