‘Well, I don’t mind telling you, mother, because you won’t go and tell any one—it’s Paper!’
‘That’s a funny sort of thing to cut through armour.’
‘It may be funny,’ answered the Knight, ‘but it’s true all the same, and if the Prince of India had found it out I should not be where I am now; only he didn’t, you see.’
‘So much the worse for him,’ said the witch; ‘but is there nothing at all but paper that can cut through it?’
‘Well, there is one thing that can—the beak of the Owl, to wit.’
‘Tu—whoo!’ suddenly cried the Owl.
The effect of this sudden cry was tremendous. The Knight clung to his mother, and cried out in a piteous voice:
‘Oh, mother! mother! it’s the Owl; save me!’
‘How on earth can I save you if you hang on me like this?’ said his mother. ‘Just throw some more wood on, so that we can see this Owl, and I’ll fling my broom at it, and see if that won’t bring it down.’