With Becan holding tight to his horns,the bull trotted up the hill, over a steep mountain, and through a wood of beech trees. In a meadow, many days from home, the bull stopped.

p.12

The bull snorted. “I’ll not end in a soup pot! Get on my back, lad, and we’ll soon be gone from here.”

p.12

“The sisters tattle,” said Becan one day. “The stepmother scolds. I’m fed only scraps and will soon shrink down to nothing.” “Not while I am about,” rumbled the bull. “Look into my left ear and pull out what you find there.”

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