In descriptions of Tomts we are told that they look like little men
well along in years, and in size about that of a child three or fours
years old, as a rule clad in coarse gray clothes and wearing red caps
upon their heads. They usually make the pantry or barn their
abiding-place, where they busy themselves night and day, and keep watch
over the household arrangements. When the servants are to go to
threshing, or other work requiring early rising, they are awakened by
the Tomts. If there is building going on, it is a good sign if the
Tomts are heard chopping and pounding during the hours of rest for the
workmen. In the forge where the Tomts have established themselves, the
smith may take his rest in confidence that they will awaken him by a
blow on the sole of the foot when it is time for him to turn the iron.
Formerly no iron was worked on “Tomt night,” which they reserved for
purposes of their own. On this night, were one to peek through the
cracks of the door, the little people would be discovered working
silver bars, or turning their own legs under the hammer.
It is believed that in the house or community where there is order and
prosperity the Tomts are resident, but in the house where proper
respect is lacking, or where there is a want of order and cleanliness,
they will not remain, and it will follow that the cup-board and
corn-crib will be empty, the cattle will not thrive, and the peasant
will be reduced to extreme poverty and want.
It happened thus to a farmer that he had never finished his threshing
before spring, although he could not find that he had harvested more
grain than others of his neighbors. To discover, if might be, the
source of such plenty, he one day hid himself in the barn, whence he
saw a multitude of Tomts come, each bearing a stalk of rye, among them
one not larger than a man’s thumb, bearing a straw upon his shoulders.
“Why do you puff so hard?” said the farmer from his hiding-place, “your
burden is not so great.”
“His burden is according to his strength, for he is but one night old,”
answered one of the Tomts, “but hereafter you shall have less.”
From that day all luck disappeared from the farmer’s house, and finally
he was reduced to beggary.
In many districts it has been the custom to set out a bowl of mush for
the fairies on Christmas eve.
In the parish of Nyhil there are two estates lying near each other, and
both called Tobo. On one was a Tomt, who, on Christmas eve, was usually
entertained with wheaten mush and honey. One time the mush was so warm
when it was set out that the honey melted. When the Tomt came to the
place and failed to find his honey as heretofore, he became so angry
that he went to the stable and choked one of the cows to death. After
having done this he returned and ate the mush, and, upon emptying the
dish, found the honey in the bottom. Repenting his deed of a few
minutes before, he carried the dead cow to a neighboring farm and led
therefrom a similar cow with which to replace the one he had killed.
During his absence the women had been to the barn and returned to the
house, where the loss was reported to the men, but when the latter
arrived at the cow-shed the missing cow had apparently returned. The
next day they heard of the dead cow on the adjoining farm, and
understood that the Tomts had been at work.
In one place, in the municipality of Ydre, a housewife remarked that
however much she took of meal from the bins there seemed to be no
diminution of the store, but rather an augmentation. One day when she
went to the larder she espied, through the chinks of the door, a little
man sifting meal with all his might.
Noticing that his clothes were very much worn, she thought to reward
him for his labor and the good he had brought her, and made him a new
suit, which she hung upon the meal bin, hiding herself to see what he
would think of his new clothes. When the Tomt came again he noticed the
new garments, and at once exchanged his tattered ones for the better,
but when he began to sift and found that the meal made his fine clothes
dusty he threw the sieve into the corner and said:
“Junker Grand is dusting himself. He shall sift no more.”