Chapter III: Part 3

When the wedding guests sat themselves at table everything that was brought in vanished, both food and drink, to the great astonishment of all, as they could not understand where it disappeared; but a young peasant suspected the Trolls were at the bottom of it, and, springing upon a horse, rode straightway to Borgåsa Mountain. On the steps stood the mountain queen, so beautiful and fine, who inquired of the rider how things were going at the wedding feast in Grimland.

“The food is salt and the oil is sour,” answered he. “That stingy farmer has hidden the wine and meat in the cellar where no one can find it. Now, your husband sends greeting, and requests that you give me the Hålde hat, that he may be able to find its hiding-place.”

Without mistrust the queen gave him the enchanted hat, whereupon the young peasant hastened back to the festivities. Entering the hall, he donned the hat and saw at once the mountain king and his followers sitting among the guests, seizing upon everything as fast as brought in. The peasant drew his sword, and commanded the others to do likewise.

“Stab as I stab and cut as I cut,” cried he, and began to slash around the table. The other guests followed his example and slew the mountain king and all his followers. From that time, so says the story, the castle upon Borgåsa Mountain has been untenanted.

THE GOLDEN CRADLE.

One stormy autumn night, a few years after the death of Charles XII., a ship containing a valuable cargo was wrecked on the island of Tjorn, one of the group of islands on the coast of Bohuslän. Among other things of value in the ship’s cargo were many articles of costly jewelry, belonging to King Frederick I., which were being brought to him from Hessia. The most costly, however, was a jewel inclosed in a cradle made of pure gold and richly embellished with pearls and precious stones, sent by a German princess to the king’s spouse.

The islanders, as was not unusual in those days, murdered the ship’s crew, and, after it had been plundered of its cargo, scuttled and sunk her, so that she was safely out of sight.

Among the priests upon the island was one named Michael Koch, pastor in Klofvedal. He had a hint of the great crime that had been committed, but, fearing the half-barbarous inhabitants, did not dare betray the secret.

Some time after the ship had disappeared a fisherman came one day to the parsonage and presented to the priest a walking stick of great beauty of workmanship and value, which was a part of the cargo of the plundered vessel. Koch accepted the gift, and whether he did not know or did not care where it came from, took it with him, often displaying it upon the streets. When, two years later, he went to Stockholm, as representative to the Diet, King Frederick one day accidentally saw and recognized it as his property. The priest, however, asserted that it was his, and rightfully acquired. But the king could not be deceived, and opening a heretofore concealed hollow in the cane, took therefrom a roll of gold coins. This action attracted attention and aroused suspicion anew that the ship had been plundered. It was not thought that Koch had a hand in it, but, on the assumption that he knew something about it which he ought to have revealed, and that he was trying to conceal the deed, he was escorted from Stockholm.

Meantime further discoveries were made, until they led to finding that the gold cradle was in possession of a peasant in Stordal. At the king’s command, soldiers were at once dispatched to Tjorn to arrest the criminals and, possibly, find the jewel. But the command was not kept so secret that the peasant did not get an intimation of what was coming, whereupon he hastened to bury the cradle in Stordal Heath. Under guidance of a police officer the search was prosecuted in all directions, but when the soldiers could not discover the object of their search, they left the island and the offenders escaped.

Some years later the possessor of the cradle became sick. When he found that his case was serious he sent for the priest, and confided to him the whereabouts of his booty, and requested that as soon as he was dead the priest should dig the cradle up and restore it to the king. Hardly had the priest taken his departure when the sick man regretted his simplicity. Gathering his little remaining strength, he rose from his bed, and, with unsteady steps, crept out into the field and concealed his buried treasure in another place. As soon as the man was dead, the priest set out about fulfilling his commission. His digging was in vain, the hidden treasure was not to be found. In his dying hour the peasant had, apparently, endeavored to reveal the new hiding place, but his strength was so near exhausted that his utterances could not be understood.

To this day many of the dwellers on the island are fully persuaded that Queen Elenor’s golden cradle may be found somewhere in the Stordal cow pastures, and many have wasted much time and labor in the hope of bringing it to light.

THE CHILD PHANTOM.

Many years ago there died, on the estate of Sundshult, in the parish of Nafverstad, a child of illegitimate birth, which, because of this, was not christened and could not be accorded Christian burial, or a place in heaven, and whose spirit, therefore, was left to wander the earth, disturbing the rest and making night uncomfortable for the people of the neighborhood.

One time, just before Christmas, the parish shoemaker, on his rounds, was detained at the house of a patron, and, having much work before him, he was still sewing late into the night, when he was unexpectedly startled from his employment by a little child appearing before him, which said:

“Why do you sit there? Move aside.”

“For what?” asked the shoemaker.

“Because I wish to dance,” said the spectre.

“Dance away, then!” said the shoemaker.

When the child had danced some time it disappeared, but returned soon and said:

“I will dance again, and I’ll dance your light out for you.”

“No,” said the shoemaker, “let the light alone. But who are you that you are here in this manner?”

“I live under the lower stone of the steps to the porch.”

“Who put you there?” asked the shoemaker.

