"Wasn't that iron in the cart?" asked Knut.
"Bar iron, my lad, bar iron of the best sort. That is something far finer than simple iron ore. Bar iron is my favorite food, especially when it is at white heat. Have you ever eaten bar iron?"
"Not that I can remember," said Knut.
"Then you shall be allowed to taste something extra fine for once. See, I lay two bars in the hot furnace fire. In three minutes they will be at white heat, and you shall creep into the furnace and eat of them hot,—fresh cooked!"
"Thank you very much," said Knut. "But give me rather a bit of bread and a bowl of sour milk."
"Oh, come now! You don't know what is good! Get into the furnace there. Be quick! The iron is red hot already."
"I believe you!" said Knut. "It is almost too hot for me."
"What nonsense!" growled the old troll. And he tried with all his might to thrust Knut into the furnace.
But the one who took to his heels at that instant was Knut. He ran for dear life, was lucky enough to find the outside door and was soon again on the forest path.
"Grandmother was right," thought Knut. "I really must hear myself the Catechism and keep my mind on it."