Then Jack nipped out of the oven and, seizing one of the bags of gold, crept away, and ran along the straight, wide, shining white road as fast as his legs would carry him till he came to the beanstalk.  He couldn’t climb down it with the bag of gold, it was so heavy, so he just flung his burden down first, and, helter-skelter, climbed after it.

And when he came to the bottom, there was his mother picking up gold pieces out of the garden as fast as she could; for, of course, the bag had burst.

“Laws-a-mercy me!” she says.  “Wherever have you been?  See!  It’s been rainin’ gold!”

“No, it hasn’t,” began Jack.  “I climbed up—­”

Then he turned to look for the beanstalk; but, lo and behold! it wasn’t there at all!  So he knew, then, it was all real magic.

After that they lived happily on the gold pieces for a long time, and the bed-ridden father got all sorts of nice things to eat; but, at last, a day came when Jack’s mother showed a doleful face as she put a big yellow sovereign into Jack’s hand and bade him be careful marketing, because there was not one more in the coffer.  After that they must starve.

That night Jack went supperless to bed of his own accord.  If he couldn’t make money, he thought, at any rate he could eat less money.  It was a shame for a big boy to stuff himself and bring no grist to the mill.

He slept like a top, as boys do when they don’t overeat themselves, and when he woke....

Hey, presto! the whole room showed greenish, and there was a curtain of leaves over the window!  Another bean had grown in the night, and Jack was up it like a lamp-lighter before you could say knife.

This time he didn’t take nearly so long climbing until he reached the straight, wide, white road, and in a trice he found himself before the tall white house, where on the wide white steps the ogre’s wife was standing with the black porridge-pot in her hand.

And this time Jack was as bold as brass.  “Good-morning, ’m,” he said.  “I’ve come to ask you for breakfast, for I had no supper, and I’m as hungry as a hunter.”

“Go away, bad boy!” replied the ogre’s wife.  “Last time I gave a boy breakfast my man missed a whole bag of gold.  I believe you are the same boy.”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” said Jack, with a laugh.  “I’ll tell you true when I’ve had my breakfast; but not till then.”

So the ogre’s wife, who was dreadfully curious, gave him a big bowl full of porridge; but before he had half finished it he heard the ogre coming—­

Thump!  THUMP!  THUMP!

“In with you to the oven,” shrieked the ogre’s wife.  “You shall tell me when he has gone to sleep.”

This time Jack saw through the steam peep-hole that the ogre had three fat calves strung to his belt.

“Better luck to-day, wife!” he cried, and his voice shook the house.  “Quick!  Roast these trifles for my breakfast!  I hope the oven’s hot?”