“Watch when it dawns, and you will see my mother coming, wearing a red cap. But help me out of this, and I’ll never dance again.”

This the shoemaker promised to do, and the spectre vanished.

The next day a servant girl from the neighboring estate came, who wore upon her head a red handkerchief.

Digging was begun under the designated step, and in time the skeleton of a child was found, incased in a wooden tub. The body was that day taken to the churchyard, and the mother, who had destroyed her child, turned over to the authorities. Since then the child spectre has danced no more.

KING RANE AND QUEEN HUDTA.

Upon the height where Svarteborg’s Church is now situated, rose, in former times, a castle, occupied at the date of our story by a king named Rane, after whom the fortification took the name of Ranesborg. As late as a few years ago traces of a wall were to be seen in the so-called bell-tower, near the church path, which were said to be the remains of the once stately fortress.

At the time King Rane resided in Ranesborg, there lived not far from there, upon the Hudt estate, in the parish of Tanum, a Queen Hudta, widely known for her wealth and beauty, also for her rare bravery and sour temper.

Enraptured by the king’s fame for bravery, though well along in years, she sent an embassador to the king offering him her hand, which he accepted. After a time he fell in love with another and regretted his previous betrothal, but said nothing to Queen Hudta, who, upon the appointed day, betook herself, arrayed in queenly garb and glittering crown, to Ranesborg.

When the bridal car arrived at the castle it was found that the king had gone on a hunt, and had left word that the queen might return to her home again. Stung by this bitter affront, the queen commanded her people to storm the castle and raze it to the ground. Returning to her horse, when the destruction had been completed, and viewing the black and smoking ruins of the castle, she thus vented herself:

“Up to the present you have been called Ranesborg, but hereafter you shall be known as Svarteborg”—Black Castle—and, putting spurs to her horse, she galloped away from the spot.

When the queen came to the so-called Köpstadbäcken, on her way to Tanum, she halted at a spring, dismounted and laid her crown and equipments upon a stone. She then requested a drink, and, the water being good, the spring was named Godtakällan—good spring.

Meantime Rane, during the chase, had observed the smoke and flames from his burning castle and set out hastily homeward. At Köpstadbäcken he came upon the bridal car of the malevolent queen, when he understood what had taken place, and drawing his sword, he clove the head of his intended bride. At sight of this her followers at once took to flight, but they were overtaken and hewn down at Stenehed, where one of the finest monuments on Bohuslän marks the incident. The murdered queen’s body was carried to her castle at Hudt, where a large prostrate stone near the wagon road is said to mark her grave.

THE KNIGHTS OF ÅLLABERG.

One time a peasant, en route to Jönköping with a load of rye, came just at dusk to Ållaberg, where he discovered a grand mansion by the way. “Maybe I can sell my rye here,” thought he, “and so be spared the journey to Jönköping,” and, approaching the door, he knocked for admittance.

The door was at once opened by some unseen power, and the peasant entered.

Upon entering, he found himself in a grand hall. In the middle of the floor stood a large table and upon the table lay twelve golden helmets, grand beyond the power of description, and scattered around the room, deep in slumber, were twelve knights in glittering armor.

The peasant contemplated his beautiful surroundings, but, concluding he could not sell his rye here, went on, coming finally to a large stable, where he found standing twelve most magnificent steeds, bedecked with golden trappings and silver shoes on their hoofs, stamping in their stalls.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he took hold of the bridle of one of the horses in order to learn by what art it was made. Hardly had he touched it when he heard a voice call out, “Is it time now?” and another answer, “No, not yet!”

The peasant had now seen and heard as much as he desired, and, thoroughly frightened, hastened away. When he came out he found that he had been into the mountain instead of into a mansion, and that he had seen the twelve knights who sleep there until the country shall be in some great danger, when they will awake and help Sweden to defend herself against her foreign enemies.

THE COUNTESS OF HÖJENTORP. [18]

Shortly after King Charles XI. had confiscated most of the property of the nobility to the use of the crown, he came, one day, while upon one of his journeys to Höjentorp, where his aunt on his father’s side, Maria Eufrosyna, lived.

On the stairs, as he was about to enter her dwelling, he was met by her and at once saluted with a sound box on the ear. Astounded, the king burst out:

“It is fortunate that it is I whom you have struck! but why are you in such a combative mood, my aunt?”

“Why?” said the countess. “Because you have taken all my possessions from me.”

Conducting the king to the dining hall, the countess sat before him to eat a herring’s tail and an oat cake.

“Have you no better fare for me than this?” asked the king.

“No,” replied the lady; “as you have spread the cloth so must you dine.”

“Aunt,” said the king, “if you will give me your gold and silver, I will provide for you richly to your death.”

“Shame on you!” interrupted the countess. “Will you not allow me to keep so little as my gold and silver, either?” and, advancing upon him, she gave him a second box on the ear, which so alarmed the king that he beat a hasty retreat and commanded that the countess be left in peaceful possession of her property to the end of her days.

THE GIANT OF SKALUNDA.

