The book of friendly giants

by Eunice Fuller

Offero

We have laughed at giants quaint,

Roaring rascals, bound to please us;

Hush! For now we have a saint,

One who served the infant Jesus.

Seymour Barnard.

IX
The Giant Who Became a Saint

Sometimes he would hold them at arm’s length

Among the smooth, blue hills of an eastern country lived a simple-hearted giant lad named Offero. And though he was four times as high and four times as wide as the other boys, that did not make him proud in the least. He played with them as good-naturedly as if he had been no bigger than they. Sometimes he would hold them at arm’s length, one in each great hand. Sometimes he would toss them gently into the air. And when he was particularly good-humored he would stand still for hours at a time while they clambered up on his high shoulders.

One evening, tired from these boisterous games, they all lay sprawled along the hillside, watching the stars come out and talking about the great men they were going to be.

“I shall be a shepherd,” cried one, “and roam the hills all day.”

“And I shall be a barber, like my father,” shouted another.

“As for me,” cried a third, “I shall be a wine merchant, and sit at my ease.”

But Offero said never a word.

“Offero! Offero!” cried the boys, scrambling up and swarming over him. “What are you going to be?” And they tweaked his long hair.

But Offero held his peace. Then suddenly he sprang up, shaking them off like so many puppies.

“I shall serve,” he thundered. “I shall serve the greatest king in the world.”

The boys stared. “But how will you find him?” they cried.

“I shall walk till I find him,” said Offero, “and I shall know him because he will be afraid of no one.”

Next morning at daybreak, Offero set out across the hills to seek his king. For months he walked, from one proud palace to another, and past the miles of poor men’s houses in between. Many a fine, glittering court he saw, and many a king. But none of them was the one for whom he searched. For no matter how broad their kingdoms might be, they were all afraid of some king beyond, who had more men or more ships than they.

But Offero kept on, undismayed. And after a year and a day he came to the king whom the others feared. When Offero saw the mighty look of this king, his great heart thumped with joy. “At last,” thought he, “I have found the greatest king of all!” For when the courtiers spoke of war, the king did not cringe as the others had, but raised his head more majestically than before.

So Offero went towering down the hall, and bent his huge height before the throne.

“Oh, king,” he cried, “behold your servant, Offero!”

The king’s eyes gleamed. For proud and powerful as he was, with a giant like this his name would be more terrible still.

“Rise, Offero,” he said. “The king accepts your service. In battle you shall march at our army’s head; and in peace you shall stand behind our throne.”

But when Offero marched before the king’s army, wars ceased. For at sight of him the enemy turned and ran away as fast and far as their legs would go. So there was little for him to do but stand behind the king’s throne in the palace hall. And that was rather dull sometimes for a great, strapping giant like Offero.

When Offero marched, wars ceased

“But,” he would remind himself, “I am serving the greatest king of all,—the only one who is unafraid.” And then he would straighten his big, stiff shoulders, and look as proud and fierce as should the servant of such a king.

One stormy night as Offero stood behind the throne, a minstrel came to play his harp before the king. He sang of war, of dangers and temptations; and Offero stood drinking in with all his heart the music and the story. But the king fidgeted in his great chair, and Offero could see his gold crown tremble. One hand would grip the carved, gilt lion by his side, while the other made a nervous sign upon his forehead.

Offero watched, troubled. It was when the minstrel sang of Satan that the king shuddered. It was at that name he made the sign upon his forehead.

When the minstrel had done, and the courtiers had taken their leave, Offero knelt before the throne. “Oh, king,” he cried, “why did you shake at Satan’s name?—you who are afraid of no one!”

The king smiled sadly. “Ah, Offero,” he said, “the mightiest monarch of the earth must fear Satan. For he is more powerful than any king of us all; and only that sign of the cross can save us from him.”

Offero sprang up, his huge shadow darkening the throne.

“Then you are not the greatest king!” he thundered. “Farewell. I go to serve him whom you fear,—King Satan!”

And like a cyclone Offero was gone through the palace gate.

All night he strode through the storm; and when day cleared, he found himself on a wide, pleasant road thronged with people all going down a hill.

“Ho, there!” shouted Offero from his height. “Can any of you tell me the way to King Satan?”

“Follow us,” cried the foremost; “we are bound that way.”

Now, the leaders, who went so fast ahead, looked mean and crafty; and those who shuffled along behind were pale and wild, with restless eyes. But Offero, towering so far above, could not see their faces. He was only glad in his great, honest heart to be with such a large, gay company.

“For,” he said to himself, “does it not show that Satan is the greatest king of all when so many people willingly leave other kings, to serve him?”

The road went down steeper and steeper. And the faster it fell, the gayer and more reckless the travelers became. They shouted and danced along so riotously that even Offero’s huge strides hardly kept up with them.

Suddenly there was a shriek. In an instant all the gay cries were changed to rasping screams. Offero stopped in bewilderment. Directly before him the road was swallowed up in a vast, smoking cavern. It was into that his companions had gone.

The shrieks grew fainter, and above them came a hoarse, sneering laugh.

“A cruel king, this Satan!” thought Offero. “But I have vowed to serve the greatest, and I must go on.”

He stepped to the cavern’s mouth. A blast of black smoke choked him; and as it cleared, he saw coming toward him, a haughty figure with a crown of flames.

Offero bowed low.

“A handsome recruit!” snarled Satan. “Well, friends, a fellow like this will be useful on our errand in the world up there.” And without a word to the giant, Satan beckoned him to fall behind.

Offero followed sadly while Satan and his train swept jeering up the hill. All along the way people cringed and shook at Satan’s coming. Dukes and princes, ladies and laborers, all scurried at his glance. A whole army marching to battle turned in terror at sight of him. Satan went on, haughty and regardless.

Little by little, Offero began to forget his cruelty in admiration for his boldness. “At last,” thought the honest giant, “I have found the greatest king, who is afraid of no one.” And he stepped along proudly to think that his search was done.

The road gave a sudden turn. Over the heads of Satan and his train Offero could see a rough cross of wood against the sky, and at its foot a child placing a handful of wild flowers.

The giant’s kind heart was troubled. “Such a baby!” he muttered. “If only Satan would not frighten her!”

As he spoke there was a snort of fear. But it was not the child who gave it. Satan, cowering, burst through his followers, and back along the road. Offero’s great form barred the way.

“Let me by!” shrieked Satan. “Let me by, I say!”

Offero’s mighty hand tightened on his shoulder. “Tell me first,” said the giant calmly, “of what you are afraid.”

“The cross!” screamed Satan. “The cross! The cross of Christ, my enemy!”

“This Christ,” said Offero, “is a greater king than you, then, or you would not fear his cross.”

“Let me go!” cried Satan, beating with his fists on Offero’s massive arm. “Save me!”

Offero loosened his grip. “Go,” he said scornfully, and stood aside while Satan and his train rushed by him down the hill.

The little girl stood wondering beneath the cross. “Good day,” said Offero. “Can you tell me the way to the king called Christ?”

“You must ask the hermit,” answered the child. “He knows the way. But the path to his hut is steep and jagged, up a high hill.”

“Thank you,” said Offero. “The path does not matter, if he can tell me how to find the greatest king.”

“Good day,” said Offero. “Can you tell me the way to the king called Christ?”

So the child pointed the way. All day long Offero climbed. The stones were so big and sharp that they cut even his huge, hardy feet; and it was sunset before he came to the hut on the mountain top.

The hermit was beginning his evening meal. “Welcome, friend,” he cried. “Come in and sup with me.”

As they ate, Offero told the hermit of his errand. “I would find this king called Christ,” he said. “For I have vowed to serve the greatest king, who is afraid of no one. My arms are strong. I can fight for him and make him more powerful than before.”

The hermit smiled. “To find Christ,” he said, “you must first serve him. And to serve him you must not kill your fellowmen, but help them.”

“What can I do then?” asked Offero ruefully. “I am strong to fight. How can I help?”

The hermit looked at him. “Good giant,” he said, “your shoulders are broad and sturdy. They should be able to carry great weights.”

“They can indeed,” cried Offero happily. “It is from them I have my name,—Offero,—the carrier.”

“Then, Offero,” said the hermit quietly, “why not use your shoulders to serve King Christ? There is a river not far from here, which runs deep and wild; and there are many people who come night and day to cross it over. The strongest and hardiest pass through safely, but the old and weak are often swept away by the flood.”

Offero’s eyes flamed with sudden pride. “I can carry them all safely across!” he cried. Then his face darkened. “But how shall I find King Christ?” he asked.

The hermit’s eyes looked far away. “You will not have to search,” he said gently. “If you serve him well, he will come to you.”

Next morning Offero and the hermit set out for the river. But hardly were they down the mountain when every traveler called out to them to turn back. “The river is in a fury,” they cried. “No man could reach the other side alive.”

The hermit shook his head. “Come and see,” he said. “For I have a trusty ferryman here who can weather any flood.” So Offero and the hermit kept on; and the travelers followed, wondering.

The river beat against its banks, and the waves rushed white with foam. Offero pulled up a stout green tree to steady himself, and waded in till he could feel the cruel whirlpools sweeping around his ankles. Then lifting the hermit to his broad, firm shoulder, he plunged fearlessly into the raging stream. The water swirled and hissed about him. It rose to his great chest, and wet the edge of the hermit’s robe. But it was of no avail against the giant. He towered through it as solid as a cliff, and set the hermit safely on the other side.

A great “bravo” went up from the watching people; and when Offero came back, they gathered about him, clamoring to be carried. So Offero began his service of the king whom he had never seen.

Day and night he kept at it,—in the spring when the river was high and surly, in the winter when it was chilling and swift. To be within call always, he built himself a hut on the bank; and there was no one who knocked, however haughty or humble, that Offero did not take upon his shoulder and carry safely through the river.

So every day Offero’s great face grew more kindly and his shoulders more patient. But always in his heart there was a kind of longing wonder whether the King would really seek him out, as the hermit had said; and whether Christ was indeed the greatest king, afraid of no one. “If Christ would only come!” he thought; and sometimes in the depths of night he would start up and unbar the door, thinking that he heard the knock of the King. But it was only the wind, or now and again some belated pilgrim begging to be carried across the river.

One black night when the rain lashed the hut, and the river ran high and wild, Offero awoke to a sound that was not the storm. “A knock!” said his listening heart. “A knock!” Or was it after all a dream? No pilgrim, not even the fearless King would travel a night like this.

Nevertheless Offero sprang up, lit his great, rude lantern, and threw open the door. A drenching blast blew away his breath, but there on the threshold, in the gusty light was a pilgrim indeed,—a little child with his cloak running with rain.

A little child, with his cloak running with rain

Offero caught him up with one grasp of his great arm. “Poor little one!” he cried. “Come in from the storm.”

“No, no, kind giant,” pleaded the child. “I cannot stay. I must cross the river to-night. It runs deep and wild for my small strength, and I come to ask if you will carry me through.”

So Offero took his staff, and settling the child gently on his shoulder, plunged out into the pelting storm.

