“I will soon decide the quarrel,” said the drummer, and he went to a short distance and stuck a white rod in the ground. Then he came back and said, “Now run to the goal, and whoever gets there first, shall ride first.” Both put themselves into a trot; but hardly had they gone a couple of steps before the drummer swung himself on the saddle, wished himself on the glass-mountain, and before anyone could turn round, he was there. On the top of the mountain was a plain; there stood an old stone house, and in front of the house lay a great fishpond, but behind it was a dark forest. He saw neither men nor animals, everything was quiet; only the wind rustled amongst the trees, and the clouds moved by quite close above his head. He went to the door and knocked. When he had knocked for the third time, an old woman with a brown face and red eyes opened the door. She had spectacles on her long nose, and looked sharply at him; then she asked what he wanted. “Entrance, food, and a bed for the night,” replied the drummer.

“That thou shalt have,” said the old woman, “if thou wilt perform three services in return.”