at the door of the kitchen, and two shares at the big door, and one outside the house.
The giant awoke and called: “Are you asleep?” “We are not yet,” said the apple that was at the head of the bed. At the end of a while he called again. “We are not yet,” said the apple that was at the foot of the bed. A while after this he called again. “We are not yet,” said the apple at the kitchen door. The giant called again. The apple that was at the big door answered. “You are now going far from me,” says the giant. “We are not yet,” says the apple that was outside the house. “You are flying,” says the giant. The giant jumped on his feet, and to the bed he went, but it was cold—empty.
“My own daughter’s tricks are trying me,” said the giant. “Here’s after them,” says he.
In the mouth of day, the giant’s daughter said that her father’s breath was burning her back. “Put thy hand, quick,” said she, “in the ear of the grey filly, and whatever thou findest in it, throw it behind thee.” “There is a twig of sloe-tree,” said he. “Throw it behind thee,” said she.
No sooner did he that than there were twenty miles of blackthorn wood, so thick that scarce a weasel could go through it. The giant came headlong, and there he is fleecing his head and neck in the thorns.
“My own daughter’s tricks are here as before,” said the giant; “but if I had my own big axe and wood-knife here, I would not be long making a way through this.” He went home for the big axe and the wood-knife, and sure he was not long on his journey, and he was the boy behind the big axe. He was not long making a way through the blackthorn. “I will leave the axe and the wood-knife here till I return,” says he. “If thou leave them,” said a hoodie that was In a tree, “we will steal them.”
“You will do that same,” says the giant, “but I will set
