“Quick; into the pot again!”
Jack crawled into the copper pot and the giant’s wife put the lid over him.
The next moment the giant stamped into the room.
“Fee, fi, fo, fum,”
he bawled,
“I smell the blood of an Englishman;
Be he alive or be he dead,
I’ll grind his bones to make my bread!”
“Nonsense,” said his wife, “you’re always fancying things. Here, sit down at the table and eat your breakfast. A crow flew over the roof and dropped a bone in the fire, and that is what you smell.”
The giant sniffed about a bit, and then, still muttering to himself, he sat down at the table and began to eat. After he had finished he cried, “Now wife, bring me my little red hen from the treasure-room.”