So the lassie went too, and found a place among the
rest. Now the moon stood high above the tree
tops, and there was the caldron in the middle and
round about sat the trolls and witches;—such
gruesome company I’m sure you were never in.
Then came the Prince; he looked about from one to
the other, and he saw the lassie, and his face grew
white, but he said nothing.
“Now, let’s begin,” said a witch
with a nose three ells long. She was sure she
was going to have the Prince, and she began to wash
away as hard as she could, but the more she rubbed
and scrubbed, the bigger the spots grew.
“Ah!” said an old hag, “you can’t
wash, let me try.”
But she hadn’t long taken the shirt in hand,
before it was far worse than ever, and with all her
rubbing and scrubbing and wringing, the spots grew
bigger and blacker, and the darker and uglier was the
shirt.
Then all the other trolls began to wash, but the longer
it lasted, the blacker and uglier the shirt grew,
till at last it was as black all over as if it had
been up the chimney.
“Ah!” said the Prince, “you’re
none of you worth a straw, you can’t wash.
Why there sits a beggar lassie, I’ll be bound
she knows how to wash better than the whole lot of
you. Come here, lassie,” he shouted.
“Can you wash the shirt clean, lassie?”
said he.
“I don’t know,” she said, “but
I think I can.”
And almost before she had taken it and dipped it in
the water, it was as white as snow, and whiter still.
“Yes; you are the lassie for me,” said
the Prince.
At that moment the sun rose and the whole pack of
trolls turned to stone.
There you may see them to this very day sitting around
in a circle, big ones and little ones, all hard, cold
stone.
But the Prince took the lassie by the hand and they
flitted away as far as they could from the castle
that lay East o’ the Sun and West o’ the
Moon.
Once on a time there were three Billy Goats, who were
to go up to the hillside to make themselves fat, and
the family name of the goats was “Gruff.”
On the way up was a bridge, over a river which they
had to cross, and under the bridge lived a great ugly
Troll with eyes as big as saucers, and a nose as long
as a poker.
First of all came the youngest Billy Goat Gruff to
cross the bridge. “Trip, trap; trip, trap!”
went the bridge.
“Who’s that tripping over my bridge?”
roared the Troll.
“Oh, it is only I, the tiniest Billy Goat Gruff,
and I’m going up to the hillside to make myself
fat,” said the Billy Goat, with such a small
voice.
“Now, I’m coming to gobble you up,”
said the Troll.
“Oh, no! pray do not take me, I’m too
little, that I am,” said the Billy Goat; “wait
a bit till the second Billy Goat Gruff comes, he’s
much bigger.”
