“First tell me,” said the Minstrel feebly, “tell me if you can stop this flow of blood and heal this wound of Iron.”
“Three magic words may stop the flood, three magic drops may heal the wound,” answered the Graybeard. [[24]]
And the young man added, “Come in and let us see what can be done.”
The Minstrel climbed out of his sledge slowly, painfully. He staggered into the house. He lay down upon the couch by the fireside. The wound was bleeding sorely.
“Ah, save us!” cried the Graybeard. “What hero is this? Bring something to catch the flowing blood.”
His son ran quickly and fetched a golden goblet; but it was far too small to hold the gushing flood. He ran for other vessels. Seven pails he brought, then eight, and all were filled to overflowing. The Graybeard shook his head; he lifted his eyes; he clinched his fists. Then he spoke harshly to the crimson flood:
“Hear me, O thou blood-stream! Cease thy flowing. Fill no more pails. Flow not upon the floor. Stay in the veins of this hero and give him strength. Stay in his heart and give him courage. Hear me, O thou blood-stream!”
Forthwith the red stream grew smaller; but still the drops trickled from the wound. All the strength of the Minstrel was gone.
The Graybeard looked upward, he turned his [[25]]face towards heaven. He spoke in tones that were soft and pleading:
“O thou great Creator, thou lover of heroes! Come down and help us. Stop this rushing red river. Heal this gaping wound. Restore to this hero the strength that is rightfully his.”