Butterball

Once upon a time there was a woman who was baking. She had a little boy, who was so plump and chubby and always wanted good food, so she called him Butterball. And she had a dog named Goldtooth. Suddenly the dog started barking.

"Run out, my little Butterball," said the woman, "and see who Goldtooth is barking at." So the boy ran out and came back in and said, "Oh, God save me, there comes a big, long hill-troll with her head under her arm and a sack on her back." "Crawl under the baking board and hide," said his mother.

Then the big troll came in. "Good day," she said. "God bless you," said Butterball's mother. "Isn't Butterball home today?" asked the troll. "No, he's in the forest with his father catching grouse," replied the wife. "That's too bad!" said the hill hag.

"I have such a nice little silver knife that I wanted to give him." "Peep, peep, here I am!" said Butterball from under the kneading trough and came out. "I am so old and stiff in the back," said the troll, "you can slip down into the sack and take it up yourself." When Butterball was down in the sack, the troll threw it on her back and strode off.

But when they had come a bit along the road, the troll got tired and asked: “How far is it to sleep?” “A half league,” answered Smørbuk. So the troll put down his sack by the road and went off through the woods and lay down to sleep.

Meanwhile, Smørbuk was alert; he took his knife, cut a hole in the sack, and slipped out. He put a large pine knot in his place and hurried home to his mother. When the troll came home and saw what he had in the sack, he became terribly angry.

The next day, the wife was baking again. Suddenly, the dog started barking. "Run out, my little Butterball," she said, "and see what Goldtooth is barking at." "Oh no, oh no, that ugly beast!" said Butterball.

"Here she comes again with her head under her arm and a big sack on her back." "Hide under the baking trough," said his mother. "Good day!" said the troll. "Is Butterball home today?" "No, he is not," said the mother, "he is out in the woods with his father catching grouse." "That's too bad!" said the hag, "for I have a pretty little silver fork I would give him." "Peep, peep, here I am!" said Butterball and came out.

"My back's so stiff," said the troll, "you'll have to slip into the sack yourself and get it." When Smørbuk was in the sack, the troll threw it over his back and set off. When they had come a good way along the road, she grew tired and asked: "How far is it to sleep?" "Half a mile," answered Smørbuk.

Then the troll put down the sack by the roadside and went up into the forest and lay down to sleep. While the troll was doing that, Smørbuk made a hole in the sack, and when he had gotten out, he put a big stone in its place.

When the hag came home, she made a big fire in the hearth, put a huge pot on it, and was about to cook Butterball. But when she took the sack and thought she would drop Butterball into the pot, the stone fell out and knocked a hole in the bottom, so the water ran out and put out the fire.

Then the troll got angry and said, "Even if he makes himself ever so heavy, I will trick him anyway."

The third time went just like the other two. Goldtooth started barking, and then the mother said to Butterball, "Run out, my little Butterball, and see who Goldtooth is barking at." So Butterball ran out and came back in and said, "Oh, God save and comfort me!

"It's the troll again, with its head under its arm and a sack on its back." "Run under the kneading trough and hide," said his mother. "Good day," said the troll, stepping in through the door. "Is Smørbuk home today?" "No, he is not," said the mother, "he is out in the forest with his father, catching grouse." "What a pity!" said the ogress, "for I have a beautiful little silver spoon I would give him." "Peep, peep, here I am!" said Smørbuk, coming out from under the kneading trough.

"My back is so stiff," said the hill hag, "you'll have to slip down into the sack and take it yourself." When Butterball was down in the sack, the troll slung it onto her back and set off. This time the troll didn't go off by herself and lie down to sleep, but she went straight home with Butterball in the sack, and when they got home, it was a Sunday.

Then the troll said to her daughter: "Now you take Butterball and slaughter him and boil soup from him until I come back, for now I'm going to church and inviting guests." When the troll had left, the daughter was to take Butterball and slaughter him, but she didn't quite know how to do it.

"Wait, I'll show you how to do it," said Butterball. "Put your head down on the stool, you'll see." She did so, the poor thing, and Butterball took the axe and chopped her head off as if she were a chicken.

Then he put the head in the bed and the body in the pot and cooked soup from the daughter. And when he had done that, he crawled up over the door and brought the pitch log and the stone, and placed one above the door and the other on the troll's chimney.

When the people came home from church and saw the head in the bed, they thought the daughter was lying asleep. But then they went over to taste the soup. "Tastes good, Butterball soup!" said the old woman. "Tastes good, daughter soup!" said Butterball. But they didn't hear that. Then the mountain troll took the spoon and was about to taste.

"Tastes good, Butterball soup!" he said. "Tastes good, daughter soup!" said Butterball from the chimney pipe. Then they began to wonder who was talking, and wanted to go out and see. But when they came out the door, Butterball threw the piece of pinewood and the stone at their heads and killed them.

Then he took all the gold and silver that was in the house, and he became very rich. And then he went home to his mother.