On Skalunda Hill, near Skalunda Church, there lived, in olden times, a
giant, who, much annoyed by the ringing of the church bells, was
finally compelled to move away, and took up his residence on an island,
far away in the North Sea. One time a ship was wrecked upon this
island, and among those of her crew rescued were several men from
Skalunda.
“Where are you from?” inquired the giant, who was now old and blind,
and was stretched out warming himself before a fire of logs.
“We are from Skalunda, if you wish to know,” said one of the men.
“Give me your hand, for I wish to know if still there is warm blood in
Sweden,” said the giant.
The man, afraid of the grasp of the giant, drew a glowing iron rod from
the fire, which he extended to the giant, who, grasping it with great
force, squeezed it until the iron ran between his fingers.
“Ah, yes, there is still warm blood in Sweden,” exclaimed he, “but does
Skalunda Hill still exist?”
“No, the birds have scratched it down,” answered the man.
“It could not stand,” remarked the giant, “for my wife and daughter
built it one Sunday morning. But how is it with Halle and Hunneberg?
They remain, surely, for I myself built them.”
Upon receiving a reply in the affirmative, he asked if Karin, a
giantess, still lived, and when to this he was answered yes, he gave
them a belt and bade them take it to Karin and say to her that she must
wear it in his memory.
The men took the belt, and upon their return home gave it to Karin,
but, before she would put it upon herself, she wrapped it around an oak
which was growing near by. Hardly was this done when the oak was torn
from the ground, and sailed off northward as if in a gale. In the
ground where the oak stood, there was left a deep pit, and here to-day
is pointed out the best spring in Stommen.