"All these things Jack managed to steal, one at a time, and brought them down the beanstalk with him. That was all right enough, for those things had once belonged to Jack's father, and had been stolen from him by the giant. Jack had no trouble in getting away with the bags of money and the hen, but the time he brought the harp the giant discovered him and chased him. He came clambering down the beanstalk after the lad, and would have killed us both without doubt, but Jack ran in and got a hatchet and chopped down the beanstalk. The giant, who was only half way down, fell with it and was killed, and I never was sorry for him a moment, for he was a wicked, cruel giant. The only thing I grieve about is his poor wife. She was so good to Jack, and now she is left there all alone in the giant's house, and no way of getting her down again, as far as I can see."
The woman began to sob again more bitterly than ever. As for Jack, he turned away and, putting his arm against the wall, hid his face in it.
The white gander plucked Ellen by the skirt. "Mistress, Mistress! Come with me a moment," he whispered.
Ellen followed him a little apart.
"I think I might help you to get the giant's wife down," he said.
"How would you do it?"
"Do you mount upon my back and I'll fly up there with you, for wings can fly where never ladder can reach. When we're once up there we'll soon find some way to get her down."
Ellen was pleased with this advice, and returning to the porch she told Jack and his mother what the gander had said.
They were filled with joy and gratitude. "If you only will get her down there is nothing you can ask for that we will not give you," cried the mother, "even the golden harp itself."
Ellen seated herself upon the gander's back and gathered the reins into her fingers. Then the bird spread its strong wings and rose in the air. Up and up it flew. The sky seemed to grow nearer and Jack and his mother and the old bald goat shrank to mere specks below.