Better dead than this craven life to which my father hath doomed me!" So he set to work with the little scissors to cut the great ropes of the net in twain.

At first each strand seemed as hard as steel, and the blades of the scissors were so rusty and dull that he could scarcely move them.

Great beads of sweat stood out on his brow as he bent himself to the task.
Presently, as he worked, the blades began to grow sharper and sharper, and brighter and brighter, and longer and longer.

By the time that the last rope was cut the scissors were as sharp as a broadsword, and half as long as his body.
At last he raised the net to let the beast go free.

Then he sank on his knees in astonishment.