Then one morning a witch came to see Cuthbert. The giant was bathing in a little lake in the shadow of the mountain when she said to him, “I’m terribly sorry, but I’ve got to turn you into stone.”

“Why would you do that?” asked the giant. “I’m very kindly. A helping sort of giant.”

And she said, “I was hired by the family of the hunter you squashed.”

“Ah,” he replied. “Forgot about him.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” the witch said again, and then she waved a birch branch at him and poor Cuthbert turned to stone.

All of a sudden Cuthbert became very heavy—so heavy that he began to sink into the lake. He sank and sank and didn’t stop sinking until he was covered in water all the way up to his neck. His animal friends saw what was happening, and though they felt terrible about it, they decided they could do nothing to help him.

“I know you can’t save me,” Cuthbert shouted up to his friends, “but at least come and talk to me! I’m stuck down here, and so very lonely!”

“But if we come down there the hunters will shoot us!” they called back.

Cuthbert knew they were right, but still he pleaded with them.

“Talk to me!” he cried. “Please come and talk to me!”

The animals tried singing and shouting to poor Cuthbert from the safety of their cliff-top, but they were too distant and their voices too small, so that even to Cuthbert and his giant ears they sounded quieter than the whisper of leaves in the wind.

“Talk to me!” he begged. “Come and talk to me!”

But they never did. And he was still crying when his throat turned to stone like the rest of him.

• • •

Editor’s note:

That is, historically, where the tale ends. However, it’s so terribly sad, so lacking in useful moral lessons, and so well-known for leaving listeners in tears, that it’s become a tradition among tellers to improvise new and less dire conclusions. I’ve taken the liberty of including my own here.

—MN

The animals tried singing and shouting to poor Cuthbert from the safety of their cliff-top, but they were too distant and their voices too small, so that even to Cuthbert and his giant ears they sounded quieter than the whisper of leaves in the wind.

“Talk to me!” he begged. “Come and talk to me!”

After a while the animals began to feel very bad, especially the emu-raffe.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” he said. “All he wants is some company. Is that so much to ask?”

“I daresay it is,” said the grimbear. “It’s dangerous down there—and with Cuthbert turned to stone, how will we get back up to the safety of our cliff-top?”

“There’s nothing that can be done for him,” said the two-headed lynx. “Unless you know how to reverse a witch’s curse.”

“Of course I don’t,” said the emu-raffe, “but that doesn’t matter. We’re all going to die one day, and perhaps today it’s Cuthbert’s turn. But we mustn’t let him die alone. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”