he heard voices crying, "Strike again, strike again, or he will come to life." "No," cried Ivan in a heroic voice which in spite of himself seemed to echo throughout the world. "A hero's hand strikes once to kill, but never once to maim." Then without loss of time he made a fire, burned the body of Whirlwind as well as the head, and scattered his ashes from the ramparts of the castle to North, South, East, and West.
Then Golden Tress was glad and embraced her son. "Now let us eat," she said, "and then go home together. It is very wearisome here—for of what use is a throne of a single emerald if there are no people? What are fine couches and sideboards and flagons and furniture if there is no love?"
"Are there not even servants to wait upon you?" asked Ivan. "How are you served?"
"You will see in a moment," was the reply. "Think of dinner." So Ivan thought of the nicest dinner he could imagine—thick soup, white fish with pink sharp sauce, meat, potatoes and spinach with rich brown gravy, iced pudding and apples and nuts for dessert—and before he could have written out the list all these things were upon the sideboard where they kept hot until they were needed, all of course except the pudding which stayed outside upon the window-sill to keep cool.
But with all this there was no sound, not even the cheerful clatter of plates or the chink of a jug upon a tumbler, for the plates came floating singly through the air and settled down quietly before the diners,
