"Your father was a rich and benevolent man; he was good to the poor, and constantly relieving them; he never let a day pass without doing good to some person. On one particular day in the week he kept open house, and invited those who were reduced and had lived well. He always sat at the table with them himself, and did all he could to render his guests comfortable. The servants were all happy, and greatly attached to their master and mistress. Such a man was soon known and talked of. A giant lived a great many miles off, who was altogether as wicked as your father was good; he was envious, covetous, and cruel, but had the art of concealing these vices.
"Hearing your father spoken of, he formed the design of becoming acquainted with him, hoping to ingratiate himself into your father's favour. He removed quickly into your neighbourhood, caused it to be reported that he had lost all he possessed by an earthquake, and found it difficult to escape with his life; his wife was with him. Your father believed his story, and pitied him; he gave him apartments in his own house, and caused him and his wife to be treated hospitably, little imagining that the giant was meditating a horrid return for all his favours.
"Things went on in this way for some time, the giant becoming daily more impatient to put his plan into execution. At last, an opportunity presented itself. Your father's house was at some distance from the sea-shore, but the giant, standing on a hill one stormy day, observed some ships in distress off the rocks; he hastened to your father, and requested that he would send all the people he could spare to relieve the mariners.
"While the servants were all employed upon this service, the giant despatched your father by stabbing him with a dagger. You were then only three months old, and your mother, upon discovering what had happened, fainted, but still clasping you in her arms. The giant, who intended to murder both of you, having found her in that state, for a short time repented of the dreadful crime he had committed, and granted your mother and you your lives, but only upon condition that she should never inform you who your father was, nor answer any questions concerning him, assuring her that, if she did, he would certainly put both of you to death in the most cruel manner. Your mother took you in her arms, and fled as quickly as possible. Having gained your father's confidence, he knew where to find all his treasure. He and his wife soon carried off two large chests filled with gold, which they could not have done unless they had been giants, and, having set the house on fire in several places, when the servants returned it was burned quite down to the ground.
"Your poor mother wandered with you a great many miles from this scene of desolation; fear added to her haste; she settled in the cottage where you were brought up, and it was entirely owing to her fear of the giant that she never mentioned your father to you.
"I became your father's guardian at his birth; but fairies have laws to which they are subject as well as mortals. A short time before the giant went to your father's, I transgressed; my punishment was a suspension of power for a limited time—an unfortunate circumstance, as it totally prevented my succouring your father.
"The day on which you met the butcher, as you went to sell your mother's cow, my power was restored; and, as I had been told by Oberon, the King of the Fairies, how dreadful were the consequences to your father of my single error, I resolved to take you under my protection, and to be more circumspect in future. It was I who secretly prompted you to take the beans in exchange for the cow.
"By my power the bean-stalk grew to so great a height, and formed a ladder. I need not add that I inspired you with a strong desire to ascend the ladder.
"The giant now lives in this country; you are the person appointed to punish him for all his wickedness. You will have dangers and difficulties to encounter, but you must persevere in avenging the death of your father or you will not prosper in any of your undertakings, but be always miserable.