A man named Anbjørn lived on a farm in the south end of the parish of Varhaug. Every Christmas Eve he was taken into a troll that lived in some large mounds tight on the eastern border of the farm. He came home every Christmas Day, but he never told anyone where he had been, and no one ever saw him taken or knew what had become of him.
One Christmas Eve they decided that they would not let the man out, and they followed him about as closely as if he were a prisoner. As the evening drew on, they heard a knock at the door, and when they went to look, the troll stood outside. They understood it wanted to get hold of Anbjørn.
“Isn’t Anbjørn at home?” asked the troll.
Yes, he was at home, they said.
“If I knew no better, then I would say that tonight was the Cherished King’s Eve,” said the troll.1
They feigned not to know anything about it; Christmas Eve must be on another night, they claimed.
“Well, then it must be those blinking rascals in the sky that have magicked us,” said the troll. And with that, it left.
That Christmas Eve, Anbjørn was allowed to stay at home.2
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The expression the troll uses for Christmas Eve – det dyre drota kveldet – is so old that it is incomprehensible in Modern Norwegian. For an explanation, see: Nils Lid. Jolesveinar og grøderikdomsgudar. Oslo: Dybwad, 1933 (p. 68). ↩
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Source: Torkell Mauland. Folkeminne fraa Rogaland. Fyrste bandet. 1928 (p. 66f). ↩