He grew hot all over, and gazing about him, cried,-- "Killy-killy-killy-killy-goat!" "Ba-a-a-a!" answered the goat, from the brow of the hill, putting its head on one side and peering down.
At the side of the goat there was kneeling a little girl.
"Is this goat yours ?" asked she.
Oyvind opened wide his mouth and eyes, thrust both hands into his pants and said,-- "Who are you ?" "I am Marit, mother's young one, father's fiddle, the hulder of the house, granddaughter to Ola Nordistuen of the Heidegards, four years old in the autumn, two days after the frost nights--I am!" "Is that who you are ?" cried he, drawing a long breath, for he had not ventured to take one while she was speaking.
"Is this goat yours ?" she again inquired.
"Ye-es!" replied he, raising his eyes.
"I have taken such a liking to the goat;--you will not give it to me ?" "No, indeed I will not." She lay kicking up her heels and staring down at him, and presently she said: "But if I give you a twisted bun for the goat, can I have it then ?" Oyvind was the son of poor people; he had tasted twisted bun only once in his life, that was when grandfather came to his house, and he had never eaten anything equal to it before or since.

He fixed his eyes on the girl.
"Let me see the bun first ?" said he.
She was not slow in producing a large twisted bun that she held in her hand.
"Here it is!" cried she, and tossed it down to him.
"Oh! it broke in pieces!" exclaimed the boy, picking up every fragment with the utmost care.

He could not help tasting of the very smallest morsel, and it was so good that he had to try another piece, and before he knew it himself he had devoured the whole bun.
"Now the goat belongs to me," said the girl.
The boy paused with the last morsel in his mouth; the girl lay there laughing, and the goat stood by her side, with its white breast and shining brown hair, giving sidelong glances down.
"Could you not wait a while," begged the boy,--his heart beginning to throb.

Then the girl laughed more than ever, and hurriedly got up on her knees.
"No, the goat is mine," said she, and threw her arms about it, then loosening one of her garters she fastened it around its neck.

Oyvind watched her.