Then Whack! Bang! The
blows of the scissors, warding off the blows of the mighty club, could
be heard for miles around.
At last Ethelried became so exhausted that he could scarcely raise his
hand, and it was plain to be seen that the scissors could not do battle
much longer. By this time a great many people, attracted by the terrific
noise, had come running up to the moat. The news had spread far and
wide that Ethelried was in danger; so every one whom he had ever served
dropped whatever he was doing, and ran to the scene of the battle. The
peasant was there, and the shepherd, and the lords and beggars and
high-born dames, all those whom Ethelried had ever befriended.
As they saw that the poor Prince was about to be vanquished, they all
began a great lamentation, and cried out bitterly.
"He saved my harvest," cried one. "He found my lamb," cried another. "He
showed me a greater kindness still," shouted a third. And so they went
on, each telling of some unselfish service that the Prince had rendered
him. Their voices all joined at last into such a roar of gratitude that
the scissors were given fresh strength on account of it. They grew
longer and longer, and stronger and stronger, until with one great swoop
they sprang forward and cut the ugly old Ogre's head from his shoulders.
Every cap was thrown up, and such cheering rent the air as has never
been heard since.
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