The Legend of the White Reindeer 
to arrive hours before the horse-sleigh, if pos- 
sible. 
Up the rising road they sped as though 
downhill, and the driver’s spirits rose with the 
exhilarating speed. The snow groaned cease- 
lessly under the prow of the pulk, and the 
frosty creaking under the hoofs of the flying 
Ren was like the gritting of mighty teeth. 
Then came the level stretch from Nystuen’s 
hill to Dalecarl’s, and as they whirled by in 
the early day, little Carl chanced to peep from 
a window, and got sight of the Great White 
Ren in a white pulk with a white driver, just as 
it is in the stories of the Giants, and clapped 
his hands, and cried, “‘ Good, good!” 
But his grandfather, when fe caught a 
glimpse of the white wonder that went with- 
out even sound of bells, felt a cold chill in his 
scalp, and went back to light a candle that he 
kept at the window till the sun was high, for 
surely this was the Storbuk of Jétunheim. 
But the Ren whirled on, and the driver 
shook the reins and thought only of Bergen. 
He struck the White Steed with the loose end 
of the rope. The Buk gave three great snorts 
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