“Seven at one blow!” said they to one another. “What a blessing he’s going; for it wouldn’t be safe to have a man about us who could kill seven of us at one stroke.”
You see, they didn’t know that the tailor had only killed flies; they took it to mean men.
He jogged along for some miles until he came to a hedge, where a little bird was caught in the branches.
“Come along,” said the tailor; “I’ll have you to keep my cheese company”; so he caught the bird and put it carefully into his pocket with the cheese.
Soon he reached a lofty mountain, and he made up his mind to climb it and see what was going on at the other side. When he reached the top, there stood a huge giant, gazing down into the valley below.
“Good day,” said the tailor.
The giant turned round, and seeing nobody but the little tailor there, he cried with scorn:
“And what might you be doing here, might I ask? You’d best be off at once.”
“Not so fast, my friend,” said the little man; “read this.”
“Seven at one blow,” read the giant, and he began to wish he’d been more civil.