“The Count is going to sell his family bedstead,” replied his companion.
The young giant stopped short in the path.
“You don’t mean to say,” he exclaimed, “that the celebrated family bedstead of the Cormo family is to be sold to give the children a Christmas-tree!”
“That is exactly what I mean,” replied the fairy.
“Well, well, well!” said the giant, resuming his walk. “I never heard of such a thing in all my born days. It’s dreadful; it’s pitiful!”
“Indeed it is,” said the fairy.
“It ought to be stopped,” added the giant. “He shouldn’t be allowed to do such a thing.”
“Indeed he shouldn’t,” the fairy said.
And thus they went on lamenting and regretting the poor Count’s purpose, for about eleven miles. Then they came to a cross-road through the forest.
“I’ll go down here,” said the giant, “and leave you among your friends at Fairy Elms, where you want to go.”