'Well then, I didn't let him go', said the Princess; 'but father's
temper is a little hot, so I hid him away in the side-room yonder;
but if father hasn't hit upon any one, here he is.'

'Well', said the Ogre, 'let him come in then.'

So Shortshanks came in, and the Ogre asked him if it were true that
he could brew a hundred lasts of malt at a strike?

'Yes it is', said Shortshanks.

'Twas good luck then to lay hands on you', said the Ogre, 'and now
fall to work this minute; but heaven help you if you don't brew the
ale strong enough.'

'Oh', said Shortshanks, 'never fear, it shall be stinging stuff'; and
with that he began to brew without more fuss, but all at once he
cried out:

'I must have more of you Ogres to help in the brewing, for these I
have got a'nt half strong enough.'

Well, he got more--so many, that there was a whole swarm of them, and
then the brewing went on bravely. Now when the sweet-wort was ready,
they were all eager to taste it, you may guess; first of all the
Ogre, and then all his kith and kin. But Shortshanks had brewed the
wort so strong that they all fell down dead, one after another, like
so many flies, as soon as they had tasted it. At last there wasn't
one of them left alive but one vile old hag, who lay bed-ridden in