On Skalunda Hill, near Skalunda Church, there lived, in olden times, a giant, who, much annoyed by the ringing of the church bells, was finally compelled to move away, and took up his residence on an island, far away in the North Sea. One time a ship was wrecked upon this island, and among those of her crew rescued were several men from Skalunda.

“Where are you from?” inquired the giant, who was now old and blind, and was stretched out warming himself before a fire of logs.

“We are from Skalunda, if you wish to know,” said one of the men.

“Give me your hand, for I wish to know if still there is warm blood in Sweden,” said the giant.

The man, afraid of the grasp of the giant, drew a glowing iron rod from the fire, which he extended to the giant, who, grasping it with great force, squeezed it until the iron ran between his fingers.

“Ah, yes, there is still warm blood in Sweden,” exclaimed he, “but does Skalunda Hill still exist?”

“No, the birds have scratched it down,” answered the man.

“It could not stand,” remarked the giant, “for my wife and daughter built it one Sunday morning. But how is it with Halle and Hunneberg? They remain, surely, for I myself built them.”

Upon receiving a reply in the affirmative, he asked if Karin, a giantess, still lived, and when to this he was answered yes, he gave them a belt and bade them take it to Karin and say to her that she must wear it in his memory.

The men took the belt, and upon their return home gave it to Karin, but, before she would put it upon herself, she wrapped it around an oak which was growing near by. Hardly was this done when the oak was torn from the ground, and sailed off northward as if in a gale. In the ground where the oak stood, there was left a deep pit, and here to-day is pointed out the best spring in Stommen.

THE TROLLS IN RESSLARED.

In a mountain called Räfvakullen, Fox Hill, near the Church of Resslared, Trolls, it is said, have lived since long before the building of the church.

When the church was completed and the bell hung in the tower, the priest, as was the custom, proceeded to read prayers over it to protect it from the power of the Trolls. But his prayers lacked the expected efficacy, for he had not yet finished when the Trolls took the bell and sunk it in the “Troll Hole” near the church.

A new bell was cast and hung, and this time the provost, who was more learned, was selected to consecrate it. The provost also failed to hit upon the right prayers, for the following Sunday, when the bell was about to be used for the first time, it flew through the apertures in the tower and was broken on the roof of the church.

Again a bell was cast, and this time, as priest and provost seemed to be powerless against the Trolls, the Bishop of Skara was sent for. His prayers were effectual, and the bell was not again disturbed.

The Trolls thereafter dwelt in harmony with their neighbors, and especially with the parishioners of Resslared. From the latter the Trolls were wont to borrow food and drink, which they always returned two-fold.

In time the first residents died off, and new people took their places. The newcomers were well provided with this world’s goods, even to being wealthy, but they were niggardly and uncharitable.

One day the “mother” of the Trolls went, as was her custom of old, to a cottage, and asked the housewife if she could lend her a measure of meal.

“No, that is out of the question! I have none in the house!” said the woman.

“Very well! It is as you say, of course,” replied the Troll, “but maybe you can lend me a can or two of ale. My husband is away, and he will be very thirsty when he returns.”

“No, I can’t do that. My ale cans are all empty,” answered the housewife.

“Very good! Maybe you can lend me a little milk for my little child that is sick in the mountain.”

“Milk! Where should I get milk? My cows are all farrow,” said the woman.

“Very well,” said the Troll woman, and went her way.

The housewife laughed in her sleeve, and thought that she had escaped the Trolls cheaply; but when she inspected her larder it was found that she had really told the truth to the Troll woman. The meal boxes were swept clean, the ale barrels were empty, and the new milch cows, to the last one, farrow. Ever after that the plenty that had heretofore been was wanting, until finally the people were compelled to sell out and move away.

BISHOP SVEDBERG AND THE DEVIL.

Bishop Svedberg, of Skara, was a very pious man and a mighty preacher, therefore, intolerable to the devil.

One night the Bishop set out from Skara to his bishopric in Brunsbo. When he was on the way some distance, the wagon began to run from side to side of the road, and finally one of the hind wheels fell off and rolled away into the ditch.

The driver called the attention of the Bishop to this, and remarked that they could go no farther.

“Don’t trouble yourself about that,” said the Bishop. “Throw the wheel into the rear of the wagon and we will go along.”

The servant thought this a strange command, but did as directed, and the journey was continued to Brunsbo without further adventure.

Arriving at the inn, the Bishop directed the servant to go to the kitchen and bring a light.

“Look, now,” said the Bishop to the servant upon his return, “and you shall see who has been the fourth wheel,” at the same time springing from the wagon.

The servant turned the light in the direction indicated, where he saw none other than the devil himself, standing in the place of the wheel, with the axle in his hands.

The devil soon found an opportunity for revenge. One night a great fire spread over Brunsbo, and before morning the whole place was burned to the ground.

The Bishop was at no loss to know who had played him this foul trick, and called the devil to account for the devastation.

“Verily, you shall know,” said the devil. “Your maid was down in the pantry, and there snuffed the candle. Passing by, I took the snuffing and with it set fire to the place.”

The Bishop was obliged to be content with this answer, but in order that the devil should do him no further harm he sent him, with all his imps, to hell.

THE TREASURE IN SÄBY CREEK.

