The Two promised that, and said: “Be sure to leave eight skins, will you? and we will go to bed and rest ourselves.”
“All right, all right!” responded the Field-mice.
So the brothers climbed up the hill to the town, and up the ladder, and slept in their room.
The next morning the girl said: “Now, remember, you will have to clean every skin and make it soft and white.”
So they went down to the river and started to work. The girl had said to them that at midday she would go down and see how they were getting along. They were at work nearly all the forenoon on the skins. While the elder brother shaved the hair off, the younger one scraped them thin and softened them.
When the maiden came at noon, she said: “How are you getting along?”
“We have finished four and are at work on the fifth.”
“Remember,” said she, “you must finish all of them today or I shall have to send you home.”
So they worked away until a little before the sun set, when she appeared again. They had just finished the last. The Field-mice had carefully dressed all the others (they did it better than the men), and there they lay spread out on the sands like a great field of something growing, only white.
When the maiden came down she was perfectly overcome; she looked and looked and counted and recounted. She found them all there. Then she got a long pole and fished in the water, but there were none.
Said she: “Yes, you shall be my husbands; I shall have to submit.”
She went home with them, and for a long time they all lived together, the woman with her two husbands. They managed to get along very comfortably, and the two brothers didn’t quarrel any more than they had done before.
Finally, there were born little twin boys, exactly like their fathers, who were also twins, although one was called the elder and the other the younger.
After a time the younger brother said: “Now, let us go home to our grandmother. People always go home to their own houses and take their families with them.”
“No,” said the elder one, “you must remember that we have been only pretending to be human beings. It would not do to take the maiden home with us.”
“Yes,” said the other; “I want her to go with us. Our grandmother kept making fun of us; called us little, miserable, wretched creatures. I want to show her that we amount to something!”
The elder brother could not get the younger one to leave the wife behind, and like a dutiful wife she said: “I will go with you.” They made up their bundles and started out. It was a very hot day, and when they had climbed nearly to the top of Thunder Mountain, the younger brother said: “Ahem! I am tired. Let us sit down and rest.”
“It will not do,” said the elder brother. “You know very well it will not do to sit down; our father, the Sun, has forbidden that we should be among mortals. It will not do.”
“Oh, yes, it will; we must sit down here,” said the younger brother; and again his wish prevailed and they sat down.
At midday the Sun stood still in the sky, and looked down and saw this beautiful woman, and by the power of his withdrawing rays quickly snatched her from them while they were sitting there talking, she carrying her little children.
The brothers looked around and said: “Where is our wife?”
“Ah, there she is,” cried the younger; “I will shoot her.”
“Shoot your wife!” cried the elder brother. “No, let her go! Serves you right!”
“No,” said the younger, “I will shoot her!” He looked up and drew his arrow, and as his aim was absolutely unerring, swish went the arrow directly to her, and she was killed. The power of life by which the Sun was drawing her up was gone, the thread was cut, and she fell over and over and struck the earth.
The two little children were so very small, and their bones so soft, that the fall did not hurt them much. They fell on the soft bank, and rolled and rolled down the hill, and the younger brother ran forward and caught them up in his arms, crying: “Oh, my little children!” and brought them to the elder brother, who said: “Now, what can be done with these little babies, with no mother, no food?”
“We will take them home to grandmother,” said the younger brother.
“Your grandmother cannot take care of these babies,” said the elder brother.
“Yes, she can, of course,” said the younger brother. “Come on, come on! I didn’t want to lose my wife and children, too; I thought I must still have the children; that is the reason why I shot her.”
So one of them took one of the children, and the other one took the other, and they carried them up to the top of Thunder Mountain.
“Now, then,” said the elder brother, “we went off to marry; we come home with no wife and two little children and with nothing to feed them.”
“Oh, grandmother!” called out the younger brother.
The old woman hadn’t heard them for many a day, for many a month, even for years. She looked out and said: “My grandchildren are coming,” and she called to them: “I am so glad you have come!”
“Here, see what we have,” said the younger brother. “Here are your grandchildren. Come and take them!”
“Oh, you miserable boy, you are always doing something foolish; where is your wife?” asked the grandmother.
“Oh, I shot her!” was the response.
“Why did you do that?”
“I didn’t want my father, the Sun, to take them away with my wife. I knew you would not care anything about my wife, but I knew you would be very fond of the grandchildren. Here
