Five Children and It

  CHAPTER VIII

  BIGGER THAN THE BAKER'S BOY

  "Look here," said Cyril. "I've got an idea."

  "Does it hurt much?" said Robert sympathetically.

  "Don't be a jackanape! I'm not humbugging."

  "Shut up, Bobs!" said Anthea.

  "Silence for the Squirrel's oration," said Robert.

  Cyril balanced himself on the edge of the water-butt in the backyard,where they all happened to be, and spoke.

  "Friends, Romans, countrymen--and women--we found a Sammyadd. We havehad wishes. We've had wings, and being beautiful as the day--ugh!--thatwas pretty jolly beastly if you like--and wealth and castles, and thatrotten gipsy business with the Lamb. But we're no forrarder. We haven'treally got anything worth having for our wishes."

  "We've had things happening," said Robert; "that's always something."

  "It's not enough, unless they're the right things," said Cyril firmly."Now I've been thinking"--

  "Not really?" whispered Robert.

  "In the silent what's-its-names of the night. It's like suddenly beingasked something out of history--the date of the Conquest or something;you know it all right all the time, but when you're asked it all goesout of your head. Ladies and gentlemen, you know jolly well that whenwe're all rotting about in the usual way heaps of things keep croppingup, and then real earnest wishes come into the heads of the beholder"--

  "Hear, hear!" said Robert.

  "--of the beholder, however, stupid he is," Cyril went on. "Why, evenRobert might happen to think of a really useful wish if he didn't injurehis poor little brains trying so hard to think.--Shut up, Bobs, I tellyou!--You'll have the whole show over."

  A struggle on the edge of a water-butt is exciting but damp. When it wasover, and the boys were partially dried, Anthea said--

  "It really was you began it, Bobs. Now honour is satisfied, do letSquirrel go on. We're wasting the whole morning."

  "Well then," said Cyril, still wringing the water out of the tails ofhis jacket, "I'll call it pax if Bobs will."

  "Pax then," said Robert sulkily. "But I've got a lump as big as acricket ball over my eye."

  Anthea patiently offered a dust-coloured handkerchief, and Robert bathedhis wounds in silence. "Now, Squirrel," she said.

  "Well then--let's just play bandits, or forts, or soldiers, or any ofthe old games. We're dead sure to think of something if we try not to.You always do."

  The others consented. Bandits was hastily chosen for the game. "It's asgood as anything else," said Jane gloomily. It must be owned thatRobert was at first but a half-hearted bandit, but when Anthea hadborrowed from Martha the red-spotted handkerchief in which the keeperhad brought her mushrooms that morning, and had tied up Robert's headwith it so that he could be the wounded hero who had saved the banditcaptain's life the day before, he cheered up wonderfully. All were soonarmed. Bows and arrows slung on the back look well; and umbrellas andcricket stumps through the belt give a fine impression of the wearer'sbeing armed to the teeth. The white cotton hats that men wear in thecountry nowadays have a very brigandish effect when a few turkey'sfeathers are stuck in them. The Lamb's mail-cart was covered with ared-and-blue checked table-cloth, and made an admirable baggage-wagon.The Lamb asleep inside it was not at all in the way. So the banditti setout along the road that led to the sand-pit.

  "We ought to be near the Sammyadd," said Cyril, "in case we think ofanything suddenly."

  It is all very well to make up your minds to play bandit--or chess, orping-pong, or any other agreeable game--but it is not easy to do it withspirit when all the wonderful wishes you can think of, or can't thinkof, are waiting for you round the corner. The game was dragging alittle, and some of the bandits were beginning to feel that the otherswere disagreeable things, and were saying so candidly, when the baker'sboy came along the road with loaves in a basket. The opportunity was notone to be lost.

  "Stand and deliver!" cried Cyril.

  "Your money or your life!" said Robert.

  And they stood on each side of the baker's boy. Unfortunately, he didnot seem to enter into the spirit of the thing at all. He was a baker'sboy of an unusually large size. He merely said--

  "Chuck it now, d'ye hear!" and pushed the bandits aside mostdisrespectfully.

  Then Robert lassoed him with Jane's skipping-rope, and instead of goinground his shoulders, as Robert intended, it went round his feet andtripped him up. The basket was upset, the beautiful new loaves wentbumping and bouncing all over the dusty chalky road. The girls ran topick them up, and all in a moment Robert and the baker's boy werefighting it out, man to man, with Cyril to see fair play, and theskipping-rope twisting round their legs like an interesting snake thatwished to be a peace-maker. It did not succeed; indeed the way theboxwood handles sprang up and hit the fighters on the shins and ankleswas not at all peace-making. I know this is the second fight--orcontest--in this chapter, but I can't help it. It was that sort of day.You know yourself there are days when rows seem to keep on happening,quite without your meaning them to. If I were a writer of tales ofadventure such as those which used to appear in _The Boys of England_when I was young of course I should be able to describe the fight, but Icannot do it. I never can see what happens during a fight, even when itis only dogs. Also, if I had been one of these _Boys of England_writers, Robert would have got the best of it. But I am like GeorgeWashington--I cannot tell a lie, even about a cherry-tree, much lessabout a fight, and I cannot conceal from you that Robert was badlybeaten, for the second time that day. The baker's boy blacked his othereye, and being ignorant of the first rules of fair play and gentlemanlybehaviour, he also pulled Robert's hair, and kicked him on the knee.Robert always used to say he could have licked the baker if it hadn'tbeen for the girls. But I am not sure. Anyway, what happened was this,and very painful it was to self-respecting boys.