On the estate of Säby, in the parish of Hassle, lived, in former days, a gentleman so rich that he could have purchased half of the territory of Vestergötland, but so miserly that he could not find it in his heart to spend money for necessary food.

When he became aged, and knew that his life was drawing to a close, he began to ponder what he should do with his wealth to prevent its falling into the hands of people not akin to him, and finally he arrived at what he thought a wise determination.

One Sunday, when the people of the house were all in church, he loaded his gold and silver upon a golden wagon and drew it down to Säby Creek, where he sank it in the deepest hole he could find. Reaching home again, he felt more than usually content, and laid himself down upon his bed, where he was found upon the return of the people from church.

When a treasure has been concealed seven years, the Red Spirit is said to take possession of it, and it is then called “Dragon’s property.” Over the spot where the treasure lies a blue flame is seen to flutter at night time, and it is said the dragons are then polishing their treasure.

When the seven years had passed the dragon light was seen over Säby Creek, now for the first time revealing where the miser had deposited his wealth. Many efforts were made to recover the costly wagon and its load, but neither horses nor oxen were found with strength enough to lift it from the hole.

About this time it happened that a farmer, returning from the market of Skagersholm, where he had been with a load of produce, found quarters for the night with an old man at Tveden. The evening conversation turned upon the hidden treasure, and the many unsuccessful attempts to recover it that had been made, when the old man instructed his guest to procure a pair of bull calves, upon which there should not be a single black hair, and to feed them for three years on skimmed milk, whereby they would acquire the necessary strength to drag the wagon out of the creek.

After great trouble the farmer was fortunate enough to find the desired white calves, and he at once set about rearing them as instructed. But one time the girl who had care of the calves accidentally spilled some of the milk set apart for one of them, and, in order to have the pail full, she replaced the milk with water and gave it to the calf as if nothing had happened. Meantime the calves grew up on their excellent food to large and powerful oxen.

When they were three years old the farmer drove them to the creek and hitched them to the golden wagon. It was heavy, but the calves put their shoulders to it, and had raised it half way from the hole, when one of them fell upon his knees, and the wagon sank back to its old resting-place. The farmer yoked them to it again, but just as the wagon was about to be landed safely, the same bull fell to its knees a second time, so it went time after time, until, finally, the owner saw that one of the bulls was weaker than the other.

When the wagon sank back the last time a bubbling and murmuring came up from the depths and a smothered voice was heard to mutter:

“Your skimmed milk calves can’t draw my wagon out.” Whereupon the farmer understood that to trouble himself further would be useless, since when no attempts have been made to secure the treasure.

THE TOMTS. [19]

In descriptions of Tomts we are told that they look like little men well along in years, and in size about that of a child three or fours years old, as a rule clad in coarse gray clothes and wearing red caps upon their heads. They usually make the pantry or barn their abiding-place, where they busy themselves night and day, and keep watch over the household arrangements. When the servants are to go to threshing, or other work requiring early rising, they are awakened by the Tomts. If there is building going on, it is a good sign if the Tomts are heard chopping and pounding during the hours of rest for the workmen. In the forge where the Tomts have established themselves, the smith may take his rest in confidence that they will awaken him by a blow on the sole of the foot when it is time for him to turn the iron. Formerly no iron was worked on “Tomt night,” which they reserved for purposes of their own. On this night, were one to peek through the cracks of the door, the little people would be discovered working silver bars, or turning their own legs under the hammer.

It is believed that in the house or community where there is order and prosperity the Tomts are resident, but in the house where proper respect is lacking, or where there is a want of order and cleanliness, they will not remain, and it will follow that the cup-board and corn-crib will be empty, the cattle will not thrive, and the peasant will be reduced to extreme poverty and want.

It happened thus to a farmer that he had never finished his threshing before spring, although he could not find that he had harvested more grain than others of his neighbors. To discover, if might be, the source of such plenty, he one day hid himself in the barn, whence he saw a multitude of Tomts come, each bearing a stalk of rye, among them one not larger than a man’s thumb, bearing a straw upon his shoulders.

“Why do you puff so hard?” said the farmer from his hiding-place, “your burden is not so great.”

“His burden is according to his strength, for he is but one night old,” answered one of the Tomts, “but hereafter you shall have less.”

From that day all luck disappeared from the farmer’s house, and finally he was reduced to beggary.

In many districts it has been the custom to set out a bowl of mush for the fairies on Christmas eve.

In the parish of Nyhil there are two estates lying near each other, and both called Tobo. On one was a Tomt, who, on Christmas eve, was usually entertained with wheaten mush and honey. One time the mush was so warm when it was set out that the honey melted. When the Tomt came to the place and failed to find his honey as heretofore, he became so angry that he went to the stable and choked one of the cows to death. After having done this he returned and ate the mush, and, upon emptying the dish, found the honey in the bottom. Repenting his deed of a few minutes before, he carried the dead cow to a neighboring farm and led therefrom a similar cow with which to replace the one he had killed. During his absence the women had been to the barn and returned to the house, where the loss was reported to the men, but when the latter arrived at the cow-shed the missing cow had apparently returned. The next day they heard of the dead cow on the adjoining farm, and understood that the Tomts had been at work.

