Then Geir told her why he had set forth with his cow, and what a rich return he hoped to get.
“You will certainly lose your own cow, in place of getting a hundred new ones, and probably lose your own life too,” said the old woman. “You had much better give me your cow, which is leading you a fine dance, and take this sack in exchange. See, you can easily carry it on your back, and I promise you, you will find it contains good flesh and bones.”
At first Geir would not hear of the exchange; but finding the animal grow more and more restive and wild, he at last consented, and no sooner had the old woman got the cow, than both she and it disappeared.
After some difficulty, the old man managed to lift the sack on to his shoulders, and, the storm having exhausted itself, made the best of his way home, groaning and panting under his burden, which seemed to grow heavier and heavier as he went on.
At length he reached his hut, and told his wife what had happened to him, making a great to do over the sack he had carried, and all the good food it contained.
“Oh dear, oh dear!” cried Trude, wringing her hands. “I do think you grow more stupid every day! It was bad enough to take away our only cow, and now you come back bringing an old sack!”
But Geir told her not to scold. She had better fill the big pot with water and put it on the fire, for had not the old woman told him the sack contained good flesh and bones?
Trude did as she was told, though grumbling the while, and when the pot began to boil, Geir went to the sack to untie it. But, behold, no sooner did he touch the string than the sack began to move and twist and turn about.
“There is something alive inside,” cried Trude, terrified; “open it quickly.” And when Geir had untied the string, out stepped a little man dressed from head to foot in grey; even his hair and beard were grey.
“If you want to cook anything for your supper,” he cried laughingly, “I hope you will try your hand on something else than me.”