Above the wind they could hear the river roaring through the dark. Offero strode to the edge and stepped in. At the very bank the water was knee-deep, and the waves washed high on his great body. The child clung closer to his neck, and Offero stopped and steadied himself. The bottom was slippery at best; and to-night, with the waves rushing against him, it was harder than ever to stand upright.

At every step the river grew deeper and more savage. The rapids snarled about his neck, and his eyes were blinded with foam. The child, who had been but a featherweight, seemed suddenly to become heavier than a man. Offero’s mighty shoulder bent under the load. The waves plunged into his face, choking him. And still the child pressed him down. The water was smothering him, and he felt the current sweeping him off his feet. Firmly as he held to his staff, he could not go on. The child was like a mountain, bearing him down. His limbs were numb and cramped, and all his strength seemed gone. A daze came over him, and the water surged in above his head.

With one last struggle, he straightened himself, raising the child above the foam. Offero gasped, staggered forward, and stopped, trembling and weak. But he had passed the channel and stepped into the shallower water on the other side. No matter how heavily the child bore upon him now, he could keep his head above the waves. So he stood, bowed and panting, beaten by the river and the rain.

Then slowly he felt his way through the blackness out of the torrent and up the solid bank. Gently he set the child down and stooped beside it. “Are you quite safe and well, little one?” asked he.

“Quite safe, good Offero,” said the child, “thanks to your kind care. For you have served me bravely, carrying me and my great burden through the raging river.”

“I saw no burden,” said Offero, wondering; “I only felt it.”

And as he spoke, the sky brightened, the storming of the wind and river ceased, and the rain fell in gentle, shining drops.

“My burden,” said the child gravely, “is the greatest any man has ever borne. For I have taken on my shoulders all the sins and sorrows of the world.”

Offero fell back, dumb with wonder. For before him stood no longer the child, but a stately figure, serene, triumphant, with a crowning light about his head.

“For I,” said the kind, deep voice, “am Christ, the king whom you have served. And because you have borne me faithfully, you shall be called not Offero, the carrier, but Christoffero, the Christ-carrier. So all men shall know that you are my brave and loyal servant.”

The giant dropped on his knees, but for wonder and joy he could not find his voice. He could only gaze with grateful eyes. And as he looked, the King turned, and walked majestically over the hills toward the sunrise.

But Christoffero knelt on, lost in ecstasy. For he knew that he had found the greatest king, who was afraid of nothing, not even the sins and sorrows of the whole world.

So Offero, by serving, became the giant saint,—Christopher.

X
Gargantua

The giant Grangousier, of feasters the first,

Hated that any should hunger or thirst;

To all at his table, the low or the high,

“Eat, eat,” said Grangousier, “and drink ere you’re dry!”

When the babe of this generous giant was yet

But a lusty young guzzler of all he could get,

He made his convivial father rejoice

By shouting “Drink, drink!” at the top of his voice.

Now, one would have thought that for eating, indeed,

The babe and his father had perished of greed;

But kindness as keen as his hunger was then

Made baby Gargantua greatest of men.

Seymour Barnard.

X
Gargantua

Part One: How Gargantua Learned His Latin

Of all the giants that ever lived, the fattest and the jolliest was good old King Grangousier. From morning till night, and around again from night till morning, there was nothing but one continual banquet at his palace. Whenever you might happen in, there were always pigs roasting, puddings steaming, spits turning, pies baking, chickens broiling, jellies hardening, cakes frying, cooks stirring, butlers pouring, and pages running to and fro with platters. There was always, in fact, such a cloud of savory odors streaming out of the palace that the people for miles around did nothing but eat the air.

In the midst of all the bustle sat King Grangousier at the head of his table, singing and laughing, and letting out his belt at the end of each course. And the best of it was that there was no one so rich and no one so poor that he was not invited to sit down too and eat and drink and laugh and sing as much as he was able. Prince and pauper, beggar and baron, all flocked together about Grangousier’s board.

“Eat, eat, my good people,” Grangousier would cry, beaming down at his small guests. “Here, boy, bring puddings, pheasants, capons,—and chitterlings for the lady. Fill up the glasses. Fall to, comrades! Eat before you’re hungry; drink before you’re thirsty,—that’s the palace rule.”

And it must be said for Grangousier that he followed his own rule very well. Every day he grew broader and rounder and bulgier; and as for his chins, some said there were nine, and some that there were ten, but anyway there was a cascade of them that fell down over the royal shirt frills.

And so, when one day the hearty old king was blessed with a son, no one was in the least surprised that the youngster was the biggest, lustiest, thirstiest baby that ever was born. His baby carriage was a great wooden cart as big as a house, drawn by a hundred oxen. And it took seven thousand, nine hundred and thirteen cows to supply him with milk.

The very moment he was born, in fact, instead of crying, “Mie, mie, mie!” like other babies, he shouted out at the top of his lungs, “Drink, drink, drink!”

When father Grangousier heard that, his joy nearly choked him so that he could just gasp out in his queer old French, “Que grand tu as!”—by which he meant, “What a big throat you have!”

And all the lords and neighbors who were feasting with him, clapped their flagons on the table and vowed that the baby could not have a better name.

“Here’s to Prince Que-grand-tu-as!” they cried.

Now, the very oldest of the king’s old neighbors, who I am afraid was a little tipsy, shouted the toast out after the others, and in his haste, slurred the four words together. So it happened that the young giant was named for all time: GARGANTUA.

Up to the time he was five years old, Gargantua was educated much like the other children of the kingdom, in

Drinking, eating, and sleeping;

Eating, sleeping, and drinking;

Sleeping, drinking, and eating.

From dawn till dark he was continually full of frolic. He would roll about in the mud; slide down the palace towers; run after hawks and eagles with a net, as other children chase butterflies. When his playmates ran about with their paper whirligigs, he would pick up a convenient windmill and go charging down with it across the kingdom.

Best of all he liked his horses. To make a good rider of him, his father had built a great horse of wood as high as a church. Across its back Gargantua would throw himself, and make it trot, jump, amble, gallop, or pace just as he liked. Of a huge post he made himself a hunting-nag; and of a beam, a work-horse. Besides these he had ten or twelve poles that did for race-horses, and seven great boards that were horses for his coach. All of them he kept in his own room, tied securely to his bed.

He would make it trot or gallop

One day Lord Breadinbag, the Duke of Free-meal, and the Earl of Dry-throat, with all their followers, came to visit King Grangousier. With so many guests all at once, the palace was crowded, and in the stables for the visitors’ horses there was not a stall to be had.

Lord Breadinbag’s steward and his first gentleman-of-horse came on Gargantua just as he was sliding down off the palace roof. “Aha!” thought they, “we can find out from him where the king’s own stables are.”

“Good prince,” said the steward, “can you show us where the giant horses are kept?”

“Oh, yes,” cried Gargantua, “come with me.”

And taking them both by the hand, he dragged them after him up the great staircase of the palace. Through a long hall he led them up into a tower.

“This is some trick!” gasped the gentleman-of-horse. “The stables are never at the top of the house.”

As for the poor steward, he was too breathless to reply. “You—never—can—tell,” he panted. “Things—so—odd—in—these—giants’—countries.”

But Gargantua kept on dodging around corners and dashing up staircases, and there was nothing for it but to stumble after. Finally he flung open his bedroom door.

“Here are my great horses!” he cried. “Here is my roan, here is my bay, here is my race horse!” And with that he gave a lash at the beams and poles.

As soon as the steward and the gentleman-of-horse got their breath, they laughed indeed, and fairly tripped over each other in rushing downstairs to tell the joke in the banquet hall.

When Grangousier heard it, he roared till his chins shook again. “The young rogue!” he bellowed. “The rascal! If he is old enough to be up to mischief, he is old enough to go to SCHOOL!”

From that moment Gargantua’s fate was sealed. The next day an old schoolmaster named Tubal Holofernes came to teach him his letters. Now, Master Holofernes was a little, wizened man whom Gargantua could have lifted up in one of his big hands. Standing on the ground he had to shout through a trumpet to reach Gargantua’s ears. So, in order to get on faster with the teaching, Grangousier had him lifted up on one of the wooden horses, and ordered Gargantua to stand quietly alongside.

“A, B, C,” Holofernes would shout into his pupil’s tremendous ear. And Gargantua, who thought the whole thing a fine new game, would roar the letters out gaily after him.

So well did he learn them, in fact, that by the time he was ten years old, he could say the whole alphabet by heart backwards, to the immense delight of his father and all the banqueters.

Master Holofernes

“And now,” cried Grangousier, fairly bursting with pride and pudding, “he must be at his Latin.” For the truth of it was Grangousier did not know a word of Latin himself, and so he was determined that his son should be a great scholar.

Gargantua did not mind in the least. It meant new playthings for him. For, since there were no printed books in those days, Gargantua had first of all to learn to write books of his own. So Grangousier had made for him a great blank book about an acre square, a pen-holder as long as the pillar of Enay, and a horn that would hold a whole black lake of ink.

Master Holofernes would stand on the writing-desk and make his little, correct letters down in one corner of the book. Then Gargantua would take his pen and splash and scrawl and scratch in great lines and arcs all over the huge pages. Each letter Gargantua made, in fact, was so big that poor Holofernes had to look at it through a reducing glass to see the whole of it at once. All this took some time of course, but Grangousier was hugely pleased when, in thirteen years, six months and two weeks after he began, Gargantua could make any letter in the alphabet.

Then began the Latin. For thirty-four years Master Holofernes read to him out of the most learned books, and Gargantua was supposed to write down, in his own, every word that he heard. But by this time, I am sorry to say, Gargantua was a little tired of study, and though he scribbled busily enough, instead of writing Latin words, he drew pictures of elephants and camels and lions and tigers. And old Master Holofernes, who did not look over the work with the glass till long after, was none the wiser. As for King Grangousier and his friends, Gargantua had one Latin piece that he could recite either backwards or forwards for them, and they all vowed that his learning was wonderful.

Everything was going happily enough when one day there came a guest to Grangousier’s table who knew something about Latin. When he saw how much Gargantua had learned in all his years of study, his eyes twinkled.

“How would it be,” said he to Grangousier, “if to-night I should bring Eudemon, a young neighbor of mine, to talk Latin with Gargantua?”

Grangousier laid down his fork and vowed that it was the very best plan he ever had heard.

So, that evening Eudemon came,—an ordinary-sized boy about twelve years old. Pulling off his cap and bowing politely to all the company, he began immediately in the best Latin to thank Grangousier for allowing him to come to the palace, and then to tell Gargantua how glad he was to have the chance of talking with him.

When Gargantua heard that torrent of Latin of which he could not understand a single word, he grew so red that he had to hide his face in his cap, and stood there as dumb as a cow. As for Master Holofernes, he sneaked quietly out of the back door of the palace, and ran away as fast and as far as his legs would carry him.

For the first time in his life Grangousier was angry.

“What!” he bellowed, glaring at Gargantua and trembling in all his chins. “Not a word to say for yourself! Well then, well then, well then, not a minute longer do you stay here! Off to Paris with you, and get some sense put into your great, stupid head!”