In one place, in the municipality of Ydre, a housewife remarked that however much she took of meal from the bins there seemed to be no diminution of the store, but rather an augmentation. One day when she went to the larder she espied, through the chinks of the door, a little man sifting meal with all his might.

Noticing that his clothes were very much worn, she thought to reward him for his labor and the good he had brought her, and made him a new suit, which she hung upon the meal bin, hiding herself to see what he would think of his new clothes. When the Tomt came again he noticed the new garments, and at once exchanged his tattered ones for the better, but when he began to sift and found that the meal made his fine clothes dusty he threw the sieve into the corner and said:

“Junker Grand is dusting himself. He shall sift no more.”

THE CAT OF NORRHULT. [20]

On the estate of Norrhult, in the parish of Rumskulla, the people in olden times were very much troubled by Trolls and ghosts. The disturbances finally became so unbearable that they were compelled to desert house and home, and seek an asylum with their neighbors. One old man was left behind, and he, because he was so feeble that he could not move with the rest.

Some time thereafter, there came one evening a man having with him a bear, and asked for lodgings for himself and companion. The old man consented, but expressed doubts about his guest being able to endure the disturbances that were likely to occur during the night.

The stranger replied that he was not afraid of noises, and laid himself down, with his bear, near the old man’s bed.

Only a few hours had passed, when a multitude of Trolls came into the hut and began their usual clatter. Some of them built the fire in the fireplace, others set the kettle upon the fire, and others again put into the kettle a mess of filth, such as lizards, frogs, worms, etc.

When the mess was cooked, the table was laid and the Trolls sat down to the repast. One of them threw a worm to the bear, and said:

“Will you have a fish, Kitty?”

Another went to the bear keeper and asked him if he would not have some of their food. At this the latter let loose the bear, which struck about him so lustily that soon the whole swarm was flying through the door.

Some time after, the door was again opened, and a Troll with mouth so large that it filled the whole opening peeked in. “Sic him!” said the bear keeper, and the bear soon hunted him away also.

In the morning the stranger gathered the people of the village around him and directed them to raise a cross upon the estate, and to engrave a prayer on Cross Mountain, where the Trolls dwelt, and they would be freed from their troublesome visitors.

Seven years later a resident of Norrhult went to Norrköping. On his way home he met a man who asked him where he came from, and, upon being informed, claimed to be a neighbor, and invited the peasant to ride with him on his black horse. Away they went at a lively trot along the road, the peasant supposed, but in fact high up in the air. When it became quite dark the horse stumbled so that the peasant came near falling off.

“It is well you were able to hold on,” said the horseman. “That was the point of the steeple of Linköping’s cathedral that the horse stumbled against. Listen!” continued he. “Seven years ago I visited Norrhult. You then had a vicious cat there; is it still alive?”

“Yes, truly, and many more,” said the peasant.

After a time the rider checked his horse and bade the peasant dismount. When the latter looked around him he found himself at Cross Mountain, near his home.

Some time later another Troll came to the peasant’s cottage and asked if that great savage cat still lived.

“Look out!” said the peasant, “she is lying there on the oven, and has seven young ones, all worse than she.”

“Oh!” cried the Troll, and rushed for the door. From that time no Trolls have ever visited Norrhult.

LADY BARBRO OF BROKIND. [21]

On the estate of Brokind, in the parish of Vardsnäs, dwelt, in days gone by, a rich and distinguished lady named Barbro, who was so hard-hearted and severe with her dependents that for the least transgression they were bound, their hands behind their backs, and cast into prison, where, to add to their misery, she caused a table, upon which a bountiful supply of food and drink was placed, to be spread before them, which, of course, bound as they were, they could not reach. Upon complaint being made to her that the prisoners were perishing from hunger and thirst, she would reply, laughingly: “They have both food and drink; if they will not partake of it the fault is theirs, not mine.”

Thus the prison at Brokind was known far and wide, and the spot where it stood is to this day called Kisthagen, in memory of it.

When Lady Barbro finally died she was buried in the grave with her forefathers, in the cathedral of Linköping, but this was followed by such ghostly disturbances that it became necessary to take her body up, when it was interred in the churchyard of Vardsnäs.

Neither was she at rest here, whereupon, at the suggestion of one of the wiser men of the community, her body was again taken up, and, drawn by a yoke of twin oxen, was conveyed to a swamp, where it was deposited and a pole thrust through both coffin and corpse. Ever after, at nightfall, an unearthly noise was heard in the swamp, and the cry of “Barbro, pole! Barbro, pole!”

The spirit was, for the time being, quieted, but, as with ghosts in all old places, it returned after a time, and often a light is seen in the large, uninhabited building at Brokind.

THE URKO OF NORTH WIJ. [22]

From the point where the river Bulsjö empties into Lake Sommen, extending in a northerly direction for about eight miles, bordering the parishes of North Wij and Asby, nearly up to a point called Hornäs, stretches the principal fjord, one of several branching off from the large lake.

Near Vishult, in the first named of these parishes, descending to the lake from the elevation that follows its west shores, is a wall-like precipice, Urberg, which, from the lake, presents an especially magnificent view, as well in its height and length, and in its wood-crowned top, as in the wild confusion of rocks at its base, where, among the jumble of piled-up slabs of stones, gape large openings, into which only the imagination dares to intrude.

From this point the mountain range extends southward toward Tulleram, and northward, along the shore of Lake Sjöhult, under the name of Tjorgaberg, until it ends in an agglomeration of rocks called Knut’s Den.

In this mountain dwells the Urko, a monster cow of traditionary massiveness, which, in former times, when she was yet loose, plowed the earth, making what is now Lake Sommen and its many fjords. At last she was captured and fettered by a Troll man from Tulleram, who squeezed a horseshoe around the furious animal’s neck and confined her in Urberg. For food she has before her a large cow-hide from which she may eat a hair each Christmas eve, but when all the hairs are consumed, she will be liberated and the destruction of Ydre and all the world is to follow.

But even before this she will be liberated from her prison if Ydre is crossed by a king whom she follows and kills if she can catch him before he has crossed to the confines of the territory.

It happened one time that a king named Frode, or Fluga, passed through Ydre, and, conscious of the danger, hurried to reach the boundaries, but, believing he had already passed them, he halted on the confines at Fruhammer, or, as the place was formerly called, Flude, or Flugehammer, where he was overtaken and gored to death by the monster. In confirmation of this incident, his grave, marked by four stones, is to this day pointed out.

Another narrative, which, however, is known only in the southeastern part of the territory, relates that another king, unconscious of the danger accompanying travel in the neighborhood, passed unharmed over the border, and had reached the estate of Kalleberg, when he heard behind him the dreadful bellowing of the monster in full chase after him. The king hastened away as speedily as possible. The cow monster, unable to check its mad gallop at the border, rushed over some distance to the place where the king first paused, where, in the gravel-mixed field, she pawed up a round hole of several hundred feet in breadth, which became a bog, whose border, especially upon the north side, is surrounded by a broad wall of the upheaved earth.

Still, at times, especially preceding a storm, the Urko is heard rattling its fetters in the mountain, and both upon the mountain and down near the shore of the lake by times.

Extraordinary things are said to happen. One and another of the residents thereabouts assert even that they have seen the Urko in her magnificent rooms and halls, which the neighbors do not for a moment doubt.

THE TROLL SHOES.

Near Kölefors, in the jurisdiction of Kinda, lived, a long time ago, an old woman, who, as the saying goes, was accustomed, during Easter week, to go to Blåkulla.

Late one Passion Wednesday evening, as was usual with witches, she lashed her pack in readiness for the night, to follow her comrades in their wanderings. In order that the start should be accompanied by as few hindrances as possible, she had greased her shoes and stood them by the fireplace to dry.

In the dusk of the evening there came to her hut another old woman, tired and wet through from the rain, and asked permission to remain over night. To this the witch would not consent, but agreed to allow the woman to remain until she had dried her soggy shoes before the fire, while she, unwilling to be under the same roof with her guest, remained outside.

After a time the fire died out, and it became so dark in the hut that when the stranger undertook to find her shoes, in order to continue her journey, she got and put on the witch’s shoes instead. Hardly had she passed out through the door when the shoes jerked her legs up into the air and stood her head downward, without, however, lifting her into the air and carrying her away as would have been if the witch’s broom had been in her hand.

In this condition the old woman and the shoes struggled through the night. Now the shoes stood her on her head and dragged her along the ground, now the woman succeeded in grasping a bush or root, and was able to regain her feet again for a time.

In the end, near morning, a man walking past, noticed her and hastened to her relief. Answering her earnest pleading the man poked off one of the shoes with a stick, whereupon, instantly, shoe and stick flew into the air and vanished in the twinkling of an eye. After the adventures of the night the old Troll woman was so weakened that she fell into a hole, which is pointed out to this day, and is called “The Troll Woman’s Pit.”

THE WOOD AND THE SEA NYMPHS. [23]

Both wood nymphs and sea nymphs belong to the giant family, and thus are related.

They often hold communication with each other, although the wood nymphs always hold themselves a little above their cousins, which frequently occasions differences between them.

A peasant, lying in the woods on the shores of Lake Ömmeln, heard early one morning voices at the lake side engaged in vehement conversation. Conjecturing that it was the wood nymphs and sea nymphs quarreling, he crept through the underbrush to a spot near where they sat, and listened to the following dialogue:

Sea Nymph—“You shall not say that you are better than I, for I have five golden halls and fifty silver cans in each hall.”

Wood Nymph—“I have a mountain which is three miles long and six thousand feet high, and under that mountain is another, ten times higher and formed entirely of bones of the people I have killed.”

When the peasant heard this he became so alarmed that he ran a league away, without stopping. Thus he did not learn which was victorious, but it was the wood nymphs without doubt, as they have always been a little superior to the others.

