"It's no use. He just jumps about and never listens. The last time he was here he played with my boots and bit a great piece out of one of them. He said he was sorry, but I've had a sore toe ever since. You wouldn't believe what a lot I have to put up with," and the poor giant looked as if he were going to cry.
"There, there!" said the witch soothingly. "You shall come with us if you're good, only don't cry. Remember, the last time you flooded the whole country and gave all of us dreadful colds. And what a bother it was making extra handkerchiefs for you."
"Oh, may I come with you?" cried the giant. "I should like that! I get such pins and needles in my feet standing here."
"Why do you stand here?" asked George.
"To look out, of course," said the witch; and then, as she saw George was going to ask another question, she gave the order to start.
The two black cats curled their tails round the end of the broom and then began to turn round and round in the air.
"Doesn't it make them dreadfully giddy?" asked George.
"No, of course not," said the witch. "It might do so if they were ordinary cats—but they're not. Listen to them purring."
What George had imagined was the throbbing of an engine was indeed the purring of the two cats as they whirled round in opposite directions. The witch was riding straight toward the mountains, and the giant with huge strides was keeping close by their side. He nodded to them from time to time, and George waved his hand in reply.
He was really a nice giant, and it was just as well to keep him cheerful and happy, for it would be very disagreeable to have a flood.