Pinkel then betook himself to his boat and crossed over to the island inhabited by the Troll-crone. On the way he anxiously deliberated with himself how he might get possession of the crone’s gold cloak; but it appeared to him not very likely that his undertaking would prove successful, seeing that the Troll always wore the cloak upon her. So after having concerted divers plans, one more hazardous than another, it occurred to him, that he would try one method, which might perhaps succeed, although it was bold and rash.
In pursuance of his scheme he bound a bag under his clothes, and walked with trembling step and humble demeanour into the beldam’s hut. On perceiving him, the Troll cast on him a savage glance, and said: “Pinkel, is that thou?” The youth answered: “Yes, dear mother, it is.” The crone was overjoyed, and said: “Although thou art come voluntarily into my power, thou canst not surely hope to escape again from hence, after having played me so many tricks.” She then took a large knife and prepared to make an end of poor Pinkel; but the youth, seeing her design, appeared sorely terrified, and said: “If I must needs die, I think I might be allowed to choose the manner of my death. I would rather eat myself to death with milk-porridge, than be killed with a knife.” The crone thought to herself that the youth had made a bad choice, and therefore promised to comply with his wish. She then set a huge pot on the fire, in which she put a large quantity of porridge. When the mess was ready, she placed it before Pinkel that he might eat, who for every spoonful of porridge that he put into his mouth, poured two into the bag that was tied under his clothes. At length the crone began to wonder how Pinkel could contrive to swallow such a quantity; but just at the same moment the youth, making a show of being sick to death, sank down from his seat as if he were dead, and unobserved cut a hole in the bag, so that the porridge ran over the floor.
The crone, thinking that Pinkel had burst with the quantity of porridge he had eaten, was not a little glad, clapped her hands together, and ran off to look for her daughter, who was gone to the well. But as the weather was wet and stormy, she first took off her beautiful fur cloak and laid it aside in the hut. Before she could have proceeded far, the youth came to life again, and springing up like lightning, seized on the golden cloak, and ran off at the top of his speed.
Shortly after, the crone perceived Pinkel as he was rowing in his little boat. On seeing him alive again, and observing the gold cloak glittering on the surface of the water, she was angry beyond all conception, and ran far out on the strand, crying: “Is that thou, Pinkel?” The youth answered: “Yes, it is I, dear mother.” The crone said: “Hast thou taken my beautiful gold cloak?” Pinkel responded: “Yes, dear mother, I have.” The Troll continued: “Art thou not a great knave?” The youth replied: “Yes, I am so, dear mother.” The old witch was now almost beside herself, and began to whine and lament, and said: “Ah! how silly was it of me to let thee slip away. I was well assured thou wouldst play me many wicked tricks.” They then parted from each other.
The Troll-wife now returned to her hut, and Pinkel crossed the water, and arrived safely at the king’s palace; there he delivered the gold cloak, of which every one said that a more sumptuous garment was never seen nor heard of. The king honourably kept his word with the youth, and gave him his young daughter to wife. Pinkel afterwards lived happy and content to the end of his days; but his brothers were and continued to be helpers in the stable as long as they lived.
When the Swedish Troll had finished the story of Pinkel’s adventures a German Fairy took up her position on the stool and said that she would be very glad to tell a tale only there were so many in the country from which she had come that she really didn’t know which one they would like best.
“Can we not have a story about children?” asked Queen Titania.