The crone, thinking that Pinkel had burst with the quantity of porridge he had eaten, was not a little glad, clapped her hands together, and ran off to look for her daughter, who was gone to the well. But as the weather was wet and stormy, she first took off her beautiful fur cloak and laid it aside in the hut. Before she could have proceeded far, the youth came to life again, and springing up like lightning, seized on the golden cloak, and ran off at the top of his speed.
Shortly after, the crone perceived Pinkel as he was rowing in his little boat. On seeing him alive again, and observing the gold cloak glittering on the surface of the water, she was angry beyond all conception, and ran far out on the strand, crying: “Is that thou, Pinkel?” The youth answered: “Yes, it is I, dear mother.” The crone said: “Hast thou taken my beautiful gold cloak?” Pinkel responded: “Yes, dear mother, I have.” The Troll continued: “Art thou not a great knave?” The youth replied: “Yes, I am so, dear mother.” The old witch was now almost beside herself, and began to whine and lament, and said: “Ah! how silly was it of me to let thee slip away. I was well assured thou wouldst play me many wicked tricks.” They then parted from each other.
The Troll-wife now returned to her hut, and Pinkel crossed the water, and arrived safely at the king’s palace; there he delivered the gold cloak, of which every one said that a more sumptuous garment was never seen nor heardof. The king honourably kept his word with the youth, and gave him his young daughter to wife. Pinkel afterwards lived happy and content to the end of his days; but his brothers were and continued to be helpers in the stable as long as they lived.
When the Swedish Troll had finished the story of Pinkel’s adventures a German Fairy took up her position on the stool and said that she would be very glad to tell a tale only there were so many in the country from which she had come that she really didn’t know which one they would like best.
“Can we not have a story about children?” asked Queen Titania.
The German Fairy considered for a moment and then said that she did know a pretty story about children, a story which many children liked to hear and one which they called the Sweety-House, because it told how a little boy and girl when lost in the woods found a house built of nothing but sweets and cakes, and of the adventures which befel them afterwards when pursued by a bad wicked fairy who was a disgrace to the name.
“The Sweety-House, the Sweety-House,” exclaimed Titania clapping her hands delightedly.
“Thepropername of the story,” said the German Fairy, “is