Troll trOUble.

There once was a man who had three sons. The two older sons were strong, but they were also lazy. The third son was a hard worker and clever, too. But he was still only a boy.

One spring, the father, feeling his years, told the eldest son to do the haying. "And beware of the troll in the field," said the father. "He is fearsome but not very smart. You can easily outwit him."

After much complaining, the son hiked to the field, carrying the scythe. Just as he was about to begin cutting, he heard:

"Cut one blade of my hay, and I'll cook you in my stew!"

The eldest son turned to face a one-eyed troll. Just looking at the creature was scary enough, but the idea of simmering in a stew terrified him. The eldest son dropped the scythe and ran all the way home.

After hearing the first son's story, the father told the second son to do the haying.

The second son, too, complained before finally setting off. When he reached the field, he picked up the scythe his brother had left behind.

Suddenly he heard:

"Cut one blade of my hay, and I'll cook you in my stew!" The second son raced home even faster than his brother had. "Fine sons you are!" scolded their father. "Neither of you cut any hay, and even worse, you ran from the troll."

"I'll do the haying, Father," volunteered the youngest son.

"Sven, you couldn't even lift the scythe," his father replied. "And you're too young to face the troll alone."

The eldest brother taunted Sven. "You're so puny that there wouldn't be enough of you to make a stew--or even a snack." The middle brother laughed.

But Sven couldn't be bullied. He gave his brothers a hard look and said, "I can't do any worse than you two--a couple of great big fellows who ran home, scared by a dull-witted troll."

After that, Sven's brothers were silent.

Sven continued to beg his father to let him do the haying. At last, his father agreed.

The next morning Sven was up early. He found some stale rolls and cheese in the cupboard and tucked the food inside his shirt for lunch. Then he took the wagon to the hayfield.

Upon reaching the field, Sven found the scythe. But when he tried to pick it up, it wouldn't budge. "Maybe this job is too much for me," Sven mumbled. Then a voice roared:

"Cut one blade of my hay, and I'll cook you in my stew!"

Having heard his brothers' stories, Sven was prepared. He turned around, looked the troll in his one eye, and said, "You just try putting me in your stew!"

The troll was shocked. Never had anyone so young talked to him like that before. While the troll was pondering how to scare the boy away, Sven remembered the round, stone-hard rolls that he had tucked inside his shirt. He had an idea.

"See this rock?" asked Sven, taking a roll and holding it in the palm of his hand.

The troll nodded.

Sven squeezed his fingers together, crumbling the roll into a hundred pieces.

Fearing that this terrible child would crush him next, the troll pleaded, "Don't hurt me!"

"You threatened to cook me!" Sven bellowed.

"Spare me and I'll cut your hay today," begged the troll.

"Your life for one day of cutting hay?" mocked Sven, his arms folded across his chest.

"I'll--I'll do the haying from now on," pleaded the troll.

"Well," replied Sven. "For that, I could probably spare you."

So the deal was made. While the troll worked, Sven ate the cheese, then stretched out on the grass and fell asleep. When he awoke, there was no sign of the troll, but the hay was cut and loaded onto the wagon. Late that afternoon, Sven returned home.

"You did it!" his father cried. "Your hands must be covered with blisters."

"No, Father. See?" replied Sven, showing his hands. There was no sign he'd even been working.

"Hmmm," said his father. "And the troll--didn't he give you trouble?"

"As you said, he is easily outwitted," answered Sven.

A smile grew on his father's face. "Clever boy," he said. "From now on, you can handle all the haying."

And that's just what Sven did--with a little help from the troll.