He looked down, sick at heart! Through the cloud rifts he could see that they were passing over a great, white line of mountain tops. Like glistening needles they seemed, as he gazed down upon them. The sunlight glanced dazzlingly along their snowy sides. Peterkin shuddered and turned his eyes away.
“Oh, oh, look again!” chattered the toothless old farmer. “We are past the mountains now. We are well above a brand-new valley, where a rushing river tumbles and froths, and oh, look ... over there are the spires and roofs of a city. Gray and silver they are, all gleaming and tall. And we are flying straight toward them. Hurrah, now I shall get me a new set of teeth!”
But long ere they reached the city, the sea-shell began to crack and split, and to wabble from side to side. Once it dipped so far that both of its passengers were almost tossed off into the air. The farmer clung fast to Peterkin and Peterkin to the shell—and both of them gasped in horror.
“Oh, we are too heavy a load,” sobbed Peterkin. “I should never have taken you along with me.”
“It’s not my fault!” stormed the old fellow. “It’s you who are so heavy. You ate and ate until you weigh more than four fat men should weigh. ’Twas your appetite that will kill us both”—and he sucked his toothless gums in rage.
“Ungrateful man!” cried Peterkin. “I am risking my life to make you happy.”
“Yes,” retorted the other, “and I am losing mine because you were so greedy!”
Therewith they fell to in wrath and cuffed each other and tore and tussled, swaying to this side and that and jouncing up and down in mighty thwacks.
“Out with you—out of the shell!” screamed the old farmer. And with that he seized poor Peterkin under the arms, and—for all he was so heavy—hurled him out into the air and down, down, down....