THE MOUNTAIN KITCHEN. [24]

In the parish of Bolsta there lived, many years ago, a man named Slottbon. One summer evening he rode his horse to pasture up toward Dalo Mountain. Just as he let the horse go, and was turning to go home, a black man confronted him and asked him if he did not wish to see the mountain kitchen.

Slottbon acquiesced and followed his conductor into the mountain, where it seemed to him certain that he must lose his senses among the glitter of gold and silver utensils of the kitchen, with which he was surrounded.

The mountain man inquired of his guest if he should order something to eat for him, to which Slottbon assented, and, while his host was absent preparing the repast, improved the opportunity to gather up all the gold and silver his leather apron would hold, and with it hasten away with all possible speed, not slacking his pace until he came to a gravel pit, where it occurred to him to look at his treasure. Seating himself upon a stone, he began to throw the vessels, one after the other, upon the ground, where, as fast as they were thrown down, they were turned into serpents.

Thoroughly frightened at the sight, he dropped his whole burden and took to his heels, followed closely by the wriggling mass of enormous reptiles. Finally, when he had about given himself up for lost, he came to and sprang upon the trunk of a fallen tree and cried out, “God save me, poor sinner!” and in the twinkling of an eye the serpents vanished.

BURIED ALIVE. [25]

Many years ago an epidemic swept over Dalland, to which thousands of persons fell victims. Many people fled to the forests, or to other regions; the churches were deserted, and those remaining were not enough to bury the dead. At this stage an old Finlander came along, who informed the few survivors that they need not hope for cessation of the scourge until they had buried some living thing.

The advice was followed. First a cock was buried alive, but the plague continued as violent as ever; next, a goat, but this also proved ineffectual. At last a poor boy, who frequented the neighborhood, begging, was lured to a wood-covered hill at the point where the river Daleborg empties into Lake Venem. Here a deep hole was dug, the boy meantime sitting near, enjoying a piece of bread and butter that had been given him. When the grave was deep enough the boy was dropped into it and the diggers began hurriedly to shovel the dirt upon him. The lad begged and prayed them not to throw dirt upon his bread and butter, but the spades flew faster, and in a few minutes, still alive, he was entirely covered and left to his fate.

Whether this stayed the plague is not known, but many who after night pass the hill, hear, it is said, a voice as if from a dying child, crying, “Buried alive! buried alive!”

JONAS SPITS. [26]

At Helgy, in the parish of Sunne, lived a warrior, by name Jonas Spits, who, in wars against the Russians and others, had gained for himself the reputation of a brave man.

It so happened that there was a revolt in the land, and the king sent a message to Spits, commanding his services in battle. One Sunday morning, after the troops had assembled in the field, Spits was engaged in grinding his sword.

“This is right!” said the king. “There will be fighting to-morrow; let me see that you make good use of your weapon then.”

“I shall not fail you,” answered Spits, and continued his grinding.

The next day brought a bloody conflict, in which Spits’ sword was not idle until the evening and the conclusion of the battle, when the king asked for him.

“Here I am,” answered Spits, bowing before him.

“Let me see your sword,” said the king, “and know what services you have done this day.”

“Here it is,” said Spits, at the same time reaching for the weapon covered with blood.

“Good!” said the king. “I’ll gild this sword for you.” Whereupon he knighted him and commanded that he should be called “The Spits of Gyllenspits.”

LADY RANGELA OF EDSHOLM.

A few miles west of Karlstad, on a little island near Slottsbrosund, was located, in former days, an old fortress called Asa, or Edsholm Castle, otherwise notorious as the residence of the cruel stewards of Vestersysslet.

A niggardly and cruel woman, Lady Rangela, for a time owned Edsholm and all the land thereabout. She soon made herself bitterly hated by the peasantry because of the oppressions she heaped upon them, and especially because of the unreasonable toll she demanded every time they crossed the castle bridge.

According to agreement, two peasants went one day, the one to the top of Edsholm Mountain and the second to a mountain on the other side of the sound near the castle, whereupon the following conversation was carried on between them, in a loud voice:

“My dear neighbor, lend me your large kettle.”

“What do you want with it?”

“I want to cook Lady Rangela of Edsholm Castle, because she demands too high toll from passers over the bridge.”

“You shall have it gladly.”

This was heard at the castle, and Lady Rangela, believing it to be the Trolls planning her destruction, hurriedly packed her treasures and deserted Edsholm. She had, however, gone no further than to Rangelsund, or Ransund, which is named after her, when a severe storm overtook her and sunk the boat, with people, treasure and all.

When the peasantry learned what had happened, they poured into the castle and razed it to the ground, since when there has been nothing to indicate its existence more than a few heaps of gravel.

SAXE OF SAXEHOLM.

At the mouth of the Bay of Olme, upon a little island, which on its west side is connected with the island of Kumel, is situated the castle of Saxeholm.

Here dwelt, in former days, a powerful chief, by name Saxe, the greater part of whose time was spent in bloody warfare, in which occupation he seemed to find great success and pleasure. At home he was gloomy and reserved, and very cruel to his wife.

Finally, becoming wearied by her husband’s continued harshness, she determined to elope with another who better understood how to reward her love.

