It is probable that there are few places more gloomy and uninviting
than certain parts of the parish of Sibbarp, in the Province of
Halland. Dark heaths cover a good portion of the parish, and from their
dull brown surface rises, here and there, a lonely, cheerless mountain.
One of these is Folkared’s Cliff, in the southern part of the parish,
noted of old as the abiding-place of little Trolls and Pigmies.
One chilly autumn day a peasant, going from Hogared, in Ljungby, to
Folkared, in Sibbarp, in order to shorten his journey took a short cut
by way of the cliff, upon reaching which he perceived a Pigmy about the
size of a child seven or eight years old, sitting upon a stone crying.
“Where is your home?” asked the peasant, moved by the seeming distress
of the little fellow.
“Here,” sobbed the Pigmy, pointing to the mountain.
“How long have you lived here?” questioned the peasant in surprise.
“Six hundred years.”
“Six hundred years! You lie, you rascal, and you deserve to be whipped
for it.”
“Oh! do not strike me,” pleaded the Pigmy, continuing to cry. “I have
had enough of blows already to-day.”
“Who have you received them from?” asked the peasant.
“From my father.”
“What capers did you cut up that you were thus punished?”
“Oh, I was set to watch my old grandfather and when I chanced to turn
my back he fell and hurt himself upon the floor.”
The peasant then understood what character of person he had met, and
grasping his dirk he prepared to defend himself. But instantly he heard
an awful crash in the mountain, and the pigmy had vanished.