The very next day Gargantua, with Eudemon and several other boys of the neighborhood, set out for Paris in charge of a new tutor named Ponocrates. Now, Ponocrates was not so very big, but somehow or other Gargantua knew by looking at him that it would not be wise to be drawing lions and tigers while he was reading Latin.

And partly because Ponocrates was that kind of man, and partly because Gargantua was thoroughly ashamed of himself, he went to his new master as soon as they got to Paris. “How do you wish me to begin?” he asked quite humbly.

Wise old Ponocrates looked at him kindly. “Suppose, at first,” he said, “you do just as you used to at home.”

Nothing could have pleased Gargantua better. The next morning he began as usual, by getting up about nine o’clock. He never bothered much about dressing, for his one idea was to get to breakfast as soon as possible. So, he scrambled into a shabby old suit lined with fox skins which was easy to put on, and smoothed his hair with a “German comb,”—which meant, that he ran his fingers through his great, tousled locks. Then yawning and stretching his arms, he jumped down over a whole staircase in his eagerness to get to breakfast.

Once there, he made short work of seven or eight hams, a dozen rashers of bacon, a huge bowl of chopped meat, and an acre of bread and gravy. After that he was ready for a walk through Paris to get up an appetite for dinner. Coming home a little early, he sat down for half an hour to study, to satisfy his conscience. But, while his eyes were on his book, his mind was down in the kitchen, peeping into the great steaming pots.

Even at that, he was at the table playing tunes on the glasses with his knife and fork long before dinner was served. When it did begin, four of his servants took their places on the table in front of him. And while Gargantua ate his usual number of steaks, hams, roasts, tongues, and sausages, they shoveled mustard down his great throat.

When every platter was clean, Gargantua leaned back in his chair and cried, “Spread the carpet!”

Down climbed the four servants from the table. Three of them unrolled a huge rug, while the other brought in trays piled high with checkers, chessmen, cards, and dice. Then the fun began. Gargantua and his friends started in on the two hundred and fifteen games they liked best. That afternoon they played:

• Flaying the Fox,
• Charming the Hare,
• Trudge, Pig,
• Pinch without Laughing,
• Riding the Wild Mare,
• The Whirligig,
• Rogue and Ruffian,
• I Take you Napping,
• The Hobgoblin,
• Climb the Ladder, Billy,
• and
• Gunshot Crack.

By that time Gargantua’s great head was nodding, and before the cards were shuffled again, he was stretched out on the floor fast asleep. About five o’clock he rubbed his great eyes open, and calling his friends, dashed out, mounted his horse and rode away to see a rabbit-catching just outside of Paris.

By supper-time, Gargantua had forgotten entirely about his Latin, his new tutor, and the reason why he had been sent to Paris. His mind was on the good supper and all the games they could play before midnight. His great fork flew from plate to mouth, and back again from mouth to plate. And between gulps he roared out his favorite song, while all his friends beat time on the table with their knives:

“One, two, three, four!

Much to eat and maybe more:

Five, six, seven, eight!

Polish platter, polish plate:—”

Just an instant Gargantua paused for breath, when suddenly a new voice, brisk and decisive, took up the refrain:

“Nine, ten!—Finish then!

Now for knowledge, gentlemen.”

Gargantua stopped, mouth agape, with a whole pudding poised on his fork. That was a new ending to the song, and there just inside the opened door, stood the singer,—Master Ponocrates!

But Ponocrates did not hesitate. He poured out a black liquid from a bottle into a great spoon, and striding up the table to Gargantua, dashed it into his open mouth.

For all the time Gargantua had been eating and playing, Ponocrates had been looking on. And when he saw what Gargantua’s habits were, he knew that it would take more than a new course of study to change them. So he had gone to Doctor Theodore, a famous physician of Paris, and got from him a medicine which should make Gargantua forget his old ways entirely.

So well did it work, that hardly had Gargantua swallowed it when he laid down his fork and looked wonderingly at the table as if he were trying to make out what all the puddings and pastries were there for.

“And now,” said Ponocrates, “you will oblige me, young gentlemen, by starting off to bed. I want clear heads for to-morrow’s study.”

Gargantua was the first one up from the table; and before eight o’clock had struck, he was asleep for the first time in his life without dreaming of banquets.

Early next morning a new kind of life began for him. For Ponocrates had laid out such a course of study that he should not lose a single hour of the day. At four o’clock he was called; and while he was being rubbed down after his bath, a page read the Latin lesson aloud to him. As he dressed, Ponocrates would come in to explain the hard points; and after a day or two Gargantua himself could repeat the lessons off by heart. And all the time he would be carefully parting his hair with a real comb instead of a German one, and never thinking of breakfast at all. Indeed after a few more doses of the black medicine, Ponocrates had to remind him that it was time to be eating or he would rush off to the schoolroom as soon as he was dressed.

Even when he swam down the river Seine

After breakfast Ponocrates talked for three hours in Latin, and then, as the boys began to look a trifle sleepy, sent them out for a game of tennis till dinner-time. After dinner they would sing for a while, and then get at their Latin books again for three hours more. And after six months of that, Eudemon himself could not outdo Gargantua in talking Latin. He thought in it, dreamed in it, and was as anxious to be at his book as he was before to be at his dinner.

Even when he swam, of an afternoon, down the river Seine, he took a book in one hand, and holding it up dry out of the water, read aloud from it, all the way, in a voice to split your ear-drums. Coming out of the water, he laid the book on the bank and dried himself off by leaping over trees and houses, and vaulting over churches, pricking his hand on the steeples.

But that was not the end of his day. For then came his lessons with Squire Gymnast, who taught him to leap nimbly from one great galloping horse to another; to shatter a thick stone tower with one thrust of his huge lance; and to hold two lead weights each weighing eight hundred and seventy thousand pounds above his head for three-quarters of an hour. Last of all he would stand with his arms folded, in an open field, and dare the whole French army to move him with crowbars.

But one day as the soldiers ranged themselves, ten to a bar, ready to pry at Gargantua’s great boots, there came a pelting of hoofs across the turf. Another moment, and a rider, shouting and spurring, burst in among them to Gargantua’s very feet.

“Your Royal Highness,” he cried, “your father, King Grangousier, sends for you!”

That was enough for Gargantua. The French crowbars rattled to the ground like toothpicks, as he sprang leaping over the army to saddle his great mare.

Part Two: How The Bakers Wished They Hadn’t

Now, the reason Grangousier sent for Gargantua so hastily was because he had had the ill luck to get mixed up in a war. And all because he praised a cake!

Next to Grangousier’s kingdom was the country of Lerné, famous far and near for its delicious little cakes. Twice a week, for years and years, the proud cake-bakers of Lerné had driven in along the king’s highway with ten cartloads of cakes,—five for the palace, and five to sell in town. From the hilltops beside the road Grangousier’s shepherds watched for them to come, and rushed down to buy a few cakes to go with their midday meal.

Now, it happened one day that King Grangousier in his usual kindly mood praised especially one of the little cakes from Lerné, which was made by a man named Marquet. At that, Marquet, who was already the proudest of the proud cake-bakers, marked all his cakes with a huge “M” and a little crown above, to show that he was baker to the King. And the next time he drove into Grangousier’s kingdom he held his nose higher than ever. Down the hill as usual came the shepherds for their cakes, but Marquet drove straight along.

“Hey, hey, hey,” cried the shepherds good-naturedly, “where are our cakes to-day?”

Marquet gave them one scornful glance. “I’m not selling to country folk,” said he. “My cakes are for the King.”

“Come, come, Marquet,” said one of the shepherds named Forgier, taking the horse’s bridle. “We’ve bought your cakes too many years to be treated this way. Here’s your money; now give us our cakes.”

Marquet rose up insolently. “Take your cakes!” he cried. “Take your cakes!” And with that he gave Forgier two great lashes across the face.

Out came Forgier’s stout oak cudgel. One blow, and Marquet reeled back senseless.

By that time the other bakers had driven up, and seeing Marquet fall, they set on the shepherds with their whips.

“Bumpkins! Boobies!” they shouted. “We’ll teach you to strike a cake-baker!”

But the shepherds replied so sturdily with their crooks and cudgels that it was not long before the bakers were glad to jump into their carts again, and drive as fast as they could back toward Lerné.

“Stop, stop, stop,” cried the hungry shepherds, “we want our cakes.” And giving chase, they seized four or five dozen of the cakes, throwing their money into the carts, in payment.

Then they bound up Forgier’s bleeding face; and made merry over their meal, laughing at the proud cake-bakers who had lost a day’s trade by their insolence.

As for the bakers, they drove furiously, straight to the palace of their king, Picrochole, and dashed, disheveled and breathless, into the throne room.

“Your Majesty,” they cried, “we have been set upon by the shepherds of old King Grangousier,—our heads broken, our coats torn, our cakes stolen, our trade ruined, and Marquet nearly killed.” And with that, two of them brought in Marquet himself, groaning horribly.

Now, Picrochole was as proud and passionate as any cake-baker of them all.

“What!” he roared, turning purple in the face. “Killing our subjects! Spoiling our trade! Well, we’ll teach them to eat our cakes indeed! Marshals, sound the call to arms. Get out the cannon, double cannon, serpentines. Every vassal, rich and poor, noble and peasant, to arms! And all in the square by the hour of noon. For to-day we teach Grangousier’s scoundrels to eat our cakes!”

Then there was a bustle indeed. By noon the great square was swarming with soldiers,—glittering officers, solid infantry, dashing cavalry, bold cannoneers, all gathered under the royal standard. Around the edges were the common people, without uniforms, but armed with pikes and broadswords and eager to be at the fighting. In the center of things was Marquet, fully recovered, and the cake-bakers around him, all very important-looking and armed up to their eyes. The cannon shone in the sun; the royal standard waved; the officers dashed to and fro; and all the people cheered.

Finally King Picrochole called his captains about him. “The army is to march in two divisions,” he said. “Half go east with me to Rock Clermond; half go west under Earl Swashbuckler to the Ford of Vede.”

Then detailing the captains, he commanded the army to advance immediately. So, all in disorder, the soldiers poured out of the square in two great streams, half by the east gate under Picrochole, half by the west gate under Earl Swashbuckler.

But no matter which way they went, as soon as they got to Grangousier’s country, they took to the fields, trampling crops, tearing hedges, shaking fruit trees, picking grapes, beating down nuts. Before them, in an uproar of fright, they drove cows, oxen, sheep, lambs, goats, pigs, hens, chickens and geese. Grangousier’s poor shepherds and farmers, hearing the bleats and the bellowings mingled with the songs and shouts of the soldiers, took to the woods; but many were captured nevertheless.

“Alas!” they cried, “we have always been good neighbors to you. We are unarmed and at peace, and you come on us like this! Spare us! Spare us!”

“Humph!” said Picrochole’s men grimly. “You are learning to eat our cakes.”

