“Bursting bridges!” he gurgled. “Who are you?”
Jack stood up as tall as he could. “I’m Jack, the king of Ireland’s son,” he cried; “and it’s my father owns this bridge you’ve broken and this river you’ve splashed up.”
“Rippledy-row!” cried the giant, stepping a-straddle of the stream. “So he owned this bridge, did he? But he never owned this river. No, indeed. That’s mine, you know. Always has been, always will be, and I won’t have it bridged. Do you hear?”
“But you can’t say that,” shouted Jack, “for my father rules the whole of Ireland.”
“He may rule Ireland,” granted the giant pleasantly enough, “but he doesn’t rule the rivers. They belong to me, and I won’t have them crossed. All day long I sit in my castle at the ends of the earth, watching the rivers come and go; and every bridge or dam I see, I go at night to tear it down, so that all my rivers can be free, free,—free as I am!”
“But who are you?” cried Jack.
“Oho!” bellowed the giant, “if that’s what you want to know, come here where I can tell you.” And with that he scooped Jack up in one of his mighty fists and held him there just opposite his eyes.
“Now!” he cried. “Listen:
He who frees the streams I am,
Bursting bridge and splint’ring dam;