"Come on, Grandpa," our folks said. "Now you're making things up."

"That's the honest truth! My missus here will tell you."

"It's true," the old lady said. "It happened. How I yelled at him. He clean ruined my bucket, I had to burn it. Had to carve out a new one, and a new one, by the time you hollow it, tar it, let it dry three times, cure it with rusht, rub it with blue sand-it near to broke my hands, I worked so hard. And for him, it's all glory. The whole village came out to look at him. Some were afraid."

"Of course they were," we said.

The old man was pleased. "But then, you see, maybe I'm the only one," he boasted. "The only one seen a whirlytooth up close-close as you folks there, he was-and come out of it alive. Ha! I was a real he-man. Mighty! Sometimes I'd yell so loud the window bladders would burst. And how much rusht I could drink at a sitting! I could suck a whole barrel dry."

Benedikt's mother was sitting there, her lips pressed. "What concrete benefit did you derive from your strength? Did you accomplish anything socially beneficial to the community?" she asked.

The old man was offended. "When I was a youngster, Gol-ubushka, I could jump from here to that hill way over there on one leg! Beneficial! I tell you, sometimes I'd give a shout-and the straw would fall off the roof. All our folks is like that. A real strong man, I was. My missus here will tell you, if I get a blister or a boil-it's as big as your fist. No joke. I had pimples that big,

I tell you. That big. And you talk. I'll have you know when my old man scratched his head, he'd shake off a half-bucket of dandruff."

"Come on, now," we piped up. "Grandpa, you promised to tell us about monsters."

But the old man wasn't joking, he was really mad. "I'm not saying another word. If you come to listen… then listen. Don't go butting in. It ruins the whole story. She must be one of them Oldeners, I can tell by the way she talks."