She gave her last scrap of food (chicken bone with bits of meat still left on it) to the fifty-sixth gnome she came across, who let her pass.
And then the fifty-seventh gnome blocked her way.
So she punched him in the face and hurried on.
No more gnomes appeared.
“But before you cross, listen to me!”
“Oh, boy, what now?”
“Crossing the bridge won’t be easy. Hope you brought plenty of food.”
“Is it a long journey?”
“No, but every few minutes, a gnome will stop you and ask for something to eat. Better give them something than argue.”