“Why not?” asked Dunderhead, who was still eating.
“Because my clothes are red,” replied the elf ruefully; “no one who wears red clothes is allowed to live in Faeryland. Cannot I clean my clothes?”
“No,” answered the giant, taking a bit out of the loaf. “You are dyed red with my blood, and the only way to get your clothes green again is to wash them in my tears.”
“Oh, let me do it at once!” cried Gillydrop, jumping up and down with delight. “Do cry, Mr. Giant, please do.”
“I can’t cry when I’m told to,” growled Dunderhead; “but if you go to earth and bring me two nice fat children for supper, I’ll weep tears of joy, and then you can wash in my tears and become a green beetle again.”
“But how am I to bring the children here?” asked Gillydrop, who never thought of the poor children being eaten, but only how he could get his emerald suit once more.
“That’s your business,” growled Dunderhead crossly, for you see he had eaten all the loaf, and was still hungry. “I’m going to sleep, so if you want to clean your clothes, bring me the children, and you can wash in the tears of joy I shed.”
So saying, the giant leaned back in his chair and fell fast asleep, snoring so loudly that the whole room shook.
Poor Gillydrop, in his red clothes, spread his red wings, and, alighting on the beach of the Sea of Darkness, he wondered how he was to cross it, for he knew he was too feeble to fly all the way.
“Oh, I wish I hadn’t been naughty!” he said to himself. “I’ll never see my dear Faeryland again.”