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‘Waiting till the moon gets out of my way.’

‘What do you mean? I don’t understand.’

‘Don’t you see that the moon is exactly in my way? But of course, if you like, I will throw the club into the moon.’

At these words the dragon grew uncomfortable for the second time.

He prized the club, which had been left him by his grandfather, very highly, and had no desire that it should be lost in the moon.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said, after thinking a little. ‘Don’t throw the club at all. I will throw it a second time, and that will do just as well.’

‘No, certainly not!’ replied Stan. ‘Just wait till the moon sets.’

But the dragon, in dread lest Stan should fulfil his threats, tried what bribes could do, and in the end had to promise Stan seven sacks of ducats before he was suffered to throw back the club himself.

‘Oh, dear me, that is indeed a strong man,’ said the dragon, turning to his mother. ‘Would you believe that I have had the greatest difficulty in preventing him from throwing the club into the moon?’

Then the old woman grew uncomfortable too! Only to think of it! It was no joke to throw things into the moon! So no more was heard of the club, and the next day they had all something else to think about.

‘Go and fetch me water!’ said the mother, when the morning broke, and gave them twelve buffalo skins with the order to keep filling them till night.

They set out at once for the brook, and in the twinkling of an eye the dragon had filled the whole twelve, carried them into the house, and brought them back to Stan. Stan was tired: he could scarcely lift the buckets when they were empty, and he shuddered to think of what would happen when they were full. But he only took an old knife out of his pocket and began to scratch up the earth near the brook.

‘What are you doing there? How are you going to carry the water into the house?’ asked the dragon.

‘How? Dear me, that is easy enough! I shall just take the brook!’

At these words the dragon’s jaw dropped. This was the last thing that had ever entered his head, for the brook had been as it was since the days of his grandfather.

‘I’ll tell you what!’ he said. ‘Let me carry your skins for you.’

‘Most certainly not,’ answered Stan, going on with his digging, and the dragon, in dread lest he should fulfil his threat, tried what bribes would do, and in the end had again to promise seven sacks of ducats before Stan would agree to leave the brook alone and let him carry the water into the house.

On the third day the old mother sent Stan into the forest for wood, and, as usual, the dragon went with him.

Before you could count three he had pulled up more trees than Stan could have cut down in a lifetime, and had arranged them neatly in rows. When the dragon had finished, Stan began to look about him, and, choosing the biggest of the trees, he climbed up it, and, breaking off a long rope of wild vine, bound the top of the tree to the one next it. And so he did to a whole line of trees.

‘What are you doing there?’ asked the dragon.

‘You can see for yourself,’ answered Stan, going quietly on with his work.

‘Why are you tying the trees together?’

‘Not to give myself unnecessary work; when I pull up one, all the others will come up too.’

‘But how will you carry them home?’

‘Dear me! don’t you understand that I am going to take the whole forest back with me?’ said Stan, tying two other trees as he spoke.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ cried the dragon, trembling with fear at the thought of such a thing; ‘let me carry the wood for you, and you shall have seven times seven sacks full of ducats.’