gold and silver patches; put him into the fattening coop, and when he's fat we'll kill him, and make a feast for our friends."
She was willing enough, and put him at once into the fattening coop, and there he stayed eight days, fed on the best, both in meat and drink, and as much as he could cram. So, when the eight days were over, the Troll said to his daughter to go down and cut him in his little finger, that they might see if he were fat. Down she came to the coop.
"Out with your little finger!" she said,
But Boots stuck out his tenpenny nail, and she cut at it.
"Nay, nay! he's as hard as iron still," said the Troll's daughter, when she got back to her father; "we can't take him yet."
After another eight days the same thing happened, and this time Boots stuck out his birchen pin.
"Well, he's a little better," she said, when she got back to the Troll; "but still hell be as hard as wood to chew."
But when another eight days were gone, the Troll told his daughter to go down and see if he wasn't fat now.
"Out with your little finger," said the Troll's daughter, when she reached the coop, and this time Boots stuck out the taper end.
"Now he'll do nicely," she said.
"Will he?" said the Troll. "Well, then, I'll just set off and ask the guests; meantime you must kill him, and roast half and boil half."
So when the Troll had been gone a little while, the daughter began to sharpen a great long knife.
"Is that what you're going to kill me with?" asked the lad.