So that night, just as he had planned, Picrochole surprised and took the town of Rock Clermond, and Earl Swashbuckler quartered his army in the castle at the Ford of Vede.

Meanwhile the shepherd Forgier was posting with all speed to tell Grangousier. He arrived at a pause in the banquet, when the chestnuts were roasting over the fire. And Grangousier, with his chair turned about, was drawing pictures with a burnt stick in the ashes of the hearth and telling stories of the old times.

“Bravo! Bravo!” cried all the guests, smacking their lips over the hot chestnuts.

As for Queen Gargamelle on the other side of the fireplace, she smiled across at Grangousier, and thought that however good the old times might have been, they did not compare with the cozy present, with a warm blaze and the chestnuts roasting on the hearth.

Just then Forgier came, breathless, pulling off his cap. “Your Majesty,” he cried, “King Picrochole’s men swarm through the country. They trample the crops. They take our cattle and our sheep. Earl Swashbuckler plunders the Ford of Vede, and King Picrochole himself holds Rock Clermond.”

“What! What!” gasped Grangousier, turning from his story, all a-tremble. “Picrochole, you say!—Our old neighbor, with whom we have lived so many years in kindness and peace! What is it starts him against us? Is he mad, to turn so on his old friend, Grangousier?”

Forgier told the story of the cakes; and as he spoke, the good giant’s face which had been so troubled, became as bland and beaming as before.

“If it is only a matter of a few cakes,” he cried joyously, “we shall soon satisfy them. For Grangousier’s cooks can make cakes too. And this week the bakers of Lerné need not send cakes to the King; but the King himself will send cakes to the bakers of Lerné. And Marquet shall have a special cartload, all marked with my crown and scepter, to make up for those he lost. Hey, hey, hey, cooks and bakers! Grangousier calls.”

So all the cooks and bakers of the palace scurried up from the kitchen, spoons in hand and caps askew, and stood bowing before Grangousier’s chair.

“Good cooks,” said Grangousier kindly, “can we make here in our kitchen as fine cakes as those of Lerné?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” roared the cooks, bowing as low as they could.

“Well, then,” cried Grangousier, “take all the butter, all the sugar, all the spice in the palace. Spare nothing; but bake me cakes hot and fresh and fragrant enough to make friends again of the proud cake-bakers of Lerné. Five cartloads I would send them by dawn to-morrow, to comfort them for the five dozen the shepherds took.”

The cooks and bakers scuttled out again to be at their mixing and their stirring. And Grangousier rubbed his great hands in glee.

“Nothing like good cakes to end a war!” he chuckled.

But Forgier stood there, waiting and unhappy. “Your Majesty,” he burst out, “you do not know this Picrochole and his bakers. Once get them aroused, and there will have to be fighting before it is done. Picrochole will not give up Rock Clermond for all the cakes in the kingdom.”

Grangousier’s great face, which had been as jolly and round as a dinner plate, grew as solemn and long as a platter. “Can it be?” he asked sadly. “Can it be?” and sank into patient gloom.

Queen Gargamelle rustled anxiously in her chair. “Why not send for Gargantua?” she suggested timidly.

Grangousier beamed again. “The very thing!” he cried. “With all the reading and the fighting he’s been taught in Paris he’ll know in a minute what’s best to be done. Forgier, mount the fastest little horse in our stables. Post to Paris, and say to Gargantua that his old father needs him.”

Forgier dashed out of the banquet hall; and Grangousier, turning his chair again, sat all night, marking with his stick among the ashes and quite forgetting about his chestnuts.

At the very first gleam of dawn he raised his head, and his great nostrils puffed out like balloons. Up from the kitchen came wave on wave of warm, delicious baking. “The clever rascals!” muttered Grangousier. “The cakes are done!”

The oldest and trustiest cook of all rushed respectfully in. “Your Majesty,” he said, “the cakes are being piled on the carts. Who shall go with them to Rock Clermond?”

“You, Ulrich Gallet!” cried Grangousier happily. “Drive, yourself, the cart of cakes for Marquet; and say to him that he shall have not only the cakes, but these seven hundred thousand gold crowns besides, and one of our best apple orchards for him and his family forever.

“Say to Picrochole that we are full of grief at this trouble between his subjects and ours; give him the cakes, and tell him that we will make any other return he wishes. Only ask him to leave our town in peace. And to show him that you come as a friend, deck your carts with willow boughs.”

Trusty Ulrich bowed, and after he had gone, Grangousier himself lumbered out to the terrace to watch the carts with their nodding branches creep slowly over the hill.

The captain of Picrochole’s guard on the ramparts of Rock Clermond snuffed the morning air. “A good breakfast somewhere!” he muttered, and paced greedily around the wall, sniffing down the chimneys. But the savory odor did not come from any house of them all.

The captain turned, and gazed about the desolate country beyond the town. Suddenly his astonished eye caught four or five carts waving with willows, drawing up to the great gate.

“Ho, there!” he cried sharply. “Who comes to Rock Clermond?”

Honest Ulrich started. “It is I,—Ulrich Gallet,—” he shouted, “on an errand of peace from King Grangousier to King Picrochole and to Marquet.”

Just then the captain spied the cakes. It was those, then, that made the air so appetizing. He gave a long, loud whistle, and sprang down the embankment into the town. In another instant he burst out the gate, with the soldiers of the guard at his heels. Without a word they clambered over the carts and began seizing the cakes.

“Hold! Hold!” cried Ulrich stoutly, raising his whip. “The cakes are meant for you at any rate. Only let me give them with my message to King Picrochole and Marquet. Wait! Wait!”

The captain laughed insolently. “We will give your message,—never fear,” he shouted; and with a sudden grasp pulled the bag of gold-pieces for Marquet from Ulrich’s clenched hand.

“We ourselves,” he taunted, “will drive the carts to King Picrochole.” And with that two of the soldiers, climbing up treacherously from behind, threw Ulrich down into the dust. The next moment the poor cook heard the carts rumbling off through the gate. He scrambled up and shouted as loud as he could, but for reply there were only the sneering jibes of the captain and his men, as they closed the gates behind them.

So Ulrich turned sadly, and limped back down the road to the palace. It was twilight when he got there, but Grangousier was still watching from the terrace. Ulrich snatched off his cap with its dusty willow twig, and told his story. As he went on, all the jolly curves and dimples in the good giant’s face changed to stern, straight lines.

“The curs!” he cried. “Perhaps they will understand our cannon better than our cakes.” And he peered anxiously down the road toward Paris. “If only Gargantua would come!” he sighed.

Meanwhile Gargantua had left Paris, listening to Forgier’s story on the road. “My good old father!” he cried hotly. “To think that they should dare abuse his peaceful country! Well, Forgier, we pass the Ford of Vede, and we may as well look in on Earl Swashbuckler on our way.”

The young giant spurred ahead

And with that the young giant spurred ahead so furiously that the ground for miles around rocked with the hoof beats of his great mare. Straight ahead over hill and dale lay the castle at the Ford of Vede. Gargantua cleared the distance like a cyclone till he could see the castle towers. Then reining in his steed, he measured their height and breadth with his practised eye. Turning to the roadside, he pulled up a pine tree as sturdy and as straight as a bar of iron, and held it upright like a lance.

“Hail, cake-bakers of Lerné!” he cried grimly, and rode on to the castle.

But there was not a man to be seen. For at the jar of Gargantua’s coming, every plunderer of them all had hidden himself safely inside.

“Ho, there, bakers!” called Gargantua. “Come out, as you value your miserable lives.”

There was no reply, only a furious burst of cannon balls from the towers. Up into Gargantua’s eyes they flew,—over his head and shoulders in a vicious shower. But they struck the giant as harmlessly as so many grape seeds.

“Stop your pesky shot-guns!” cried Gargantua, annoyed. “Listen to me.”

But the cannon balls came faster and thicker than ever. Gargantua brushed them from his eyes, raised his great tree in a fury, and rode full tilt against the castle.

There was a shock and a crash. The towers shuddered and splashed, stone after stone, into the water beyond. As for Earl Swashbuckler and his bakers, there was not one of them left for Gargantua’s great eyes to spy out.

The young giant turned with a sorry shrug of his shoulders, and rode toward his father’s palace. It was nearly midnight when he got there, but Grangousier was still on the terrace, watching through the shadows for his big son to come looming up against the moon.

“My boy!” cried Grangousier gladly, and went lumbering down to meet him.

“Father!” shouted Gargantua. But when he heard how Ulrich Gallet had fared, his big eyes blazed. “They shall soon learn,” he cried, “how to treat your servants, sire. Call out the army. Send them post haste along the road to Rock Clermond, and leave the rest to me!” And Gargantua sprang again to his horse’s back.

“Not so fast! Not so fast, my son!” said Grangousier. “Get your sword. Get your lance. Refresh yourself with supper. Even then you will soon overtake the army.”

Gargantua yielded. He himself sounded the war alarm, and watched the soldiers scramble, musket in hand, to their ranks.

“March on to Rock Clermond,” he said to the general. “Fight fearlessly, for I shall come behind to help you.”

So the army set out along the dark road, and Gargantua sped to his room. He took out his great sword and lance shining like flashes of lightning. Then with his huge comb, each tooth of which was an elephant’s tusk, he began smoothing his tousled hair. As he did so, there was a bump on the floor,—another, another and another.

A servant knocked upon the door. “Prince Gargantua,” he cried, “sounds like thunder come from your room. The ceiling below trembles. Is something amiss?”

“Why, no,” laughed Gargantua, “I am but combing some small shot out of my hair.”

The servant gaped, with round eyes. “They are cannon balls, your Highness!” he cried in alarm.

“So they fired their cannon at me at the Ford of Vede,” muttered Gargantua in surprise.

Then taking up his arms, he went down for a bite of supper with his father; and just at dawn galloped off down the road.

Meanwhile the army drew near Rock Clermond. Picrochole’s captain of the guard saw them coming, and dashed to tell his king.

Picrochole roused up angrily. “Is Grangousier with them?” he snapped.

“No, sire, I saw no giants,” said the captain of the guard.

Picrochole reflected. “Of course not, of course not,” he cried testily. “Grangousier is too old after all; and that son of his is off at school in Paris. A mere handful of shepherds coming to surprise us, no doubt! Well, then, sound the charge; and follow me, every mother’s son. We shall teach these blockheads once again to eat the cakes of Lerné.”

So, in a vain fury of boldness, Picrochole led his men helter-skelter through the gate and down the hill upon Grangousier’s army. He drew his sword to charge, when suddenly against the morning sky, he saw Gargantua’s great figure looking down.

Picrochole staggered; then turned and scurried like a rabbit across the dewy grass. “The giant!” he shrieked. “The giant!” And his men scampered breathlessly after.

Gargantua stooped, and scooped up four or five of them in each of his great hands. As for the rest, his army chased them so hard that every baker of them was caught. Only Picrochole got away; but perhaps it was just as well, for the kingdom was rid of him, as he was never seen or heard of afterward.

When every captive was brought back, Gargantua called them all about him. “Cake-bakers of Lerné,” he boomed, “my father, Grangousier, is the mildest king in all the world, and the first friend of cooks.”

