Roumanian Fairy Tales | Page 4

your whole life, if I throw it; for I know my own strength."
"Don't fear. Just throw it," replied the dragon.
"If you really mean it, we'll first go and get provisions enough to last three days; for we shall have to travel at least three days, if not longer, to get it."
These words frightened the dragon, but he did not yet believe that it would be so bad as Stan said. So they went home for the provisions, though he wasn't at all pleased with the idea of having Stan serve his year in merely going after the club. When they got back again to it, Stan sat down on the bag of provisions and became absorbed in staring at the moon.
"What are you doing?" asked the dragon.
"Only waiting for the moon to sail by."
"Why?"
"Don't you see that the moon is directly in my way?" said Stan. "Or do you want me to fling the club into the moon?"
The dragon now began to be seriously anxious. It was a club that had descended to him from his ancestors, and he wouldn't have liked to lose it in the moon.
"I'll tell you what," he said. "Don't throw the club. I'll do it myself."
"Certainly not. Heaven forbid!" replied Stan. "Only wait till the moon passes by."
Then a long conversation followed; for Stan would not consent to have the dragon throw the club again, except on the promise of seven sacks of ducats.
"Oh, dear! mother, he's a tremendously strong man," said the dragon. "I could scarcely prevent him from throwing the club into the moon."
The she-dragon began to be anxious, too. Just think of it! Would it be a joke to have a person able to throw any thing into the moon? She was a she-dragon of true dragon blood, however, and the next day had thought of a still harder task.
"Bring some water," she said early in the morning, and gave each twelve buffalo skins, ordering them to fill them by evening, and fetch them all home at once.
They went to the well; and, before one could wink, the dragon had filled the twelve skins, and was in the act of carrying them back. Stan was tired, he had scarcely been able to drag the empty skins along. A chill ran through his veins, when he thought of the full ones. What do you suppose he did? He pulled a worn-out knife blade from his belt, and began to scratch the earth around the well with it.
"What are you doing?" asked the dragon.
"I'm not a blockhead, that I should go to the labor of filling the skins with water," replied Stan.
"But how will you carry the water to the house, then?"
"How? Just as you see," said Stan. "I'm going to take the well, you goose!"
The dragon stood with his mouth wide-open in amazement. He wouldn't have had this done on any account, for the well was one that had belonged to his ancestors.
"I'll tell you," he said anxiously, "let me carry your skins home, too."
"Certainly not. Heaven forbid!" replied Stan, digging on around the well.
Now, another long discussion followed; and this time, too, the dragon could only persuade Stan by promising him seven sacks of ducats.
On the third day, that is the last one, the she-dragon sent them into the forest for wood.
Before one could count three, the dragon tore up more trees than Stan had ever seen before in his whole life, and piled them up together. But Stan began to examine the trees, chose the very finest, climbed up into one and tied its top with a wild grape-vine to the next. So, without saying a word, he continued to fasten one splendid tree to another.
"What are you doing there?" asked the dragon.
"You see what I am doing," replied Stan, working quietly on.
"Why are you tying the trees together?"
"Why, to save myself unnecessary work in pulling them up one by one," said Stan.
"But how are you going to carry them home?"
"I shall take the whole forest, you goose! Can't you understand that?" said Stan, continuing to fasten them together.
The dragon now felt as if he wanted to take to his heels, and never stop until he reached home.
But he was afraid that he should suddenly find Stan pulling the whole forest down on his head.
This time, as it was the end of the year's service, it seemed as if the discussion would never cease. Stan did not want to listen at all, but had set his mind upon flinging the forest on his back at any rate.
"I'll tell you what," said the dragon, trembling with fear, "your wages shall be seven times seven sacks of ducats. Content yourself with that."
"Well, be it so, as I see you are a good fellow," replied Stan, and agreed that the dragon should carry the