“Then perhaps you think that I have claws to my toes?”
“Oh, no; that can’t be! you are good!”
“The giants might have told you so!” I pursued.
“We shouldn’t believe them about you!”
“Are the giants good?”
“No; they love lying.”
“Then why do you believe them about her? I know the lady is good; she cannot have claws.”
“Please how do you know she is good?”
“How do you know I am good?”
I rode on, while he waited for his companions, and told them what I had said.