“Aye, aye,” cried all the bakers, waving their caps.

“And because you have served him with good cakes these many years,” went on Gargantua, “he will not throw you into prison as you deserve, but he will let you all go free and forgiven to your homes on one condition,”—and here the giant’s voice grew stern,—“that you and your families forever give his shepherds as many good cakes as they wish to buy. As for Marquet and the captain of the guard, Grangousier orders them to his palace kitchen. There they shall bake every day six cakes for every one he sent by Ulrich Gallet.”

“Long live good King Grangousier, and his son Gargantua!” cried the cake-bakers.

Gargantua turned his horse, and pranced joyously toward home, with his army streaming after. Last of all came Marquet and the captain of Picrochole’s guard, very humble and crestfallen, marched between four strong soldiers.

Grangousier saw them coming. “Cooks, cooks, cooks!” he cried. “Fire up your ovens, and spread the finest banquet since the days of King Ahasuerus!”

And the cooks did. That day Gargantua feasted with his father, and Ponocrates, Gymnast, and Eudemon (who arrived just in time), and all the victorious army. And this is what they ate, according to Ulrich Gallet’s list:

• Sixteen roasted beeves,
• Thirty-two calves,
• Sixty-three kids,
• Ninety-five sheep,
• Two hundred and twenty partridges,
• Four hundred capons,
• Seven hundred snipe,
• Twelve thousand pullets and pigeons,
• Fourteen hundred hares,
• One hundred and forty pheasants;

and deer, turkeys, ducks, geese, and vegetables without number. And after they had finished that, there was served up a whole ton of the hottest, most fragrant little cakes in all the world, baked by Marquet and the captain of Picrochole’s guard.

“A fine feast!” cried Gargantua.

“A fine son!” beamed Grangousier, happy as only a giant can be.

“A fine father!” called Gargantua.

“And fine cakes!” said Queen Gargamelle.

—Adapted from Rabelais’ “Gargantua.”

XI
The Man Who Went to the Giants’ Country

You who scoff at tales of giants,

Only sure of what you’ve seen,

Listen to this man of science

Who had long with giants been:

Then when doubting folk confront you,

Flout your faith or mock your fear,

Tell them of this wise man, won’t you?

Read them what’s recorded here.

Seymour Barnard.

XI
The Man Who Went to the Giants’ Country

As the world grew older and ways became stiffer, there came a dreadfully dull time when nothing ever happened by magic, and everything could be explained by a Reason. Worn out by this heavy atmosphere, the gods left the earth for the clouds, and the fairies vanished into moonlight and mist.

As for the giants, who had been so neighborly, they disappeared altogether. No frightened herdboy following a cry through the moonlit forest, came upon their towering figures. No Indian pushing out over the misty sea was hailed by a giant canoe.

People became quite superior and scornful. There was hardly a person who would discuss giants seriously. The grown-ups would only sniff; and even the children, who were young enough to know better, would cry, “Pooh! There never were any giants.”

Oddly enough, it happened, as those things sometimes do, that one of the most matter-of-fact persons of all, an Englishman and a scientist, came suddenly upon the giants’ country. After that, you may be sure, the people who had been the first to scoff whenever giants were mentioned, became quite silent and respectful. Here is the Englishman’s own story of the adventure, almost as he wrote it in his stiff, honest, grown-up way:

In June, 1702, I, Lemuel Gulliver, ship’s surgeon, went on board the merchant-vessel Adventure bound for Surat. Rounding the Cape of Good Hope, we had a good voyage through the Straits of Madagascar. But just south of the equator a violent gale sprang up, and continuing for twenty days, drove us before it a little to the east of the Spice Islands.

Suddenly, the wind dropped and there was a perfect calm. I was delighted, but the captain, who knew those seas, bade us all prepare for a storm. The next day, just as he had said, a wind called the Southern monsoon set in. We reefed the best we could, but it was a very fierce storm, and the waves broke strange and dangerous. We let our topmast stand, and the ship scudded before the sea.

Thus we were carried about five hundred leagues to the east, so that the oldest sailor aboard could not tell in what part of the world we were. Our provisions held out well, our ship was stanch, and our crew all in good health, but we were in great distress for lack of water.

The wind moderated, and the next day a boy on the topmast discovered land. Soon, we were in full view of an island or continent, on the south side of which was a neck of land jutting out into the sea, and a creek too shallow to hold our ship. We cast anchor about a league away, and our captain sent a dozen of his men well armed, in the long-boat, with buckets for water. I asked his leave to go with them, to see the country and make what discoveries I could.

When we came to land, we saw no river or spring, nor any sign of inhabitants. Our men wandered on the shore, hoping to find some fresh water near the sea, and I walked alone on the other side where the country was all barren and rocky. Beginning to be tired, I started back toward the shore, only to see our men already in the boat rowing for dear life to the ship.

I was going to holloa to them when I saw a huge creature walking after them in the sea. The water was hardly to his knees, and he took prodigious strides. But our men had the start of him by half a league, and as the sea thereabout is full of sharp-pointed rocks, the monster was not able to overtake the boat. This I was told afterward, for I dared not stay to see, but ran as fast as I could the way I first went, and climbed up a steep hill which gave me a view of the country. I found it fully cultivated; but what first surprised me was the length of the grass, which in the hay-fields was about twenty feet high.

I came upon a high road, for so I took it to be, though it served the inhabitants only as a footpath through a field of barley. Here I walked for an hour but could see little, for the grain rose forty feet into the air on either side. Coming at last to the end of the field, I found it fenced in with a hedge over one hundred feet high, and a stile impossible for me to climb.

I was trying to find a gap in the hedge when I saw a man as tall as a church-steeple approaching the stile. Hiding myself in the grain, I heard him call, but the noise was so high in the air that at first I thought it was thunder. Immediately seven monsters, each with a reaping-hook as big as six scythes, came to reap the grain in the field where I was.

I kept as far from them as I could, but I could move only with great difficulty, for the barley-stalks were sometimes less than a foot apart so that I could hardly squeeze between them. However, I struggled on till I came to a part of the field where the grain had been beaten down by the rain and wind. Here it was impossible to advance a step, for the stalks were so interwoven that I could not creep between, and the beards of the barley were so strong and pointed that they pierced through my clothes. At the same time, hearing the reapers close behind me, I threw myself down between two ridges, overcome with despair.

The next moment I saw an immense foot not ten yards away and the blinding gleam of a great reaping-hook above my head. I screamed as loud as fear could make me. The huge reaper stopped short, and looking about on the ground for some time, finally spied me. He considered a while as if he were planning how he could pick up a small, dangerous animal so that it could neither bite nor scratch him. At last he ventured to take me up by the middle, between his forefinger and thumb, and held me within three yards of his eyes.

Good fortune gave me so much presence of mind that I resolved not to struggle as he held me in the air, about sixty feet from the ground, although he grievously pinched my sides. Instead, I raised my eyes and clasped my hands, speaking some words in a humble tone and groaning to let him know how cruelly I was hurt by the pressure of his thumb and finger. He seemed to understand, for putting me gently into his pocket, he ran along with me to his master, the farmer I had first seen.

The farmer blew my hair aside to get a better view of my face, and then placed me softly on the ground on all-fours. But I got immediately up, and walked slowly backward and forward. Pulling off my hat, I made a low bow to the farmer. I fell on my knees, and spoke several words as loud as I could. I took a purse of gold out of my pocket and humbly presented it to him. He received it on the palm of his hand, and turned it with the point of a pin, but could make nothing of it.

A cat three times as big as an ox

He spoke to me, but the sound of his voice pierced my ears like that of a water-mill. I answered as loud as I could in several languages, and he laid his ear within two yards of me, but all in vain. We could not understand each other.

He then sent his servant to work, and taking out his handkerchief, spread it on his left hand, which he placed flat on the ground with the palm upwards. He beckoned to me to step up on it, which I could easily do, as it was not more than a foot thick. Wrapping me up in the handkerchief, he carried me home to his house. There he showed me to his wife; but she screamed and ran back as if I had been a spider. However, when she had seen how gentle I was, and how well I obeyed the signs her husband made, she became extremely tender to me.

It was dinner-time, and the servant brought in a dish of meat about twenty-four feet across. At the table were the farmer, his wife, and three children. The farmer placed me at some distance from him on the table, which was thirty feet high from the floor. I was in a terrible fright, and kept as far as I could from the edge, for fear of falling. The wife minced a bit of meat and crumbled some bread, placing it before me on a plate. I made her a low bow, took out my knife and fork, and began to eat, which gave them much delight.

The baby seized me by the middle

Then the master beckoned me to come to his plate; but as I walked on the table, I stumbled against a crust and fell flat on my face. I got up immediately, and finding the good people greatly concerned, I waved my hat over my head, giving three huzzas to show that I had received no hurt. Just then I heard a noise like that of a dozen stocking-weavers at work, and turning my head, found it to be the purring of a cat three times as big as an ox. The fierce look of this creature, which had jumped into the mistress’s lap, altogether discomposed me, although I stood at the further end of the table, fifty feet away. I was less afraid of the dogs, one of which was a mastiff as big as four elephants.

But my chief danger came from another quarter. When dinner was almost over, a nurse came in with a child a year old in her arms, who immediately spied me and began a squall that you might have heard across London, to get me for a plaything. The mother put me towards the baby, who suddenly seized me by the middle, and put my head into his mouth, where I roared so loud that he was frightened and let me drop. And I should certainly have broken my neck if the nurse had not held her apron under me. To quiet the baby, the nurse shook a rattle filled with rocks as big as cobblestones, which was fastened by a cable to the child’s waist.

But the one of all the family whom I liked the best was a little girl nine years old, who became from the first my chief protector. It was she who fixed up a bed for me in her doll’s cradle, and it was she who taught me the language. When I pointed out anything, she told me the name of it in the giants’ tongue, so that in a few days I was able to call for whatever I wished. She was very good-natured, and not above forty feet high, being small for her age. She gave me the name of Grildrig, meaning mannikin. I called her my Glumdalclitch, or little nurse.

She was not above forty feet high

It soon began to be known in the neighborhood that my master had found in the field a tiny animal shaped exactly like a human creature, which seemed to speak in a little language of its own, had already learned several words of theirs, walked erect on two legs, was tame and gentle, and would come when it was called. Another farmer, who lived near by, came on a visit on purpose to find out the truth of this story. Being old and dim-sighted, he put on his spectacles to see me better, at which I could not help laughing, for his eyes looked like the full moon shining into a room at two windows. This man was thought to be a great miser, and to my way of thinking, he well deserved it, for the first thing he did after seeing me was to advise my master to show me as a sight in the next town.

Accordingly, the next market-day, my master mounted his daughter, my little nurse, on a pillion behind him, and rode with me to town. I was carried in a wooden box, closed on every side, with a little door to let me in and out, and a few gimlet holes to give me air. Although Glumdalclitch had put her doll’s quilt in the box for me to lie down on, I was nevertheless terribly shaken up by this journey of only half an hour. The horse went about forty feet at every step, and trotted so high that the motion was like the rising and falling of a ship in a great storm.

