Now as he stopped to grin once more at the poor Prince, a Fly darted in, and, blinded by the darkness of the dungeon, flew straight into a spider’s web, above the head of Ethelried.

“Poor creature!” thought Ethelried.  “Thou shalt not be left a prisoner in this dismal spot while I have the power to help thee.”  He lifted the scissors and with one stroke destroyed the web, and gave the Fly its freedom.

As soon as the dungeon had ceased to echo with the noise that Frog-eye Fearsome made in banging shut the heavy door, Ethelried heard a low buzzing near his ear.  It was the Fly, which had alighted on his shoulder.

“Let an insect in its gratitude teach you this,” buzzed the Fly.  “To-morrow, if you remain here, you must certainly meet your doom, for the Witch never keeps a prisoner past the third night.  But escape is possible.  Your prison door is of iron, but the shutter which bars the window is only of wood.  Cut your way out at midnight, and I will have a friend in waiting to guide you to a place of safety.  A faint glimmer of light on the opposite wall shows me the keyhole.  I shall make my escape thereat and go to repay thy unselfish service to me.  But know that the scissors move only when bidden in rhyme.  Farewell.”

The Prince spent all the following time until midnight, trying to think of a suitable verse to say to the scissors.  The art of rhyming had been neglected in his early education, and it was not until the first cock-crowing began that he succeeded in making this one: 

     “Giant scissors, serve me well,
     And save me from the Witch’s spell!”

As he uttered the words the scissors leaped out of his hand, and began to cut through the wooden shutters as easily as through a cheese.  In a very short time the Prince had crawled through the opening.  There he stood, outside the dungeon, but it was a dark night and he knew not which way to turn.

He could hear Frog-eye Fearsome snoring like a tempest up in the watch-tower, and the old Witch was talking in her sleep in seven languages.  While he stood looking around him in bewilderment, a Firefly alighted on his arm.  Flashing its little lantern in the Prince’s face, it cried, “This way!  My friend, the Fly, sent me to guide you to a place of safety.  Follow me and trust entirely to my guidance.”

The Prince flung his mantle over his shoulder, and followed on with all possible speed.  They stopped first in the Witch’s orchard, and the Firefly held its lantern up while the Prince filled his pockets with the fruit.  The apples were gold with emerald leaves, and the cherries were rubies, and the grapes were great bunches of amethyst.  When the Prince had filled his pockets he had enough wealth to provide for all his wants for at least a twelvemonth.

The Firefly led him on until they came to a town where was a fine inn.  There he left him, and flew off to report the Prince’s safety to the Fly and receive the promised reward.