Popular Tales from the Norse Part 27

'Ah!' said Gudbrand, 'but you see I've not got the horse after all; for when I got a bit farther on the road, I swopped it away for a pig.'

'Think of that, now!' said the wife; 'you did just as I should have done myself; a thousand thanks! Now I can have a bit of bacon in the house to set before people when they come to see me, that I can. What do we want with a horse? People would only say we had got so proud that we couldn't walk to church. Go out, child, and put up the pig in the sty.'

'But I've not got the pig either', said Gudbrand; 'for when I got a little farther on, I swopped it away for a milch goat.'

'Bless us!' cried his wife, 'how well you manage everything! Now I think it over, what should I do with a pig? People would only point at us and say, "Yonder they eat up all they have got." No! now I have got a goat, and I shall have milk and cheese, and keep the goat too.

Run out, child, and put up the goat.'

'Nay, but I haven't got the goat either', said Gudbrand, 'for a little farther on I swopped it away, and got a fine sheep instead.'

'You don't say so!' cried his wife; 'why, you do everything to please me, just as if I had been with you; what do we want with a goat? If I had it I should lose half my time in climbing up the hills to get it down. No! if I have a sheep, I shall have both wool and clothing, and fresh meat in the house. Run out, child, and put up the sheep.'

'But I haven't got the sheep any more than the rest', said Gudbrand; 'for when I had gone a bit farther, I swopped it away for a goose.'

'Thank you! thank you! with all my heart', cried his wife; 'what should I do with a sheep? I have no spinning-wheel, nor carding-comb, nor should I care to worry myself with cutting, and shaping, and sewing clothes. We can buy clothes now, as we have always done; and now I shall have roast goose, which I have longed for so often; and, besides, down to stuff my little pillow with. Run out, child, and put up the goose.'

'Ah!' said Gudbrand, 'but I haven't the goose either; for when I had gone a bit farther I swopped it away for a c.o.c.k.'

'Dear me!' cried his wife, 'how you think of everything! just as I should have done myself. A c.o.c.k! think of that! why it's as good as an eight-day clock, for every morning the c.o.c.k crows at four o'clock, and we shall be able to stir our stumps in good time. What should we do with a goose? I don't know how to cook it; and as for my pillow, I can stuff it with cotton-gra.s.s. Run out, child, and put up the c.o.c.k.'

'But, after all, I haven't got the c.o.c.k', said Gudbrand; 'for when I had gone a bit farther, I got as hungry as a hunter, so I was forced to sell the c.o.c.k for a shilling, for fear I should starve.'

'Now, G.o.d be praised that you did so!' cried his wife; 'whatever you do, you do it always just after my own heart. What should we do with the c.o.c.k? We are our own masters, I should think, and can lie a-bed in the morning as long as we like. Heaven be thanked that I have got you safe back again; you who do everything so well that I want neither c.o.c.k nor goose; neither pigs nor kine.'

Then Gudbrand opened the door and said; 'Well, what do you say now?

Have I won the hundred dollars?' and his neighbour was forced to allow that he had.

THE BLUE BELT

Once on a time there was an old beggar-woman, who had gone out to beg. She had a little lad with her, and when she had got her bag full, she struck across the hills towards her own home. So when they had gone a bit up the hill-side, they came upon a little blue belt, which lay where two paths met, and the lad asked his mother's leave to pick it up.

'No', said she, 'maybe there's witchcraft in it'; and so with threats she forced him to follow her. But when they had gone a bit further, the lad said he must turn aside a moment out of the road, and meanwhile his mother sat down on a tree-stump. But the lad was a long time gone, for as soon as he got so far into the wood, that the old dame could not see him, he ran off to where the belt lay, took it up, tied it round his waist, and lo! he felt as strong as if he could lift the whole hill. When he got back, the old dame was in a great rage, and wanted to know what he had been doing all that while. You don't care how much time you waste, and yet you know the night is drawing on, and we must cross the hill before it is dark!' So on they tramped; but when they had got about half-way, the old dame grew weary, and said she must rest under a bush.

'Dear mother', said the lad, 'mayn't I just go up to the top of this high crag while you rest, and try if I can't see some sign of folk hereabouts?'

Yes! he might do that; so when he had got to the top, he saw a light shining from the north. So he ran down and told his mother.

'We must get on, mother; we are near a house, for I see a bright light shining quite close to us in the north.' Then she rose and shouldered her bag, and set off to see; but they hadn't gone far, before there stood a steep spur of the hill, right across their path.

'Just as I thought!' said the old dame; 'now we can't go a step farther; a pretty bed we shall have here!'

