‘You are a good fellow, and I agree to your proposal,’ answered Stan, and the dragon carried the wood.
Now the three days’ service which were to be reckoned as a year were over, and the only thing that disturbed Stan was, how to get all those ducats back to his home!
In the evening the dragon and his mother had a long talk, but Stan heard every word through a crack in the ceiling.
‘Woe be to us, mother,’ said the dragon; ‘this man will soon get us into his power. Give him his money, and let us be rid of him.’
But the old mother was fond of money, and did not like this.
‘Listen to me,’ said she; ‘you must murder him this very night.’
‘I am afraid,’ answered he.
‘There is nothing to fear,’ replied the old mother. ‘When he is asleep take the club, and hit him on the head with it. It is easily done.’
And so it would have been, had not Stan heard all about it. And when the dragon and his mother had put out their lights, he took the pigs’ trough and filled it with earth, and placed it in his bed, and covered it with clothes. Then he hid himself underneath, and began to snore loudly.
Very soon the dragon stole softly into the room, and gave a tremendous blow on the spot where Stan’s head should have been. Stan groaned loudly from under the bed, and the dragon went away as softly as he had come. Directly he had closed the door, Stan lifted out the pigs’ trough, and lay down himself, after making everything clean and tidy, but he was wise enough not to shut his eyes that night.
The next morning he came into the room when the dragon and his mother were having their breakfast.
‘Good morning,’ said he.
