“Yes,” said Boots, “I see something far before us. It looks like a wall of snow with a black spot on top of it no bigger than a nut.”
“That white wall is the hill of glass,” said the grey horse, “and the spot on top of it is the troll’s house, but we have still a journey to make before we reach it.”
Then on they went and on they went, and after a while they came to the foot of the hill. When Boots looked at it his heart sank within him, for he did not see how any living thing could keep a foothold on it.
“Well, here we are, Master,” said Dapplegrim. “And now, unless we can mount the hill, it is an ill day for you and me too.”
Then Boots gathered up the reins and rode the great grey horse straight at it, and the fire flashed from under Dapplegrim’s feet. Three times Boots rode Dapplegrim at the hill. The first time the great horse scarcely mounted as high as a man could reach, and then his feet slipped from under him and back he fell.
The second time he rode half-way up the hill, and then again back, back he slipped.
The third time he sprang forward upon the hill of glass, and as his great feet struck it the glass cracked and crashed beneath him, and up and up he went, to the very top, and on into the troll’s house.
The beautiful Princess was sitting beside the window, weeping, her golden hair all loose and falling about her, and the troll was there beside her.
Dapplegrim thundered into the hall and over to the Princess, and Boots stopped and caught her up to the saddle beside him. Then Dapplegrim wheeled, and away they went, faster than the wind, and the troll did not even have time to catch up the sword that lay beside him or to try to stop them.
It was a long way back to the castle, and Dapplegrim had two to carry now, but that was nothing to him. On and on they went, and when they thundered up to the castle gate the King and all his court came out to meet them. Then there were great rejoicings and kissings and shoutings, as you may believe.