But the lad took the bag under one arm, and his mother under the other, and ran straight up the steep crag with them.

'Now, don't you see! don't you see that we are close to a house!

don't you see the bright light?'

But the old dame said those were no Christian folk, but Trolls, for she was at home in all that forest far and near, and knew there was not a living soul in it, until you were well over the ridge, and had come down on the other side. But they went on, and in a little while they came to a great house which was all painted red.

'What's the good?' said the old dame, 'we daren't go in, for here the Trolls live.'

'Don't say so; we must go in. There must be men where the lights shine so', said the lad. So in he went, and his mother after him, but he had scarce opened the door before she swooned away, for there she saw a great stout man, at least twenty feet high, sitting on the bench.

'Good evening, grandfather!' said the lad.

'Well, here I've sat three hundred years', said the man who sat on the bench, 'and no one has ever come and called me grandfather before.' Then the lad sat down by the man's side, and began to talk to him as if they had been old friends.

'But what's come over your mother?' said the man, after they had chattered a while. 'I think she swooned away; you had better look after her.'

So the lad went and took hold of the old dame; and dragged her up the hall along the floor. That brought her to herself, and she kicked, and scratched, and flung herself about, and at last sat down upon a heap of firewood in the corner; but she was so frightened that she scarce dared to look one in the face.

After a while, the lad asked if they could spend the night there.

'Yes, to be sure', said the man.

So they went on talking again, but the lad soon got hungry, and wanted to know if they could get food as well as lodging.

'Of course', said the man, 'that might be got too.' And after he had sat a while longer, he rose up and threw six loads of dry pitch-pine on the fire. This made the old hag still more afraid.

'Oh! now he's going to roast us alive', she said, in the corner where she sat.

And when the wood had burned down to glowing embers, up got the man and strode out of his house.

'Heaven bless and help us! what a stout heart you have got', said the old dame; 'don't you see we have got amongst Trolls?'

'Stuff and nonsense!' said the lad; 'no harm if we have.'

In a little while back came the man with an ox so fat and big, the lad had never seen its like, and he gave it one blow with his fist under the ear, and down it fell dead on the floor. When that was done, he took it up by all the four legs, and laid it on the glowing embers, and turned it and twisted it about till it was burnt brown outside. After that, he went to a cupboard and took out a great silver dish, and laid the ox on it; and the dish was so big that none of the ox hung over on any side. This he put on the table, and then he went down into the cellar, and fetched a cask of wine, knocked out the head, and put the cask on the table, together with two knives, which were each six feet long. When this was done, he bade them go and sit down to supper and eat. So they went, the lad first and the old dame after, but she began to whimper and wail, and to wonder how she should ever use such knives. But her son seized one, and began to cut slices out of the thigh of the ox, which he placed before his mother. And when they had eaten a bit, he took up the cask with both hands, and lifted it down to the floor; then he told his mother to come and drink, but it was still so high she couldn't reach up to it; so he caught her up, and held her up to the edge of the cask while she drank; as for himself, he clambered up and hung down like a cat inside the cask while he drank. So when he had quenched his thirst, he took up the cask and put it back on the table, and thanked the man for the good meal, and told his mother to come and thank him too, and a-feared though she was, she dared do nothing else but thank the man.

Then the lad sat down again alongside the man and began to gossip, and after they had sat a while, the man said,

'Well! I must just go and get a bit of supper too'; and so he went to the table and ate up the whole ox--hoofs, and horns, and all--and drained the cask to the last drop, and then went back and sat on the bench.

As for beds', he said, 'I don't know what's to be done. I've only got one bed and a cradle; but we could get on pretty well if you would sleep in the cradle, and then your mother might lie in the bed yonder.'

'Thank you kindly, that'll do nicely', said the lad; and with that he pulled off his clothes and lay down in the cradle; but, to tell you the truth; it was quite as big as a four-poster. As for the old dame, she had to follow the man who showed her to bed, though she was out of her wits for fear.

'Well!' thought the lad to himself, ''twill never do to go to sleep yet. I'd best lie awake and listen how things go as the night wears on.'

So after a while the man began to talk to the old dame, and at last he said:

'We two might live here so happily together, could we only be rid of this son of yours.'

'But do you know how to settle him? Is that what you're thinking of?' said she.

'Nothing easier', said he; at any rate he would try. He would just say he wished the old dame would stay and keep house for him a day or two, and then he would take the lad out with him up the hill to quarry corner-stones, and roll down a great rock on him. All this the lad lay and listened to.