My master alighted at an inn; and having hired the crier to give notice of me through the town, placed me on a table in the largest room of the inn, which was about three hundred feet square. My little nurse stood on a low stool close by, to take care of me and direct what I should do. To prevent danger, my master would allow but thirty people at a time to see me, and set benches round the table so as to put me out of everybody’s reach.

I walked about on the table as Glumdalclitch commanded; she asked me questions, and I answered them as loud as I could. I paid my humble respects to the audience, and said they were welcome. I took up a thimble filled with wine, and drank their health. I flourished my sword, and exercised with part of a straw as a pike. That day I was shown to twelve sets of people, and as often forced to go through the same antics till I was half-dead with weariness and vexation. For those who had seen me made such wonderful reports that the people were ready to break down the doors to come in.

I took up a thimble

Finding how profitable I was, my master decided to take me to the metropolis. And so, having made my box more comfortable for a longer journey, he and Glumdalclitch set out with me for Lorbrulgrud, or the Pride of the Universe, three thousand miles away. Arriving there, my master hired a large room on the principal street of the city, not far from the royal palace, and showed me ten times a day. The fame of me spread far and wide, for during the journey I had learned to speak the language fairly well, and understood every word I heard. Indeed, we had not been long in the city when a gentleman usher came from the palace, commanding my master to take me there immediately for the diversion of the Queen and her Ladies.

Her Majesty was beyond measure delighted with me. I fell on my knees, and begged the honor of kissing her imperial foot. But she ordered me to be set on a table, and held out her little finger toward me, which I embraced in both my arms, putting the tip of it with the utmost respect to my lips. She asked whether I would be content to live at Court. I bowed down to the table, and answered that I should be proud to devote my life to her Majesty’s service. She then asked the farmer if he were willing to sell me at a good price. He said he would part with me for a thousand pieces of gold, which were ordered for him on the spot.

One request only I made of the Queen: that Glumdalclitch, who had always tended me with so much kindness, might continue to be my nurse and instructor. Her Majesty agreed, and easily got the farmer’s consent, who was glad enough to have his daughter preferred at Court. As for the poor girl herself, she was not able to hide her joy.

The Queen commanded her own cabinet-maker to make a box that might serve me as a bedroom, after the model that Glumdalclitch and I should agree upon. This man, who was most ingenious, in three weeks finished for me a wooden room, sixteen feet square and twelve high, with windows, a door, and two closets. The board that made the ceiling lifted up on hinges so that Glumdalclitch could take out my bed every day to air, and let it down at night, locking up the roof over me. A skilful workman, who was famous for little curiosities, made me two tables and two chairs of a substance not unlike ivory. The room was quilted on all sides, as well as the floor and the ceiling, so that no harm might come to me if my box were carelessly carried, or jolted about in a coach.

The Queen likewise ordered the thinnest silks that could be gotten to make me new clothes. But even these were thicker than blankets, and very much in my way till I was used to them.

So fond of my company did the Queen become that she could not dine without me. I had a table placed on that at which she ate, just at her left elbow. Glumdalclitch stood on a stool nearby, to assist and take care of me. I had an entire set of silver dishes, which in proportion to the Queen’s were not much bigger than those of a doll’s house. For her Majesty’s knives were twice as long as a scythe, set straight upon the handle, and her spoons, forks, and plates were all on the same scale. I remember the first time I ever saw a dinner-party at Court, when a dozen of these enormous knives and forks were being plied at once, I thought I had never seen so terrible a sight.

But after living among the giants several months, my first horror at their huge size so far wore off that I could not help smiling at myself when the Queen used to place me on her hand before a mirror in which both our figures were reflected together. The contrast was so ridiculous that I really began to think I must have dwindled far below my usual size.

But nothing mortified me so much as the Queen’s dwarf, who was the smallest ever known in the country, being hardly thirty feet high. Seeing at last a creature so far beneath him, he became insolent, and never failed to make some smart remark about my littleness. My only revenge was to call him brother and challenge him to wrestle, which made him not a little angry. One day, at dinner, he became so nettled that raising himself up on the frame of the Queen’s chair, he picked me up by the middle and let me drop into a large silver bowl of cream, and then ran away as fast as he could. I fell in over my head, and if I had not been a good swimmer, I believe I should have been drowned. For Glumdalclitch was at the other end of the room, and the Queen was too frightened to help me. However, my little nurse ran to my relief, and took me out, after I had swallowed more than a quart of cream. I was put to bed, but I was not hurt, except for my clothes, which were ruined.

She could not dine without me

Indeed, I should have lived happily enough in Brobdingnag (for that is the name of the giants’ country), if my littleness had not made me continually the victim of the most absurd accidents. I remember one morning Glumdalclitch set me in my box on a window-sill to give me the air. I opened my windows and sat down at my table to eat a piece of sweet-cake for breakfast, when twenty wasps as big as partridges came flying into the room, droning louder than so many bag-pipes. Some of them seized my cake and carried it piecemeal away. Others flew about my head, deafening me with their noise, until I was afraid I should be stung to death. However, I had the courage to draw my sword, and attack them in the air. Four of them I killed, but the rest got away, and I shut my windows in a hurry.

Another day Glumdalclitch let me walk about by myself on a smooth grass-plot in the garden, when there suddenly fell such a violent shower of hail that I was struck to the ground. And when I was down, the hail-stones, which were as big as tennis-balls, gave me such cruel bangs that I could scarcely creep to the shelter of a primrose. As it was, I was so bruised from head to foot that I could not go out for ten days.

But a more dangerous accident happened to me in the same garden when my little nurse had left me for a few minutes alone. While she was away, a small white spaniel belonging to one of the gardeners, ranged by the place where I lay. The dog, following the scent, came directly up, and took me in his mouth. Wagging his tail, he ran straight to his master, and set me gently on the ground. Luckily, he had been so well taught, that I was carried between his teeth without the least hurt. But the poor gardener, who knew me well, was in a terrible fright. He took me up tenderly in both his hands, and asked me how I did; but I was so amazed and out of breath that I could not speak a word. In a few minutes, however, I came to myself, and he carried me safely to my little nurse.

The longer I stayed in Brobdingnag the fewer accidents I had, as I gradually adapted myself to the huge size of everything about me. After a while, in fact, I even contrived a way so that I could read the giants’ books, although they were several times as big as I was. The book I wished to read was opened and put leaning against the wall, and in front of it, a kind of step-ladder, which the Queen’s carpenter had made for me, twenty-five feet high, and fifty wide. Mounting to the upper step of the ladder, I began reading at the top of the page, walking along to the right till I got to the end of the line. So I went, back and forth, till I had got a little below the level of my eyes. Then I descended gradually, going on in the same way to the bottom; after which I mounted again, and began the other page in the same manner. As for turning the leaf, that I could easily do with both hands, for it was as thick and stiff as pasteboard, and even in the largest books not more than twenty feet long.

But the Queen, who was always thinking up ways to amuse me, gave me the best pastime of all. She asked me one day whether I knew how to sail or row. I told her that I understood both very well, but I did not see how I could do either in her country, where the smallest rowboat is as big as a man-of-war among us. For even if I had a boat small enough for me to manage, it could never live in any of the giants’ rivers. But the Queen only smiled and said that if her carpenter could make me a boat, she would provide a place for me to sail in. So, in ten days I had a pleasure boat, complete with all its tackling, big enough to hold eight Englishmen. And in an outer room of the palace the Queen had ordered built along the wall a wooden trough, three hundred feet long, and eight deep, which two servants could fill with water in half-an-hour.

Here I often used to row for my own pleasure, as well as that of the Queen and her ladies. Sometimes I would put up my sail, and then I had only to steer while the ladies gave me a breeze with their fans. And when they were tired, some of the pages would blow my sail forward, while I showed my skill by steering starboard or larboard as I pleased. When I was through, Glumdalclitch always carried my boat back into her closet and hung it on a nail to dry.

One day a servant who was filling my trough, let a huge frog slip out of his pail. The beast lay concealed till I was put into my boat, when, seeing a resting-place, he climbed up and made it lean so much on one side, that I was forced to balance it with all my weight on the other to keep it from overturning. When the frog had got in, he hopped at once half the length of the boat, and then over my head, rubbing against me with his slimy body. The hugeness of his features made him seem the most deformed animal imaginable. However, I asked Glumdalclitch to let me deal with him alone. I banged him awhile with one of my oars, and finally forced him to leap out of the boat.

But even though I was the favorite of a great Queen and the delight of a whole Court, I could not help sometimes wishing to be in a country where I need not live in fear of being stepped on like a toad or a young puppy. But my escape came sooner than I expected, and in a most curious way.

Besides the large box in which I was usually carried, the Queen had a smaller one made for me, about twelve feet square, for convenience in traveling. On top was a great ring, by which one of the giants could carry the box in his hand. And on one side were two iron loops, through which a person carrying me on horseback could run a leather belt and buckle it around his waist. The other sides had windows, latticed with iron wire to prevent accidents. Inside, I had a hammock swung from the ceiling, and a small hole cut in the roof just above it to give me air in hot weather. There were, besides, two chairs screwed to the floor so that they could not be tossed about by the motion of the horse or coach.

It was in this traveling-box that I made my last trip in the giants’ country. One spring I was carried in it to spend a few days at the seashore along with the Queen and Glumdalclitch. My poor little nurse and I were tired by the journey. I had only a little cold, but Glumdalclitch was sick in bed. I longed to see the ocean, and asked leave to have one of the pages carry me along beside the sea. I shall never forget how unwillingly Glumdalclitch consented, bursting into a flood of tears, as if she had a foreboding of what was to happen.

The page took me out in my box, and walked with me on the rocks along the shore. Feeling slightly ill, I ordered him to set me down so that I could take a nap in my hammock. I got in, and the boy shut the window to keep out the cold. For some time I lay and watched him out the window, as he searched about among the rocks for birds’ eggs. But after a while he went out of my sight altogether, and feeling more and more drowsy, I fell asleep.

There was a sudden, violent pull on the ring of my box, and I awoke with a start. I felt my room raised high in the air, and then carried forward at a terrific speed. The first jolt almost shook me out of my hammock, but afterward the motion was easy enough. I called out several times as loud as I could, but all in vain. I looked out my windows, but could see nothing but clouds and sky. I listened, and made out a noise over my head like the flapping of wings. Then for the first time I realized what had happened. Some eagle had got the ring of my box in his beak. Soon, no doubt, he meant to let it fall on a rock like a turtle in a shell, and pick out my body to devour it.

Suddenly, the great wings above me began to beat faster, and my box was tossed up and down like a swinging sign on a windy day. I heard several bangs, as I thought, given to the eagle, and then felt myself falling straight down for more than a minute, but so swiftly that I almost lost my breath. My fall was stopped by a terrible squash that sounded louder to my ears than Niagara Falls; after which, I was in the dark for another minute. Then my box began to rise so high that I could see light from the tops of the windows. I now saw that my box had fallen into the sea, and with the weight of my body, the furniture, and the broad plates of iron on the bottom, floated about five feet deep in water.

