Folk-Lore and Legends; Scandinavian | Page 2

little ugly black chap, about six
inches long, screeching and kicking at a furious rate.
The farmer was greatly astounded at this sudden transformation. Still

he held his prize fast, and kept calling to him, while he administered to
him a few smart slaps--
"Be quiet, be quiet, my little man! If crying was to do the business, we
might look for heroes in swaddling-clothes. We'll just take you with us
a bit, and see what you are good for."
The little fellow trembled and shook in every limb, and then began to
whimper most piteously, and begged of the farmer to let him go.
"No, my lad," replied the farmer, "I will not let you go till you tell me
who you are, and how you came here, and what trade you know that
enables you to earn your bread in the world."
At this the little man grinned and shook his head, but said not a word in
reply, only begging and praying the more to get loose. The farmer
thought he must now entreat him if he would coax any information out
of him. But it was all to no purpose. He then adopted the contrary
method, and whipped and slashed him, but just to as little effect. The
little black thing remained as dumb as the grave, for this species is the
most malicious and obstinate of all the underground folk.
The farmer now got angry, and said--
"Do but be quiet, my child. I should be a fool to put myself into a
passion with such a little brat. Never fear, I shall soon make you tame
enough."
So saying, he ran home with him, and clapped him into a black sooty
iron pot, and put the iron lid upon it, and laid on the top of the lid a
great heavy stone. Then he set the pot in a dark, cold room, and as he
was going out, said to him--
"Stay there, now, and freeze till you are black! I'll engage that at last
you will answer me civilly."
Twice a week the farmer went regularly into the room and asked his
little black captive if he would answer him now, but the little one still
obstinately persisted in his silence. The farmer had, without success,
pursued this course for six weeks, at the end of which time his prisoner
at last gave up. One day, as the farmer was opening the room door, of
his own accord he asked him to come and take him out of his dirty,
gloomy dungeon, promising that he would now cheerfully do all that
was wanted of him.
The farmer first ordered him to tell him his history. The black one
replied--

"My dear friend, you know it just as well as I do, or else you never
would have had me here. You see I happened by chance to come too
near the cross, a thing we little people may not do, and then I was held
fast, and obliged instantly to let my body become visible. In order that
people might not recognise me, I turned myself into an insect. But you
found me out. When we get fastened to holy or consecrated things we
can never get away from them unless a man takes us off. That, however,
does not happen without plague and annoyance to us; though, indeed,
to say the truth, the staying fastened there is not over pleasant. So I
struggled against you too, for we have a natural aversion to let
ourselves be taken in a man's hand."
"Ho, ho! is that the tune with you?" cried the farmer. "You have a
natural aversion have you? Believe me, my sooty friend, I have just the
same for you, and so you shall be away without a moment's delay, and
we will lose no time in making our bargain with each other. But you
must first make me some present."
"What you will you have only to ask," said the little one, "silver and
gold, and precious stones, and costly furniture--all shall be thine in less
than an instant."
"Silver and gold, and precious stones, and all such glittering fine things,
will I none," said the farmer. "They have turned the heart and broken
the neck of many a one before now, and few are they whose lives they
make happy. I know that you are handy smiths, and have many a
strange thing with you that other smiths know nothing about. So, come
now, swear to me that you will make me an iron plough, such that the
smallest foal may be able to draw it without being tired, and then run
off with you as fast as your legs will carry you." So the black swore,
and then the farmer