If I don't sleep well, I cannot work well."
"That is better than asking for finery," thought the Ogre; "and after
all the house will be my own." So, to save the expense of labour, he
built it himself, and worked hard, day after day, under Molly's
orders, till winter came. Then it was finished.
"Now for the feather-bed," said Molly. "I'll sew up the ticking, and
when the old woman plucks her geese, I'll let you know."
When it snows, they say the old woman up yonder is plucking her geese,
and so at the first snowstorm Molly sent for the Ogre.
"Now you see the feathers falling," said she, "so fill the bed."
"How am I to catch them?" cried the Ogre.
"Stupid! don't you see them lying there in a heap?" cried Molly; "get
a shovel, and set to work."
The Ogre accordingly carried in shovelfuls of snow to the bed, but as
it melted as fast as he put it in, his labour never seemed done.
Towards night the room got so cold that the snow would not melt, and
now the bed was soon filled.
Molly hastily covered it with sheets and blankets, and said: "Pray
rest here to-night, and tell me if the bed is not comfort itself.
To-morrow we will be married."
So the tired Ogre lay down on the bed he had filled, but, do what he
would, he could not get warm.
"The sheets must be damp," said he, and in the morning he woke with
such horrible pains in his bones that he could hardly move, and half
the bed had melted away. "It's no use," he groaned, "she's a very
managing woman, but to sleep on such a bed would be the death of me.
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