e
bones of the horse I rode then are rotting? It seems to me that
there's one strap of the bridle lying on the stable floor. It's all I
have left of the horse."

Petru went off in a rage and told his old nurse the whole story.

"Just wait," cried the old woman, laughing. "If that's the way things
are, very well. Go and bring me the piece of the bridle, I shall know
how to turn it to some account."

The floor was covered with saddles, bridles, and straps; Petru chose
the most tattered, rusted, and blackest, and carried it to the old
woman, that she might do with it what she had promised. The old nurse
took the bridle, smoked it with incense, muttered a short spell over
it, and then said to Petru. "Now take the bridle and strike the
pillars[4] of the house with it."

[Footnote 4: Roumanian peasant cottages usually have several pillars
in front, which support the projecting roof.]

Petru did as he was told. The old woman's charm worked well. Scarcely
had Petru struck the pillars when something happened--I don't know
how--that utterly amazed him. A horse stood before him, a horse whose
superior the world never saw. Its saddle was made of gold and jewels,
its bridle glittered so that one dared not look at it for fear of
being blinded. A beautiful horse, beautiful saddle, and beautiful
bridle for the handsome prince!

"Jump on the bay's back, my young hero," cried the old woman, making
the sign of the cross over horse and rider; then she repeated a short
charm and went into the palace.

After Petru had leaped on the horse he felt thrice as much strength in
his arm and thrice as much courage in his heart.

"Hold fast, master, for we have a long journey and must go swiftly,"
said the bay, and the hero soon saw that they galloped, galloped,
galloped, as never horse and hero had galloped before.

On the bridge now stood a dragon whose like had never been there, a
dragon with twelve heads, each one more terrible, more fiery than the
others. Ah, but the monster found its match. Petru did not quail, but
began to roll up his sleeves and spit upon his hands. "Out of the
way!" he shouted. The dragon began to spit fire. Petru wasted no more
words, but drew his sword and prepared to rush upon the bridge.

"Hold, calm yourself, master," said the bay, "do as I tell you; press
the spurs into my flanks, draw your sword, and be ready, for we must
now leap over the bridge and the dragon. When you see that we are
directly over the