‘Stay here,’ said he, ‘and wait for me; I am going to explain things to my mother.’
Stan was already repenting bitterly that he had ever come to such a place, but, since he was there, there was nothing for it but to take everything quietly, and not show that he was afraid.
‘Listen, mother,’ said the dragon as soon as they were alone, ‘I have brought this man in order to get rid of him. He is a terrific fellow who eats rocks, and can 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.