Tatterhood by Margrete Lamond Page A

food. As soon as the troll came in, she put on her foxiest face.
    â€˜Dearest sweet!’ she said. ‘Won’t you go home to mother with a little food again? She’s all alone and hungry and thirsty, poor thing, with no one to care.’
    Well, the troll was willing to go, so long as she stayed sweet and stayed in the mountain – and he said he wouldn’t look into the sack, either, since she was so particular about it. But when he had gone quite a way, he couldn’t help thinking how heavy it was, and when he had gone a bit further he said to himself he would have a look and see what was in it after all.
    â€˜Whatever sort of eyes she has,’ he said to himself, ‘she won’t be able to see me now.’
    But just as he went to loosen the top, the sister hiding inside cried out, ‘I see you! I see you!’
    The troll nearly split with surprise. ‘Those are devilish eyes you have in your head,’ he muttered, thinking it was her in the mountain who spoke. He dared not pry again, but hurried to the widder-woman as fast as he could and hurled the sack in through the hovel door.
    â€˜Here’s more food from your daughter,’ he shouted after it. ‘Things don’t weigh half as heavy on her as they do on some folks.’
    And off he lumbered home to beat the sunrise.
    Well, when the girl had been in the mountain yet another good while, she did the same with her other sister – hauled her out, sat the head on her, smeared her with trollsalve and got her in the sack. Then she filled the gaps with as much silver and gold as there was room for, and put only a skimming of food across the top.

    â€˜Kindest, sweetest dear,’ she said to the hill-troll. ‘Off you go again, now, home to my ma, poor starving thing that she is, with no one to care. But don’t you go snooping in the sack it, hear? I’ll see if you do!’
    Well, he must have been an obliging troll, for all his vicious ways, because he was willing to humour her and take the sack; and he wouldn’t look into it, either, so long as she stayed put and stayed sweet.
    But when he had gone along a bit, the sack seemed devilish heavy; and when he had gone along further, he set the sack down for a spell while he caught his breath. Once it was down, though, he thought he might loosen the top; and once the top was loose, he thought he might take a peek after all. But the girl in the sack had been warned by her sister and shouted, ‘I see you, well enough! I see you, and all!’, and the troll was so shocked that he ran with the sack – gold, girl and everything – all the way to the mother’s hut.
    â€˜Here you have food from yer daughter,’ he said, heaving it in through the door. ‘Things don’t weigh as heavy on her as they do on some folks, for sure.’
    And off he hurried home before the sun rose.
    Well, the girl waited in the mountain till as near to midsummer as she could bear. Then she took her chance one evening and started up with whimpering and whining.
    â€˜There’s no point your coming home before midnight,’ she said to the troll, ‘because I’ll never have your dinner done before that, miserable and sick as I am.’
    Well, the hill-troll didn’t want her sour, so he went and stayed out for as long as she wanted him gone. In the meantime, however, the girl took off her fine clothes and stuffed them full of stubble and straw. Then she propped the straw girl in the chimney corner, stuck a ladle in its hand so that it looked as if she herself stood there, climbed up and out into the fresh air and ran home.
    At midnight, or thereabouts, the hill-troll returned.
    â€˜Bring me my food, then,’ he said to the straw girl. ‘You’ve had time enough, wretched or not.’
    But she made no reply.
    â€˜Bring me my food, I am telling you,’ said the troll again. ‘I’m hungry with waiting, and the nights