The king was hurt so much
that he could not move, and his friend thought he was dying. They were
left alone in a rocky desert place, and close by there was a great lake
with mountains round it--like this, Olly. It was very cold, and the moon
was shining, and the king lay so still that once or twice his friend
almost thought that he was dead. But at last, about the middle of the
night, he began to speak, and he told his friend to take his sword that
was by his side and to go down to the side of the lake and throw it as
far as he could into the water. Now, this sword was a magic sword. Long
before, the king was once walking beside this lake, when he suddenly saw
an arm in a long white sleeve rising out of the lake, and in the hand at
the end of it was a splendid sword with a glistening handle. And the
king got into a boat and rowed as fast as he could till he got near
enough to take hold of the sword, and then the arm sank down under the
water and was seen no more. And with the sword the king won a great many
battles, and he loved it, and never would part with it; but now that he
was dying, he told his friend to take the sword and throw it back into
the lake where he had found it, and see what would happen. And his
friend took it, and went away over the rocks till he came to the edge of
the lake, and then he took the sword out of its case and swung it above
his head that he might throw it far into the water; but as he lifted it
up the precious stones in the handle shone so splendidly in the
moonlight that he could not make up his mind to throw it into the water,
it seemed such a pity.
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