"Enough!" finally shouted the master. "Thanks for thy help. Farewell!"
"And I—how shall I get down?"
"As thou pleasest; there have already perished nine and ninety of such fellows as thou. With thee the count will be rounded and thou wilt be the hundredth."
The proud, rich merchant was off.
"What shall I do?" thought the poor merchant's son. "Impossible to go down! But to stay here means death, a cruel death from hunger."
And our fellow stood upon the mountain, while above the black crows were circling, the black crows with iron beaks, as if feeling already the prey.
The fellow tried to think how it all happened, and he remembered the lovely girl and what she said to him in giving him the touchstone and the flint. He remembered how she said:
"Take it. When thou art in need it will prove useful."
"I fancy she had something in mind; let us try."
The poor merchant's son took out stone and flint, struck it once and lo! two brave fellows were standing before him.