The man looked quickly at him. “What is the matter, my lad?” he asked; and his voice, though gruff, did not sound unkind. “You are not afraid of a big man, are you? Do you think I am an ogre?”
“Yes!” said the boy; and he gave one sob, and then stopped himself.
The gray man burst into a great roar of laughter, which made every one in the car jump in his seat.
Still laughing, he drew his hand from his pocket, and in it was—not a knife, but a beautiful, shining, golden pear. “Take that, young Hop-o’-my-thumb,” he said, putting it in the Boy’s hands. “If you will eat that, I promise not to eat you,—not even to take a single bite. Are you satisfied?”
The boy ventured to raise his eyes to the man’s face; and there he saw such a kind, funny, laughing look that before he knew it he was laughing, too.
“I don’t believe you are an ogre, after all!” he said.
“Don’t you?” said the big man. “Well, neither do I! But you may as well eat the pear, just the same.”
And the Boy did.