The caravans on that morning, after leaving their pitch and entering the forest, passed many a rustic cottage, and so early was it that the pretty rural children rushed to the door just as they had jumped out of bed, not taking time to dress.
“Hooray! Hoo-ooo-ray!” they shouted, waving brown, fat arms in the air. “Hooray, the big, big caravans.”
“Oh, look at the pretty little one!”
“And the fairy lady at the window!”
“Oh, listen to the lion a-roaring for his bekfust.”
“Oh, Maggie, Betsy, Mary, Doddie, come here! Come quick and see the giant and the dwarf!”
The giant, who was lolling on Willie’s cart, made ogre mouths at them, and the dwarf shrieked shrilly, and squeaked and squalled like Punch at the fair.
It was good fun!
But how delightful for the youngsters of a village they soon came to, when the whole show was stopped for twenty minutes in the principal street, that the horses might get water, and the giant stretch his legs!
The giant was the hero then, and the boys vied with each other as to who should get nearest to the giant. The lad who was brave enough to rub his shoulder against Gourmand’s jacket skirts was considered a hero. To rub against a real giant, was among those simple village lads deemed a feat to be remembered for ever and a day.