Peggy's eyes grew quite round with impressiveness.
"It was the strangest thing," she said. "It was a great enormous giant, with heads, and heads, and heads! You never saw such a lot of heads."
"I expect that was why it was called 'The Many-Headed,'" observed Philip sapiently. "What sort of heads were they?"
"They were most of them very ugly," continued Peggy. "They were twisting about everywhere, and each one had its mouth wide open, shouting. Dad kept on putting new ones in. There always seemed to be room for one more. Like sticking roses in a bowl, you know, only these heads weren't like roses. After a Bank Holiday he nearly always had two or three fresh ones."
"Why?"
"He used to go out then on the Heath—to study the Canal, he said, and get fresh sketches."
Philip, who was inclined to be a little superior on the subject of London geography, announced firmly that there was no canal on Hampstead Heath.
"Only in Regent's Park," he said. "Besides, why should he sketch a canal?"
It was Peggy's turn to be superior.
"Canal," she explained, "is a French word, and means people—people with concertinas and bananas, who sing and wear each other's hats, and leave paper about. Dad would sketch them when they weren't looking, and then put them into the picture. Oh, I forgot to tell you that the giant had great huge hands, and he was clutching everything he could lay his hands on—castles, and mountains, and live people. He had a real king, with a crown on, between his finger and thumb."