press buttermilk out of a stone,’ and he told her all that had happened the night before.
‘Oh, just leave him to me!’ she said. ‘I have never yet let a man slip through my fingers.’ So Stan had to stay and do the old mother service.
The next day she told him that he and her son should try which was the strongest, and she took down a huge club, bound seven times with iron.
The dragon picked it up as if it had been a feather, and, after whirling it round his head, flung it lightly three miles away, telling Stan to beat that if he could.
They walked to the spot where the club lay. Stan stooped and felt it; then a great fear came over him, for he knew that he and all his children together would never lift that club from the ground.
‘What are you doing?’ asked the dragon.
‘I was thinking what a beautiful club it was, and what a pity it is that it should cause your death.’
‘How do you mean—my death?’ asked the dragon.
‘Only that I am afraid that if I throw it you will never see another dawn. You don’t know how strong I am!’
‘Oh, never mind that; be quick and throw.’
‘If you are really in earnest, let us go and feast for three days: that will at any rate give you three extra days of life.’
Stan spoke so calmly that this time the dragon began to get a little frightened, though he did not quite believe that things would be as bad as Stan said.
They returned to the house, took all the food that could be found in the old mother’s larder, and carried it back to the place where the club was lying. Then Stan seated himself on the sack of provisions, and remained quietly watching the setting moon.
‘What are you doing?’ asked the dragon.
‘Waiting till the moon gets out of my way.’
‘What do you mean? I don’t understand.’
