"And now the young man has heated the sword again and shaped it with
hammers and cooled it with water, he is sharpening and polishing the
blade and fitting it to the hilt, and now at last he holds it in his
hand and it is done. He has forged the magic sword and has proved his
right; he is the true hero, the hero who knows no fear. And is there
any thing that such a hero loves better than a good sword? Yes, to be
sure; but to this hero the time for that has not come yet, and he has
never felt such delight as fills him now when he looks along the
bright, smooth, keen edge of this blade. Oh, the sword was not like
this before it was broken. Sometimes people say that beautiful polished
things are like mirrors, but this sword is like a flame. It burns and
twinkles as he holds it and turns it in his hand. I can scarcely see of
what shape it is, for now it shines like a straight beam of light, now,
as he twists it, there is a flash in a half circle, like a scymitar,
and again the point alone gleams out and flashes, as if it would find
its own way to the heart of a foe, with no hand to guide it. He swings
the sword above his head, as he did the other that the dwarf made for
him, and strikes it upon the anvil. And this time the anvil falls in
two as if it were made of paper, and the sword glitters and shines and
shimmers in the joy of its magic sharpness and strength.

"Now that the sword is ready, the dwarf leads the young man away
through the woods, a long journey, to a place where he has never been
before, to find the dragon. You see that deep, dark hole under the
sticks; that is the dragon's cave in the side of the mountain. Just a
little light shines at the very bottom of it, where the dragon is
resting and breathing out fire. 'There is his hole,' says the dwarf;
'just wait here till he comes out and then kill him, Look out for his
teeth or he will catch you and eat you; be careful about his breath,