“We two might live here so happily together, could we only be rid of this son of yours.”
“But do you know how to settle him? Is that what you’re thinking of?” said she.
“Nothing easier”, said he; at any rate he would try. He would just say he wished the old dame would stay and keep house for him a day or two, and then he would take the lad out with him up the hill to quarry corner-stones, and roll down a great rock on him. All this the lad lay and listened to.
Next day the Troll—for it was a Troll as clear as day—asked if the old dame would stay and keep house for him a few days; and as the day went on he took a great iron crowbar, and asked the lad if he had a mind to go with him up the hill and quarry a few corner-stones. With all his heart, he said, and went with him; and so, after they had split a few stones, the Troll wanted him to go down below and look after cracks in the rock; and while he was doing this, the Troll worked away, and wearied himself with his crowbar till he moved a whole crag out of its bed, which came rolling right down on the place where the lad was; but he held it up till he could get on one side, and then let it roll on.
“Oh!” said the lad to the Troll, “now I see what you mean to do with me. You want to crush me to death; so just go down yourself and look after the cracks and refts in the rock, and I’ll stand up above.”
The Troll did not dare to do otherwise than the lad bade him, and the end of it was that the lad rolled down a great rock, which fell upon the Troll, and broke one of his thighs.
“Well! you are in a sad plight”, said the lad, as he strode down, lifted up the rock, and set the man free. After that he had to put him on his back and carry him home; so he ran with him as fast as a horse, and shook him so that the Troll screamed and screeched as if a knife were run into him. And when he got home, they had to put the Troll to bed, and there he lay in a sad pickle.
When the night wore on the Troll began to talk to the old dame again, and to wonder how ever they could be rid of the lad.
“Well”, said the old dame, “if you can’t hit on a plan to get rid of him, I’m sure I can’t.”
“Let me see”, said the Troll; “I’ve got twelve lions in a garden; if they could only get hold of the lad they’d soon tear him to pieces.”