I did then, and do still, suppose that the eagle which flew away with my box, was chased by two or three others who wanted a share in the prey. In defending himself he was forced to let me drop, but the iron plates on the bottom kept the box from breaking when it struck the water. Every joint was snugly fitted, and the door shut down, like a window, which kept my room so tight that very little water came in. Nevertheless, I expected every minute to see my box dashed to pieces, or at least overturned by a wave. A break in a single pane of glass would mean immediate death, and indeed nothing could have saved the windows but the iron lattices the giants had put on the outside. I could not lift up my roof, or I should certainly have climbed out and sat on top, where I would at least have had a chance of living a few hours longer than by being shut up inside. But even if I escaped drowning for a day or two, what could I expect but a miserable death from cold and hunger?

A voice calling in English

After four hours of these wretched imaginings, I thought I heard a kind of grating noise on the side of my box where the iron loops were fixed. And soon after, I began to fancy that the box was being towed along in the sea, for now and then I felt a sort of tugging, which made the waves rise near the tops of my windows, leaving me almost in the dark. This somehow gave me a hope of escape, although I could not imagine how it could be brought about. I unscrewed one of my chairs from the floor, and having managed to screw it down again directly under the air hole in the ceiling, I mounted on it and called for help in all the languages I knew. Then, fastening my handkerchief to my walking stick, I thrust it up through the hole, and waved it several times in the air, so that if any ship were near, the sailors might see that there was some one shut up in the box.

There was no reply to my signals, although I saw plainly that my box was moving along; and in an hour or so the side where the iron loops were, struck against something hard. I feared that it was a rock, for I was being tossed about more than ever. Suddenly, I heard a noise on the roof, like the grating of a cable passing through the ring, and I felt myself being hoisted up at least three feet higher than I was before. At that, I waved my stick and handkerchief again, and called for help till I was hoarse. In return I heard a great shout repeated three times. There was a trampling over my head, and a voice calling in English to ask if there was anybody below. I answered that I was an Englishman, and begged to be rescued from the prison I was in. The voice replied that I was safe, for my box was fastened to their ship, and the carpenter would come immediately to saw a hole in the roof large enough to pull me out. I said that was needless, for one of the crew had only to put his finger in the ring and take the box out of the sea into the ship. On hearing me talk so wildly some of the crew thought I was crazy, and others laughed, for indeed it never occurred to me that now I was among people of my own height and strength. The carpenter came, and in a few minutes sawed an opening about four feet square, then let down a small ladder, which I mounted, and from there took me to the ship.

The sailors crowded about me, asking me a thousand questions, but I was all in a daze at the sight of so many pigmies. For my eyes had been so long accustomed to the giants that I could not believe these were ordinary-sized Englishmen. However, the captain, seeing that I was about to faint from weariness and amazement, took me into his own cabin, and put me upon his own bed, advising me to take a little rest.

I slept some hours, and when I woke up, felt much better. It was then about eight o’clock at night, and the captain entertained me most kindly at dinner. He said, that about twelve o’clock at noon, as he was looking through his glass, he spied my chest at a distance, and thought it was a sail. As his ship’s biscuit had begun to run short, he made for it, hoping to buy some. On coming nearer and finding a huge chest instead of a ship, he sent out his long-boat to find out what it was. His men came back in a terrible fright, swearing that they had seen a swimming house.

Laughing at their folly, he went himself in the boat, ordering his men to take a strong cable along with them. He rowed around me several times, saw my windows, and the great iron loops upon the other side. To one of these loops he ordered his men to fasten a cable and tow the chest along toward the ship. When it was there he told them to fasten another cable to the ring in the cover, and raise the chest up with pulleys. But all the sailors tugging together were able to lift it only three feet. It was then that they saw my stick and handkerchief waving through the hole, and decided that some unlucky man was shut up inside.

He asked me, how it was that I had come there, and I told him my story from beginning to end. And as truth always forces its way into reasonable minds, so this honest gentleman was not slow in believing me. He said he wondered at one thing very much, which was to hear me speak so loudly, and he asked whether either the King or Queen of the giants was deaf. But I explained to him, how for the two years I had lived among the giants I had been like a man on the street talking to people in a steeple far above. I told him, too, how the sailors on the ship had seemed to me the tiniest little creatures I had ever seen, and how I almost laughed when I saw his table set for dinner, with plates the size of a penny, a leg of pork hardly a mouthful, and cups not so big as nutshells.

The captain laughed heartily, and during the whole voyage we were the best of friends. With a favorable breeze all the way, we rounded the Cape of Good Hope, and so sailed safely home to the tiny shores of England.

Adapted from Jonathan Swift’s “A Voyage to Brobdingnag.”

XII
The Giant Who Came Back

Stepping so carefully, up foot and down,

Big Benevaldo is walking the town,

Now to the left of him, now to the right;

Some one will ride with a giant to-night:

Tall as the houses and wide as the ways,

Big Benevaldo is stopping to gaze;

See, through the window he’s looking at you;—

Little Luigi, your dream has come true!

Seymour Barnard.

XII
The Giant who Came Back

An hour’s chat

For several years after the giants moved into a country of their own, they came back sometimes to walk among the tiny towns of men. For they still had a few old acquaintances there to take up in their big hands for an hour’s chat. But as time went on, the old friends, one by one, went away, until there was nobody to give the giants a genial hail, or so much as notice them when they passed. For every man and woman and child was so busy looking after his own little affairs near the ground that they did not even see the giants at all.

So the giants, feeling quite lonesome and neglected, stayed in their own country. And so it happened that the young giants grew up without ever seeing the tiny creatures called men.

It was a warm spring for frosty Giantland. As early as May crocuses as big as lilac bushes came pushing up at the edge of the snow. Benevaldo, coming down to breakfast, leaped three stairs at a time.

“Father! Mother!” he called, bursting in on them, “I’m going on a journey.”

His mother took a second helping of walruses. “I was just saying to your father,” she remarked in her big, placid way, “that it was time we were starting north for the summer.”

“But,” said Benevaldo, beaming all over his wide, eager face, “I’m going south!”

“South!” cried his mother. “At this time of year!”

“Go if you like,” said his father, “but I warn you, you won’t enjoy it. The first thing you know, you’ll be stumbling into the men’s country. And then you’ll be glad enough to come back again. Why, the last time I was there, you could hardly step in some places without stubbing your toe against one of their houses.”

“And I’ve heard,” put in his mother, “that it’s getting more crowded all the time.”

“There’s nothing so annoying,” went on his father, “as to be there with all those little creatures scampering about at your feet, and not one of them speaking to you or so much as seeing you.”

“But why can’t they see us?” cried Benevaldo. “We’re big enough, I hope.”

His father did not answer. A hurt look came into his great eyes, and he bent soberly over his walruses.

“Hush, Benny!” chided his mother. “Don’t you know they can’t see us because they don’t believe in us any more?”

“Never mind!” cried Benevaldo cheerfully. “I think I’d like to see them!”

“Why, Benny,” said his mother in despair, “whatever put that into your head?”

“I don’t know,” smiled Benevaldo. “The spring, I guess.”

“Well, there!” said his mother, complacent again. “Go if you want to, and see what there is to see.” And she began slicing up muffins the size of small haystacks to make sandwiches for his journey.

So Benevaldo started south to see the men’s country. At every step the ground grew greener, the sun grew warmer, the sky grew bluer. And it was all fun for Benevaldo. He swung along over mountains and plains, whistling like the wind; and sprang over rivers as carelessly as if they were brooks.

Little by little, the look of the land changed. There were no more long forests to kick his way through. There were no more wide, bare plains. The whole country was marked off into small green and brown squares like a plaid; and across it went tiny paths, this way and that.

Ahead on one of the paths something moved. It was a little creature coming toward him, stepping along on its two tiny legs as he did on his big ones. Benevaldo gasped with the surprise of it. “A man!” he said to himself. “A man!” And he stood motionless, astride the path, to let the pigmy pass. “If I move, I shall frighten him,” thought he.

But the man walked under him without a quiver or so much as a glance. It was quite plain that he had not seen Benevaldo at all.

The young giant went on, whistling a little ruefully. Another man passed him, and another,—two or three driving in a tiny cart behind a little animal. Presently they came so thick and fast that Benevaldo had to keep skipping aside to avoid stepping on them. The whole country was dotted with their absurd houses; and he saw now that the green and brown squares must be their fields, and the tiny paths their highways.

There was a quick snort down near his feet. A hot, hissing monster like a black, jointed snake swept by his toes. As he started back, dazed with the rush of it, another came whizzing after. Something gleamed in their wake. Benevaldo knelt down and felt of it. The creatures’ shining path was a cold, two-ridged track.

He walked more carefully than before, stepping over the roads and looking out for the slippery tracks. The houses came in clusters now. The small clusters he could jump over, but the big ones he had to go around, or risk wedging his feet in the narrow streets. There was no longer any fun in walking. No sooner had he taken half a dozen good free steps than he came tripping against one of these towns. Even in the bare spots the roads were buzzing with tiny wagons, darting about by themselves like overgrown beetles.

Benevaldo, looking down from his height on all the confusion, grew quite giddy. It was sunset time, and he had been walking all day without stopping. He pulled out a sandwich from his lunch bag, but he had to eat it standing up. For he could not sit down without crushing a house or blocking a road.

“Heigh-ho!” yawned Benevaldo, stretching his long arms. “Here I’ve been dodging and dancing about all the afternoon in a country much too small for me, with nobody to speak to, or to look at me, for that matter. It’s time I went home where there is room to walk and some one to talk to.”

But when he came to start on again, he did not turn around after all. He kept on walking south, south, south, as fast as he could for the roads and the towns. A feeling he could not explain drew him on. In spite of the cramps in his legs and the scratches on his feet, he could not give up his uncomfortable adventure.

It grew dark; and the houses seemed to become closer and closer. He could not put his foot down without feeling them pressing against it on all sides. He hardly dared to step at any rate, for every open space seemed swarming with people and the little buzzing, beetle-like wagons. A thousand small lights seemed to burst out in that world around his ankles. They dazzled him until he could see less than ever where he was going.

His leg came against something cold and hard. He drew back cautiously, stepped over and stopped. His eyes got over their blinking, and he stood still, looking about. He was knee-deep in brick walls. As far as he could see were rows on rows of other brick walls, some higher, some lower, all honeycombed with lights. He bent down over those in front of him, listening. They seemed full of bustle and tiny voices.

Benevaldo had almost reached the shining towers

Benevaldo straightened up in surprise. Were there people, then, inside? These walls were like no houses he ever had seen in his life. Were they prisons perhaps, or traps?

He looked ahead for a new foothold. But there was nowhere for him to step. Between the rows of walls were nothing but streets lined with lights, seething with small vehicles and people. The whole vast extent of twinkling walls seemed shaken with the rumble, rumble, rumble of moving.

