First, Cousin Giles marked the foundation of the giant’s throne; the sides of it were five feet thick, so that a large quantity of snow was required for that alone. The greater part of it was scraped up from the lawn. While that was being done, Cousin Giles made a model of the proposed giant in snow, a couple of feet high, and that very much assisted his young workmen in their undertaking, as they at once saw the figure he had conceived, and which they wished to produce. Everybody labouring with a will, and systematically, the work went on rapidly, and the chair assumed gigantic proportions. The giant’s feet, which were placed on a footstool, were four feet long, and his legs were eight feet high up to his knees. Ladders were soon required to reach the seat of his chair; and then his body was commenced. A young pine-tree was procured, and that supported one of his arms, while the other rested by his side. Some pretty severe tumbles were got from the top of the chair, but no one was much hurt. Cousin Giles arched the greater part of the inside, but he did not disdain to make use of some timber to strengthen his erection.
A great deal had been done by luncheon time, when all the party assembled, with very good appetites, in the dining-room; but Cousin Giles begged that none of the visitors would go out to see their little man till he was complete.
After luncheon, they all went back; but though they worked away till dark, the giant still wanted his head and crown. It was agreed that though they might continue labouring with lanterns, they could not complete it before dinner. Not to lose time, however, they all joined in bringing in snow, and piled it up near the figure, ready to begin work the next morning.
They had a very merry evening, and all sorts of games were played. Cousin Giles, however, disappeared earlier than usual, and they were afraid that he was tired with his labours during the day, and had gone to bed.
The next morning the party assembled at breakfast, and, after it was over, and the letters had been read, and the newspapers glanced at, Cousin Giles invited everybody to see their little man.
“But we have to finish his head,” was the general exclamation from the boys.
“Never mind,” was his answer. “Head or no head, or crown or no crown, I beg that he may be looked at.”
Great coats and cloaks, and hats and bonnets, were procured, and the party assembled. A sheet was seen thrown over the top of the figure, and behind it was a tall pole, at the foot of which stood John Pratt.
“Here is our snow-giant, ladies and gentlemen,” cried Cousin Giles. “Though so large, he is perfectly harmless, and no one need be afraid of approaching him.”
He then made a signal to John Pratt, who, hauling away on the rope, withdrew the sheet, and beneath it appeared not only the giant’s head, and a large pair of black eyes, and a red mouth, but a crown of gold a foot or more high, on the top of it; while in the centre stood Kate Heathcote, waving a flag, with Digby on one side, and Arthur Haviland on the other.