“Friends?” the Giant exclaimed. “I spoke of none. Who were they?”
Pic’s head sank yet lower. His eyes stared vacantly at his companion’s feet.
“The Hairy Mammoth and Woolly Rhinoceros,” he replied.
XIV
For moments which seemed hours, Pic remained silent, staring at the ground; and in those few moments, his remembrance of past events drifted slowly back; his alliance with the Mammoth and Rhinoceros, his travels and adventures with those wonderful beasts and the various incidents leading up to his mishap in the Giant’s stronghold.
He had been very ill, his mind a blank and his body all but consumed by wasting fever. Now he was on the mend, his brain cleared; but the Mammoth and Rhinoceros were gone—forever.
“You spoke of the Mammoth and Rhinoceros.” The Giant was regarding him with amazement. “Those two are animals, not men. No man has animals for his friends. You do not remember. Your head is not yet well.”
“You are mistaken,” Pic replied with an earnestness that impressed the other deeply. “All is well here;” he pointed to his forehead. “I have been very ill, I know. Once I remembered nothing; but now everything is clear. The Mammoth and Rhinoceros were my friends,—the best I ever had—but now they have gone away; where, nobody knows.”