He journeyed on and on, a short way and a long way, and then he too came to the forest and sat down in the shade to eat, as his brothers had done before him.
Presently the old crone came hobbling out from the forest, and she was more bent and hideous than ever.
“Good youth, give me a bite and sup, I beg of you,” she said. “It is a hundred years since I have tasted anything but black bread.”
“Then it is high time you had something else to eat,” said the Prince, and he gave her the best of all he had, both food and wine.
The old woman ate and drank, and by the time she finished there was little enough left for the Prince. Then she drew out from her sleeve a pretty little pipe and gave it to him. “Take this,” she said, “and if there is anything you wish for play a tune upon the pipe, and it may help you to find it.”
After that she disappeared into the forest again.
The Prince hung his scrip over his shoulder, and then he was ready to set out, but first he thought he might as well see what the pipe was good for. He set it to his lips and blew a tune.
Immediately a score of little black Trolls with long noses appeared before him. “Master, here we are!” they cried. “What would you have of us?”
“I did not know I was your master,” thought the Prince, but what he said was, “What I want is the prettiest Princess in twelve kingdoms for a bride, and if you can get me such a one I’ll thank you kindly.”
“We know where to find such a Princess, and we can show you the way,” said the oldest and blackest of the Trolls, “but we ourselves cannot touch her. You will have to win her for yourself.”