“Oh, Father, only see,” called the young giant, in gasps that shook the trees. “See—a little brother!—We found him—on the water—lost in the fog!”
And at this shouting came giants running from all sides, to see what the noise might be about. They crowded about the chief’s son and peered into the small canoe until the poor Indians, finding themselves surrounded by great eyes like so many suns, sank down in terror.
“Noo, then,” cried the chief in anger, “you have scared the little people!” And taking the Indians, canoe and all, he gently carried them to his own wigwam.
Inside sat a pleasant-faced woman, no bigger than a good-sized hill. “Look, wife,” said the chief. “See what I have brought you!”
The giantess was delighted. Very deftly she picked the Indians up with her thumb and forefinger without crushing out their breath. She laid them in the hollow of her hand as in a cradle, and rocked them to and fro, softly thundering a lullaby, while with the end of her little finger she tenderly stroked their hair.
As for the chief, he hung up the Indians’ canoe where it could not be stepped on. Then he bent down to the Indians and told them in a confidential whisper that could hardly have been heard a hundred miles away, that he was their friend, and that his name was Oscoon.
“And now, wife,” he cried, “our little people must be hungry! Is there enough in the house for them to eat?”
The good woman gave a housewifely chuckle, like the dry roar of a forest fire, and looked into a great steaming pot. In the bottom were a dozen or more whales. But remembering the small size of her guests, she picked out a little one about forty feet long, and put it before them in a wooden bowl. The poor Indians did their best, but by the time they had made a little hole in the whale’s side, they were fast asleep from so much food.