In a mountain called Räfvakullen, Fox Hill, near the Church of
Resslared, Trolls, it is said, have lived since long before the
building of the church.
When the church was completed and the bell hung in the tower, the
priest, as was the custom, proceeded to read prayers over it to protect
it from the power of the Trolls. But his prayers lacked the expected
efficacy, for he had not yet finished when the Trolls took the bell and
sunk it in the “Troll Hole” near the church.
A new bell was cast and hung, and this time the provost, who was more
learned, was selected to consecrate it. The provost also failed to hit
upon the right prayers, for the following Sunday, when the bell was
about to be used for the first time, it flew through the apertures in
the tower and was broken on the roof of the church.
Again a bell was cast, and this time, as priest and provost seemed to
be powerless against the Trolls, the Bishop of Skara was sent for. His
prayers were effectual, and the bell was not again disturbed.
The Trolls thereafter dwelt in harmony with their neighbors, and
especially with the parishioners of Resslared. From the latter the
Trolls were wont to borrow food and drink, which they always returned
two-fold.
In time the first residents died off, and new people took their places.
The newcomers were well provided with this world’s goods, even to being
wealthy, but they were niggardly and uncharitable.
One day the “mother” of the Trolls went, as was her custom of old, to a
cottage, and asked the housewife if she could lend her a measure of
meal.
“No, that is out of the question! I have none in the house!” said the
woman.
“Very well! It is as you say, of course,” replied the Troll, “but maybe
you can lend me a can or two of ale. My husband is away, and he will be
very thirsty when he returns.”
“No, I can’t do that. My ale cans are all empty,” answered the
housewife.
“Very good! Maybe you can lend me a little milk for my little child
that is sick in the mountain.”
“Milk! Where should I get milk? My cows are all farrow,” said the
woman.
“Very well,” said the Troll woman, and went her way.
The housewife laughed in her sleeve, and thought that she had escaped
the Trolls cheaply; but when she inspected her larder it was found that
she had really told the truth to the Troll woman. The meal boxes were
swept clean, the ale barrels were empty, and the new milch cows, to the
last one, farrow. Ever after that the plenty that had heretofore been
was wanting, until finally the people were compelled to sell out and
move away.