But look as high and as low as he could, he could find nothing, until
one fine day in the spring he was plowing a nice little hill to plant
a patch of potatoes. Suddenly his horse kicked the plow over, and the
farmer heard a grumbling, growling little voice coming up through the
earth.
"There you go again," said the voice, "tearing up my roof just as you
did a year ago in the spring. Don't you know that this is my hill, and
that I live down here under it?" It was the troll that spoke.
Well, the farmer was much put out to know that he had plowed up the
roof of the troll's house and he did not know what to do about it, for
it was his hill, also, and a fine, sunny slope for raising a crop. At
last, though, he thought of a plan and he called down through the hill
to the troll.
"Well, now, little master, I am sorry indeed to have disturbed you so
and I am ready to make any recompense that I can. What do you say to
this? I will plow, sow, and reap the hill each year, doing every bit
of the work myself, mind you, and we will have the crops, turn and
turn about. One year you shall have everything that grows above the
ground and I will take only what grows below the ground; the next year
you shall have what lies below, while my share will be what grows
above.
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