stood that this was the shadow that had driven his people mad.
The shoemaker took her to his house, and he said that he had but a poor bothy, but that she should get a share of all that was in it. At the end of a day or two came a leash of gentlemen lads to the shoemaker’s house for shoes to be made for them, for the king’s son had come home, and he was going to marry. At a glance the lads saw the giant’s daughter, and they never saw one so pretty as she. “’Tis thou hast the pretty daughter here,” said the lads to the shoemaker. “She is pretty, indeed,” says the shoemaker, “but she is no daughter of mine.” “St. Nail!” said one of them, “I would give a hundred pounds to marry her.” The two others said the very same. The poor shoemaker said that he had nothing to do with her. “But,” said they, “ask her to-night, and send us word to-morrow.” When the gentles went away, she asked the shoemaker: “What’s that they were saying about me?” The shoemaker told her. “Go thou after them,” said she; “I will marry one of them, and let him bring his purse with him.” The youth returned and he gave the shoemaker a hundred pounds for tocher. They went to rest, and when she had laid down, she asked the lad for a drink of water from a tumbler that was on the board on the farther side of the chamber. He went; but out of that he could not come, as he held the vessel of water the length of the night. “Thou lad,” said she, “why wilt thou not lie down?” But out of that he could not drag till the bright morrow’s day was. The shoemaker came to the door of the chamber, and she asked him to take away that lubberly boy. This wooer went and betook himself to his home, but he did not tell the other two how it happened to him. Next came the second chap, and in the same way, when she had gone to rest, “Look,” she said, “if the latch is on the door.” The latch laid hold of his hands, and out
