Tired and and hungry, the traveler walked on until he had left the town of unkind folk
behind him. He came to a small, gray stone cottage standing by itself. It was so small
that it seemed to be tucked into the hillside for shelter. A twisted hawthorn tree
hung its scarlet berries over the steep roof.
“Perhaps I shall have better luck here,” thought the traveler, and he knocked at the
door.
It was opened by a cheerful-looking little woman wearing a spotless white apron .
“Come you in,” she said at once. “You look cold and tired.”
“Thank you,” said the traveler gratefully. By the hearth sat an old man. A kettle
steamed on the hob , and a black cat lay asleep on the mat.
“Sit you down,” said the old man. “You’re welcome to anything we have. “It’s good to
have a visitor. Folk round here are not friendly.”
The traveler shared their supper of oat cakes and milk, and when it was done he lay
down near the fire, for there was only one room. The wind howled outside, but within
the little cottage all was peaceful and warm.
In the morning, the traveler said farewell and thanked the old man and his wife for
the shelter and food they had given him.
The old couple stood at the door and watched him climb the steep path. After a while
he paused on the hillside and looked out over the town. It was almost hidden in the
rising mist from the gray lake.
Then they saw him stretch out his arms and his long staff until he looked almost a
giant, and they heard him cry in a ringing voice:
“Semerwater rise, Semerwater sink!
Swallow all this town, save the house that
gave me food and drink!”
Before the old people’s eyes, the lake rose up in great waves, mountain high. Then
with a terrible crash the water fell upon the town and hid it from sight. The waves ran
hissing up the hillside and stopped just short of the old couple as they stood
trembling with terror.
When they looked round for the traveler, he had disappeared. So had the town with
all its wicked people. In its place lay a peaceful, unrippled lake, which is there to this
day.