One time when Saxe was at Christmas matins in the church at Varnum, his wife set fire to the castle, shut the gates and threw the key over the wall into the garden outside. Preceding this she had commanded that her horses be shod with shoes reversed, thus hoping to bewilder her pursuers, then, with her lover and a few trusty servants, the castle was deserted, and her way taken over the ice-covered bay.

When Saxe came home, he found his castle wrapped in flames, and the following lines written on the outer gate:

“Within is burning Saxe’s knout,
And Saxe the cruel must lie without.”

What the chief’s thoughts were at such a greeting is not related. Meantime his wife, before she left the castle, had deposited, in one of the vaults, a chest filled with valuables, and had declared that no human power should move it therefrom.

Many attempts have since been made to unearth this treasure, and it is said that more than once the searchers have so far succeeded as to get a glimpse of the iron-bound chest, but always at this point they have been frightened away by an awful voice calling out from the depths of the vault, “Don’t come here!”

THE POLITE COAL BURNER. [27]

At Vejefors forge, up near the northern frontier, there was, many years ago, a charcoal burner who, however vigilant he might be, always had to rebuild and burn his stacks. Now, the wood was not burned enough, again, poorly burned, and a thousand annoyances pursued him in his work.

One evening, as he sat in his hut mending his tools, a beautiful maiden entered, and, complaining that she was almost frozen, asked permission to warm herself at the fire.

The coal burner, who had been long in the woods, understood at once that his visitor was a wood nymph, beautiful and enchanting when seen face to face, but, when seen behind, is adorned with a bushy fox tail.

When she had warmed herself in front awhile, she turned her back to the fire, and the coal burner was given an opportunity to see the tail, whereupon, with unexpected courtesy, he addressed his guest;

“Miss, look out for your train, please!”

That nice name for her troublesome appendage won the Troll woman’s affections, and from that day everything went admirably with the coal burner.

THE HARVESTERS.

In the parish of Ekshärad lies a mountain, Säljeberg, which was formerly the dwelling place of Trolls and giants, now exterminated.

Near the mountain dwelt a farmer, on one of the best farms in the parish. One summer evening he went over his fields admiring the seas of golden grain and exulting at the abundant harvest promised him.

“God be praised for this crop,” said he. “If I now could have all these fields harvested by early morning I would give my best cow.”

Hereupon he returned to his home and went to bed. Through the whole night the noise of reaping was heard in the fields and the Trolls calling:

“Make bands and bind; let the farmer dry it himself.”

As soon as sunrise the farmer was upon his feet and out into the fields, where, to his indescribable amazement, he saw them reaped and the grain lying in bundles upon the ground. Guessing that the Trolls had had a hand in the work, he sprang to the stable, there to find a stall empty and his best cow gone.

THE ULFGRYT STONES.

In the peak of Mount Garphytte, one of the many mountain tops that raise themselves over Kilseberger, dwelt, in former days, a giant named Rise.

One morning, as he went from his grotto out into the day, a strange sound, which caused him to pause, greeted his ear. He listened for some time, then returned into the mountain and called his wife.

“Put the smallest of those stones that lie upon the peak into your garter and sling it at that gray cow that goes tinkling along down there by Hjelmaren!” said he, meaning the new church just completed at Orebro, whose bells were that morning ringing for the first time in the service of the Lord.

The giantess, as she was commanded, took a stone as large as a house and threw it at the church, some eight or ten miles distant.

“That was a poor throw,” said the giant, when the stone fell down on the plain of Rumbo. “Bring here the band; you shall see a throw that will do its work,” whereupon he adjusted a monstrous stone in his wife’s garter, and, swinging it a few times through the air, let it go with all his power toward the new church.

“Great in command, but little in power,” said the giant woman, when the stone fell upon the one she had thrown, and was broken into a thousand pieces.

At the same time the bell rung out with wonderful clearness. Furious with rage, he tore up two large stones, took one under each arm, and set out for Orebro. Intelligence having reached the residents of Orebro that the giant was coming, consternation was general and good advice dear.

Finally, an old man undertook to save the church. In great haste he gathered up all the worn-out shoes he could find, put them in a sack, and set out to meet the giant. At Ulfgryt, in Toby, he met the giant, who was anything but gentle in appearance.

“How far is it to Orebro?” asked Rise.

“I can’t say exactly,” answered the old man, in an innocent manner, “but it is long a way, you will find, for it is seven years since I left there, and I have worn out all these shoes on the way.”

“Then let him who will, go there, but I will not,” said the giant, and threw the stones from him to the ground with such force that they rang as they struck it.

The stones lie there by the roadside even to-day, but the most remarkable circumstance is that they turn over whenever the church bells in Orebro are rung.

RUGGA BRIDGE. [28]

In the last years of the fourteenth century there lived in Strengnäs, the well-known bishop, Konrad Rugga, or Bishop Cort, as he was called by the people. Holding his office at a time when the glory of Papacy was at its height, it is natural that his power was great and influence unusual. Yet tradition has not been content with this, but has magnified his endowments to the almost supernatural.

In order to maintain discipline and order in his bishopric he was wont to travel from place to place in his diocese, always visiting in these journeys the convent of Riseberga.