"Neither lead nor iron could touch him, and before him was his scrip, like a wall, and kept off the fire.
"So they took to throwing shells at him, and to fire cannons at him; and he just grinned a little every time they hit him.
"'Ah! ah! it's all no good,' he said. But, just then, he got a bombshell right down his throat.
"'Fie!' he said, and spat it out again; and then came a chain-shot and made its way into his butter-box, and another took the bit he was just going to eat from between his fingers. Then he got angry, and rose up, and took his club, and dashed it on the ground, and asked if they were going to snatch the bread out of his mouth with their bilberries, which they puffed out of big peashooters. Then he gave a few more strokes, till the rocks and hills shook, and the enemy flew into the air like chaff, and so the war was over."
Having got so far, Peter said he must take breath, and called for another bowl of milk, and while he refreshed himself, we all waited open-mouthed for the rest of the story of Grumblegizzard.
"When Grumblegizzard got home again and wanted more work, the king was in a sad way, for he thought he should have been rid of him that time, and now he could think of nothing but to send him to hell.
"'You must be off to Old Nick, and ask for my land-tax.'
"Grumblegizzard set off from the grange, with his scrip on his back and his club on his shoulder. He lost no time on the way, but, when he got there, Old Nick was gone to serve on a jury. There was no one at home but his mother, and she said she had never in her born days heard talk of any land-tax; he had better come again another day.