“Fee, fi, fo, fum! 
   I smell the blood of an Englishman. 
   Be he alive, or be he dead,
   I’ll grind his bones to make my bread!”

[Illustration:  The country folk flying before him like chaff before the wind]

“Is that so?” quoth Jack, cheerful as ever.  “Then art thou a monstrous miller for sure!”

On this the giant, peering round everywhere for a glimpse of his foe, shouted out: 

“Art thou, indeed, the villain who hath killed so many of my kinsmen?  Then, indeed, will I tear thee to pieces with my teeth, suck thy blood, and grind thy bones to powder.”

“Thou’lt have to catch me first,” quoth Jack, laughing, and throwing off his coat of darkness and putting on his slippers of swiftness, he began nimbly to lead the giant a pretty dance, he leaping and doubling light as a feather, the monster following heavily like a walking tower, so that the very foundations of the earth seemed to shake at every step.  At this game the onlookers nearly split their sides with laughter, until Jack, judging there had been enough of it, made for the drawbridge, ran neatly over the single plank, and reaching the other side waited in teasing fashion for his adversary.

On came the giant at full speed, foaming at the mouth with rage, and flourishing his club.  But when he came to the middle of the bridge his great weight, of course, broke the plank, and there he was fallen headlong into the moat, rolling and wallowing like a whale, plunging from place to place, yet unable to get out and be revenged.

The spectators greeted his efforts with roars of laughter, and Jack himself was at first too overcome with merriment to do more than scoff.  At last, however, he went for a rope, cast it over the giant’s two heads, so, with the help of a team of horses, drew them shorewards, where two blows from the sword of strength settled the matter.

VII

After some time spent in mirth and pastimes, Jack began once more to grow restless, and taking leave of his companions set out for fresh adventures.

He travelled far and fast, through woods, and vales, and hills, till at last he came, late at night, on a lonesome house set at the foot of a high mountain.  Knocking at the door, it was opened by an old man whose head was white as snow.

“Father,” said Jack, ever courteous, “can you lodge a benighted traveller?”

“Ay, that will I, and welcome to my poor cottage,” replied the old man.

Whereupon Jack came in, and after supper they sate together chatting in friendly fashion.  Then it was that the old man, seeing by Jack’s belt that he was the famous Giant-Killer, spoke in this wise: