When the people had gone to bed Coldfeet put the sword into its sheath, and all was dark again.
“Oh,” said the woman to her husband that night, “if we had the sword we’d have light in the house always. You have an old sword above on the loft. Rise out of the bed now and put it in the place of that bright one.”
The man rose, took the two swords out doors, put the old blade in Coldfeet’s sheath, and hid away Coldfeet’s sword in the loft. Next morning Coldfeet went away, and never stopped till he came to his mother’s cabin at the foot of Mount Brandon. The poor old woman was crying and lamenting every day. She felt sure that it was killed her son was, for she had never got tale or tidings of him. Many is the welcome she had for him, but if she had welcomes she had little to eat.
“Oh, then, mother, you needn’t be complaining,” said Coldfeet, “we have as much bread now as will do us a lifetime;” with that he put the loaf on the table, cut a slice for the mother, and began to eat himself. He was hungry, and the next thing he knew the loaf was gone.
“There is a little meal in the house,” said the mother. “I’ll go for water and make stirabout.”
“I have water here in plenty,” said Coldfeet. “Bring a pot.”
The bottle was empty in a breath, and they hadn’t what water would make stirabout nor half of it.
“Oh, then,” said Coldfeet, “the old hag enchanted the three things before I killed her and knocked the strength out of every one of them.” With that he drew the sword, and it had no more light than any rusty old blade.
The mother and son had to live in the old way again; but as Coldfeet was far stronger than the first time, he didn’t go hungry himself, and the mother had plenty. There were cattle in the country, and all the men in it couldn’t keep them from Coldfeet or stop him. The old woman and the son had beef and mutton, and lived on for themselves at the foot of Brandon Mountain.