'Is not your cow the best milker in all the village? Are not your trees as full of fruit as your hives are full of bees? Has anyone cornfields like ours? Really you talk nonsense when you say things like that!'
'Yes, all that you say is true, but we have no children.'
Then Stan understood, and when a man once understands and has his eyes opened it is no longer well with him. From that day the little house in the outskirts contained an unhappy man as well as an unhappy woman. And at the sight of her husband's misery the woman became more wretched than ever.
And so matters went on for some time.
Some weeks had passed, and Stan thought he would consult a wise man who lived a day's journey from his own house. The wise man was sitting before his door when he came up, and Stan fell on his knees before him. 'Give me children, my lord, give me children.'
'Take care what you are asking,' replied the wise man. 'Will not children be a burden to you? Are you rich enough to feed and clothe them?'
'Only give them to me, my lord, and I will manage somehow!' and at a sign from the wise man Stan went his way.
He reached home that evening tired and dusty, but with hope in his heart. As he drew near his house a sound of voices struck upon his ear, and he looked up to see the whole place full of children. Children in the garden, children in the yard, children looking out of every window--it seemed to the man as if all the children in the world must be gathered there. And none was bigger than the other, but each was smaller than the other, and every one was more noisy and more impudent and more daring than the rest, and Stan gazed and grew cold with horror as he realised that they all belonged to him.
'Good gracious! how many there are! how many!' he muttered to himself.
'Oh, but not one too many,' smiled his wife, coming up with a crowd more children clinging to her skirts.
But even she found that it was not so easy to look after a hundred children, and when a few days had passed and they had eaten up all the food there was in the house, they began to cry, 'Father! I am hungry--I am hungry,' till Stan scratched his head and wondered what he was to do next. It was not that he thought there were too many children, for his life had seemed more full of joy since they appeared, but now it came to the point he did not know how he was to feed them. The cow had ceased to give milk, and it was too early for the fruit trees to ripen.
'Do you know, old woman!' said he one day to his wife, 'I must go out into the world and try to bring back food somehow, though Icannot tell where it is to come from.'
To the hungry man any road is long, and then there was always the thought that he had to satisfy a hundred greedy children as well as himself.
Stan wandered, and wandered, and wandered, till he reached to the end of the world, where that which is, is mingled with that which is not, and there he saw, a little way off, a sheepfold, with seven sheep in it. In the shadow of some trees lay the rest of the flock.
Stan crept up, hoping that he might manage to decoy some of them away quietly, and drive them home for food for his family, but he soon found this could not be. For at midnight he heard a rushing noise, and through the air flew a dragon, who drove apart a ram, a sheep, and a lamb, and three fine cattle that were lying down close by. And besides these he took the milk of seventy-seven sheep, and carried it home to his old mother, that she might bathe in it and grow young again. And this happened every night.
The shepherd bewailed himself in vain: the dragon only laughed, and Stan saw that this was not the place to get food for his family.
But though he quite understood that it was almost hopeless to fight against such a powerful monster, yet the thought of the hungry children at home clung to him like a burr, and would not be shaken off, and at last he said to the shepherd, 'What will you give me if I rid you of the dragon?'
'One of every three rams, one of every three sheep, one of every three lambs,' answered the herd.
'It is a bargain,' replied Stan, though at the moment he did not know how, supposing he DID come off the victor, he would ever be able to drive so large a flock home.
However, that matter could be settled later. At present night was not far off, and he must consider how best to fight with the dragon.
Just at midnight, a horrible feeling that was new and strange to him came over Stan--a feeling that he could not put into words even to himself, but which almost forced him to give up the battle and take the shortest road home again. He half turned;then he remembered the children, and turned back.
'You or I,' said Stan to himself, and took up his position on the edge of the flock.
'Stop!' he suddenly cried, as the air was filled with a rushing noise, and the dragon came dashing past.
'Dear me!' exclaimed the dragon, looking round. 'Who are you, and where do you come from?'
'I am Stan Bolovan, who eats rocks all night, and in the day feeds on the flowers of the mountain; and if you meddle with those sheep I will carve a cross on your back.'
When the dragon heard these words he stood quite still in the middle of the road, for he knew he had met with his match.
'But you will have to fight me first,' he said in a trembling voice, for when you faced him properly he was not brave at all.
'I fight you?' replied Stan, 'why I could slay you with one breath!' Then, stooping to pick up a large cheese which lay at his feet, he added, 'Go and get a stone like this out of the river, so that we may lose no time in seeing who is the best man.'
The dragon did as Stan bade him, and brought back a stone out of the brook.
'Can you get buttermilk out of your stone?' asked Stan.
The dragon picked up his stone with one hand, and squeezed it till it fell into powder, but no buttermilk flowed from it. 'Of course I can't!' he said, half angrily.
'Well, if you can't, I can,' answered Stan, and he pressed the cheese till buttermilk flowed through his fingers.
When the dragon saw that, he thought it was time he made the best of his way home again, but Stan stood in his path.
