And with that he picked up Ivan the Ninny and set him on his great shoulders, and set off striding through the sea.

He went so fast that the wind of his going blew off Ivan’s hat.

“Stop a moment,” shouts Ivan; “my hat has blown off.”

“We can’t turn back for that,” says the giant; “we have already left your hat five hundred versts behind us.”  And he rushed on, splashing through the sea.  The sea was up to his armpits.  He rushed on, and the sea was up to his waist.  He rushed on, and before the sun had climbed to the top of the blue sky he was splashing up out of the sea with the water about his ankles.  He lifted Ivan from his shoulders and set him on the ground.

“Now,” says he, “little man, off you run, and you’ll be in time for the feast.  But don’t you dare to boast about riding on my shoulders.  If you open your mouth about that you’ll smart for it, if I have to come ten thousand thousand versts.”

Ivan the Ninny thanked the giant for carrying him through the sea, promised that he would not boast, and then ran off to his father’s house.  Long before he got there he heard the musicians in the courtyard playing as if they wanted to wear out their instruments before night.  The wedding feast had begun, and when Ivan ran in, there, at the high board, was sitting the Princess, and beside her his eldest brother.  And there were his father and mother, his second brother, and all the guests.  And everyone of them was as merry as could be, except the Princess, and she was as white as the salt he had sold to her father.

Suddenly the blood flushed into her cheeks.  She saw Ivan in the doorway.  Up she jumped at the high board, and cried out, “There, there is my true love, and not this man who sits beside me at the table.”

“What is this?” says Ivan’s father, and in a few minutes knew the whole story.

He turned the two elder brothers out of doors, gave their ships to Ivan, married him to the Princess, and made him his heir.  And the wedding feast began again, and they sent for the ancient old sailormen to take part in it.  And the ancient old sailormen wept with joy when they saw Ivan and the Princess, like two sweet pigeons, sitting side by side; yes, and they lifted their flagons with their old shaking hands, and cheered with their old cracked voices, and poured the wine down their dry old throats.

There was wine enough and to spare, beer too, and mead—­enough to drown a herd of cattle.  And as the guests drank and grew merry and proud they set to boasting.  This one bragged of his riches, that one of his wife.  Another boasted of his cunning, another of his new house, another of his strength, and this one was angry because they would not let him show how he could lift the table on one hand.  They all drank Ivan’s health, and he drank theirs, and in the end he could not bear to listen to their proud boasts.

“That’s all very well,” says he, “but I am the only man in the world who rode on the shoulders of a giant to come to his wedding feast.”