Benevaldo sighed, and peered about for some way to go on. He could not turn back now. An idea struck him. Over at his right, the lights suddenly stopped. He edged cautiously that way, and then he saw. The walls stopped as well as the lights, before a wide, dark river.

With one mighty spring, Benevaldo cleared the distance in between and landed splashing in midstream. The water soothed his aching feet, and he felt as fresh and adventurous as in the early morning. The lines of glittering walls on the shore challenged him. Far ahead he could make out lighted towers, as tall perhaps as he was. Leaping and eager, he ran toward them down the river.

The bright ferry boats crawling across the stream rocked in his wake. Even the dark ocean liners, tied up at their docks, trembled. “It must be blowing up a cyclone,” said the pilot on a tug, beating up and down on the waves. But when he looked out, the stars were shining clearer than ever, and there was not a cloud in the sky.

Benevaldo had almost reached the shining towers. Beyond them he could see the dark stretches of the ocean broken only by a few twinkling islands. Out there he could have a cool swim and land perhaps on another, less crowded shore to race back again, through new, wide countries to Giantland.

But instead he turned and waded deliberately to the walls on the river bank. Cautiously he settled his foot in one of the narrow, bright streets. They were less crowded now. There should be more chance to step. But the walls on each side pinched his toes and barked his shins.

“I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” thought Benevaldo, with a giant laugh at his own folly. “But I’ve just got to see this queer place. It must be the springtime that is leading me on.”

But it was not the spring. It was only the wish in a little boy’s heart.

The little boy lived high up in one of those lines of tenement houses Benevaldo had taken for walls. His name was Luigi, and he had an ache in his back but a smile on his face. All day and all night for months he had lain beside a window, trying to get well. And besides that, he had made cloth flowers for ladies’ hats to help his mother and Rosa.

Sometimes when Rosa was not too tired, she would tell him stories as they worked. And once in a very long while, when they could get no work to do, she would bring home a library book and read him about fairies and giants.

One night when the reading was done, Rosa looked over at him wistfully. “Oh, Luigi,” she said, “I wish there were giants now, so that one could come and carry you in his great hands right out into the country!”

Luigi smiled more happily than ever. “What a fine idea!” he cried. “Perhaps one will come, Rosa.”

But Rosa shook her head. “Oh, no, Luigi,” she said sadly. “Don’t be a baby. There aren’t any giants any more, you know.”

Luigi was not convinced. “Why, Rosa,” he argued, “there must still be giants somewhere.” And that night he went to sleep and dreamed about giants so plainly that the next morning he was surer of them than ever.

But usually at night Luigi lay awake and thought. “Suppose a giant should come,” he would say to himself breathlessly; and he would listen through the hot darkness for giant footsteps in the streets.

Somehow it did not seem as if the giant could come to-night. It was so still that the rattle of the few carts, the rumble of the elevated trains,—all the sounds Luigi knew so well,—were plainer than ever. It was hard to imagine any he did not really hear. Luigi’s ears grew tired of listening, and his eyes half closed.

There was another sound though. Luigi’s ears woke up to it all of a sudden. It was a kind of clambering and crashing,—for all the world as if a giant were stumbling around among the houses. “But of course it can’t be that,” said Luigi firmly, downing his hope.

A pair of giant eyes peered in

Luigi’s own house trembled; and he opened his eyes with a start. There was something—somebody outside his window. He raised himself up and strained to see. Through the twilight of the city night, a great pair of giant eyes peered in upon him.

“Is there some one in there who can see me?” boomed a kindly giant voice.

“Why, yes,” gasped Luigi, “I can see you.”

“Hooray!” shouted the giant, capering up and down till the whole block shook again. “Hooray! A boy who can see me! A boy who can see me! What will father say now?”

Rosa sighed in her sleep.

“Hush! Hush, good giant!” cried Luigi anxiously. “You will wake the others.”

Benevaldo stood still again. “Do they believe in giants too?” he asked eagerly.

“Well,—Rosa almost does,” said Luigi loyally.

“But if she doesn’t quite believe,” explained the giant, “she can’t see me or hear me any more than the rest of them.”

Luigi was puzzled. “But can’t everybody see you?” he asked.

The giant shook his great head solemnly. “People don’t seem to believe in us any more,” he said. “I’ve walked all the way from Giantland to-day, and passed thousands and thousands of them on the way, and you’re the first one who has seen me at all. And I’ll tell you what, little boy,” he went on, “I’m so happy,—so grateful to you, that I’ll give you anything you wish for, if I have to squeeze through all these walls to do it.”

Luigi’s eyes shone. He sat up in bed. “Oh, giant,” he cried, “giant, would you take me for a little walk out in the world?”

Benevaldo beamed. “Will I?” he boomed. Then he twisted his limp lunch bag around in front of him. “Would you mind riding in this?” he asked.

“Oh, no!” cried Luigi.

The giant considered. “I am afraid I can’t squeeze my hand through your window,” he said.

Luigi leaned over the sill, and the giant managed it with three fingers. He tucked Luigi safely into the bag, buttoned the bottom firmly inside his blouse, and drew up the strings close around Luigi’s neck.

“Now you’re quite safe and steady, little boy,” he said. “Don’t be afraid, but lean back against me, and look about.” And with that he took a high step over a whole block of houses into an open square beyond.

For a moment Luigi was dizzy, looking from his height on the jumbled roofs so far below. But as the giant stopped in the little park he got his balance again. He looked down without fear on the house-tops and the lighted streets that wound between.

“Where shall we go?” asked the giant good-naturedly.

Luigi hesitated. “Could we,” he asked, “could we go up the Avenue,—the wide, bare one over there, with the bright lights?”

So Benevaldo pranced over the long blocks in between and set his foot in the smooth street. From sidewalk to sidewalk it just fitted; and he walked, one foot ahead of the other, up by the little silent houses to a tiny park.

“Look here!” cried Benevaldo excitedly. “See the clock!” And he pointed to a great lighted face in the top of a tower as high as he was.

“Oh, yes,” said Luigi, “that is the biggest clock in all the city. It takes up story after story of that office building.”

“It’s a little fast,” said the giant, holding his watch up beside it. And with a gentle shove of his forefinger he set the hands back.

Luigi gasped. But the giant turned calmly, and started, foot after foot, up the Avenue again. “Did you say,” he asked thoughtfully, “that that tower was an office building?”

“Why, yes,” said Luigi, “what should it be?”

“And what was it I took you out of?” asked the giant.

“Why, a house,” said Luigi, wondering,—“a regular house.”

The giant chuckled. “You know,” he said, “I had an idea that all these walls full of little lighted holes, were sort of prisons, or traps. I thought you had all got caught inside and couldn’t get out!”

Luigi laughed. “Oh, no,” he said, “they’re the houses we live in. But look,” he cried, “we’re coming to the Park!”

Benevaldo looked. Sure enough, down beside them was a whole patch of trees. He drew a long breath. “If you’re going to live in these traps,” he said, “why don’t you come up here in some of these white ones near the trees?”

“Oh, these are quite different,” cried Luigi, proud that he could explain. “These up here are rich people’s houses, and down where I live, we’re all quite poor.”

The giant shook his head. He could not see what difference that made.

Luigi saw that it was no use to argue. “Aren’t the trees nice?” he ventured.

Benevaldo snorted. “Nice enough, what there are of them!” he said. “But now I am going to take you where there are thousands and thousands of them,—all you can see.”

With that he gave three great springs right over the houses till he landed, splash again, in the deep river. Then he let himself go, leaping and running till Luigi laughed aloud with the dazzle and rush of it.

In a few minutes they had left the twinkling city far behind and were racing over the dusky hills. The trees brushed them as they passed; and above them millions of big, bright stars that Luigi had never seen in the city, seemed to swirl and dance. Luigi drew deep breaths, and nestled happily on the giant’s breast.

Benevaldo stopped and put his great watch up close to his eyes. “It’s getting late, or rather, early,” he said. “I’ll have to take you back again before the people get to swarming in the streets so that I can’t step.”

So he turned and dashed back through the cool night. There was the city again, glimmering beneath the pale sky. Beside it was a river, too, but not the one they had rushed through before. For this one was crossed by shining bridges from shore to shore. Luigi had once seen those bridges from below, and they had seemed to him to tower through the clouds. But now they came hardly to the giant’s waist.

Benevaldo paused. “Do you mind if I jump?” he asked. “You see,” he added apologetically, “it’s rather awkward, crawling under.”

“Oh, no,” cried Luigi joyously. “Let’s jump them!”

So Benevaldo went hurdling down the river, taking the bridges one by one, and dashing the city with spray.

The trees brushed them

Luigi laughed with delight. “I’m sorry to get back,” he said, as he pointed the way among the city houses.

Benevaldo took him gently out of the bag, and slipped him through the window safely upon his own bed.

“Good-by,” boomed the giant, giving the house an affectionate pat. “Good-by, little boy. Don’t forget Benevaldo, for I shall come again to see you. Watch for me from your window; and if it is too crowded for me to come among the houses, I will run along the river so that you can see my shadow sweeping over the roof tops.”

“Thank you, thank you,” cried Luigi. “But can’t I ever see you yourself again, good giant?”

Benevaldo thought. “If you ever go to the country,” he said, “look for me there. For I shall come to meet you.”

The early wagons began to jangle through the streets, and Benevaldo sprang hastily over the house-tops to his free river. Luigi listened until his great splashing steps were gone.

Rosa yawned and bounced sleepily out of bed. It was to be a great day for her. For a rich lady was to take her with all the neighborhood children on a picnic up the river. She sang as she got ready, but her face fell when she called Luigi to breakfast.

“Oh, brother,” she said, “I wish you were going on the picnic too!”

Luigi smiled bravely. “I wish I could go,” he said.

Rosa gazed at him. “Why, Luigi,” she cried, “how well you look, and how fast you walk!”

Luigi beamed. “The ache is all out of my back,” he explained happily.

“Mother! Mother!” cried Rosa. “Just look at Luigi. The ache is out of his back; and see how well he walks! Can’t he go on the picnic too? I will take good care of him.”

So Luigi went with the other children up the river, where Benevaldo had waded with him the night before. All day long he sat quietly on the steamer, gazing eagerly over the green hills.

All at once he jumped up and waved his cap. For there against the sun was the great figure of his faithful giant, flourishing his friendly arms.

“Rosa! Rosa!” called Luigi. “There he is. See him,—my giant!”

The other children crowded around. “Where? Where?” they cried. But at that moment Benevaldo was lost to view, and there was only his long shadow, scudding across the hills.

But the shadow Luigi and Rosa saw often and often all their lives. And you can see it sometimes too if you will look.

If you will look

When this book you close for aye,

Childish fancies to efface,

Bid these friendly giants hie

Down the years with you a pace:

Faith! Companions such as they,

Only charméd folk may know;

Those who walked the giants’ way

Some time in the long ago:

Children with the world a-face,

As the waiting years unfold,

With this friendly giant race

Fare ye till the tale is told.

Seymour Barnard.