“Good,” says he; “but have you got any cord? I must tie you up, or you won’t keep still. I shall have to hammer your eye in.”
She went and fetched two cords, one rather thin, the other thicker. Well, he bound her with the one which was thinnest.
“Now then, granny,” says he, “just turn over.” She turned over, and broke the cord.
“That won’t do, granny,” says he; “that cord doesn’t suit.”
He took the thick cord, and tied her up with it famously.
“Now then, turn away, granny!” says he. She turned and twisted, but didn’t break the cord. Then he took an awl, heated it red-hot, and applied it to her eye—her sound one. At the same moment he caught up a hatchet, and hammered away vigorously with the back of it at the awl. She struggled like anything, and broke the cord; then she went and sat down at the threshold.
“Ah, villain!” she cried. “You sha’n’t get away from me now!”
He saw that he was in an evil plight again. There he sat, thinking, “What’s to be done?”
By-and-by the sheep came home from afield, and she drove them into her cottage for the night. Well, the Smith spent the night there, too. In the morning she got up to let the sheep out. He took his sheep-skin pelisse and turned it inside out so that the wool was outside, passed his arms through its sleeves, and pulled it well over him, and crept up to her as he had been a sheep. She let the flock go out one at a time, catching hold of each by the wool on its back, and shoving it out. Well, he came creeping up like the rest. She caught hold of the wool on his back and shoved him out. But as soon as she had shoved him out, he stood up and cried:
“Farewell, Likho! I have suffered much evil (likha) at your hands. Now you can do nothing to me.”