He looked again. "I do believe it's the old giant!" he cried.
"A giant!"—and in a moment Sir Tristram was on his feet and had drawn his mighty two-handed sword.
"Oh, please, don't!" implored George. "He's a friend of mine. He's quite a good giant. He wouldn't harm anybody."
"How can that be?" asked Sir Tristram. "A good giant?... Still, if you know him I must take your word for it."
"Coo-ee!" cried George. "Coo-ee!" His voice echoed against the rocky walls as if a hundred voices were all crying "Coo-ee!" together.
The pillar moved, stopped for a moment, and then moved on again, and then—plop!—into the lake went one of the giant's feet, and then plop! went the other. He was now in the water right up to his neck, so you can tell from that how deep it was!
"Good-evening!" rumbled his great voice. "I've been waiting for you ever so long. You want to cross the lake, I suppose? Come along then!" And he stretched out his huge hand.
"Come along, Sir Tristram!" commanded George. "It's all right. There's heaps of room on his hand for both the horses and ourselves."
They led the horses on to his outstretched hand, and without another word the giant began to wade across the lake. On and on he went until they lost sight of the shore; on and on until the water began to grow shallower again. After an hour's journey they arrived, and the giant lowered them gently on to dry land.
"I must go for a run to dry myself," he said, and in one—two—three tremendous strides he was out of sight.