  He pulled Robert's hair]

  Cyril was just tearing off his coat so as to help his brother in properstyle, when Jane threw her arms round his legs and began to cry and askhim not to go and be beaten too. That "too" was very nice for Robert, asyou can imagine--but it was nothing to what he felt when Anthea rushedin between him and the baker's boy, and caught that unfair and degradedfighter round the waist, imploring him not to fight any more.

  "Oh, don't hurt my brother any more!" she said in floods of tears. "Hedidn't mean it--it's only play. And I'm sure he's very sorry."

  You see how unfair this was to Robert. Because, if the baker's boy hadhad any right and chivalrous instincts, and had yielded to Anthea'spleading and accepted her despicable apology, Robert could not, inhonour, have done anything to him at any future time. But Robert'sfears, if he had any, were soon dispelled. Chivalry was a stranger tothe breast of the baker's boy. He pushed Anthea away very roughly, andhe chased Robert with kicks and unpleasant conversation right down theroad to the sand-pit, and there, with one last kick, he landed him in aheap of sand.

  "I'll larn you, you young varmint!" he said, and went off to pick up hisloaves and go about his business. Cyril, impeded by Jane, could donothing without hurting her, for she clung round his legs with thestrength of despair. The baker's boy went off red and damp about theface; abusive to the last, he called them a pack of silly idiots, anddisappeared round the corner. Then Jane's grasp loosened. Cyril turnedaway in silent dignity to follow Robert, and the girls followed him,weeping without restraint.

  It was not a happy party that flung itself down in the sand beside thesobbing Robert. For Robert was sobbing--mostly with rage. Though ofcourse I know that a really heroic boy is always dry-eyed after a fight.But then he always wins, which had not been the case with Robert.

  Cyril was angry with Jane; Robert was furious with Anthea; the girlswere miserable; and not one of the four was pleased with the baker'sboy. There was, as French writers say, "a silence full of emotion."

  Then Robert dug his toes and his hands into the sand and wriggled in hisrage. "He'd better wait till I'm grown up--the cowardly brute! Beast!--Ihate hi
m! But I'll pay him out. Just because he's bigger than me."

  "You began," said Jane incautiously.

  "I know I did, silly--but I was only jollying--and he kicked me--lookhere"--

  Robert tore down a stocking and showed a purple bruise touched up withred.

  "I only wish I was bigger than him, that's all."

  He dug his fingers in the sand, and sprang up, for his hand had touchedsomething furry. It was the Psammead, of course--"On the look-out tomake sillies of them as usual," as Cyril remarked later. And of coursethe next moment Robert's wish was granted, and he was bigger than thebaker's boy. Oh, but much, much bigger! He was bigger than the bigpoliceman who used to be at the crossing at the Mansion House yearsago,--the one who was so kind in helping old ladies over thecrossing,--and he was the biggest man _I_ have ever seen, as well as thekindest. No one had a foot-rule in its pocket, so Robert could not bemeasured--but he was taller than your father would be if he stood onyour mother's head, which I am sure he would never be unkind enough todo. He must have been ten or eleven feet high, and as broad as a boy ofthat height ought to be. His suit had fortunately grown too, and now hestood up in it--with one of his enormous stockings turned down to showthe gigantic bruise on his vast leg. Immense tears of fury still stoodon his flushed giant face. He looked so surprised, and he was so largeto be wearing a turned down collar outside of his jacket that the otherscould not help laughing.

  "The Sammyadd's done us again," said Cyril.

  "The Sammyadd's done us again," said Cyril]

  "Not us--_me_," said Robert. "If you'd got any decent feeling you'd tryto make it make you the same size. You've no idea how silly it feels,"he added thoughtlessly.

  "And I don't want to; I can jolly well see how silly it looks," Cyrilwas beginning; but Anthea said--

  "Oh, _don't_! I don't know what's the matter with you boys to-day. Lookhere, Squirrel, let's play fair. It is hateful for poor old Bobs, allalone up there. Let's ask the Sammyadd for another wish, and, if itwill, I do really think we ought all to be made the same size."

  The others agreed, but not gaily; but when they found the Psammead, itwouldn't.

  "Not I," it said crossly, rubbing its face with its feet. "He's a rudeviolent boy, and it'll do him good to be the wrong size for a bit. Whatdid he want to come digging me out with his nasty wet hands for? Henearly touched me! He's a perfect savage. A boy of the Stone Age wouldhave had more sense."

  Robert's hands had indeed been wet--with tears.

  "Go away and leave me in peace, do," the Psammead went on. "I can'tthink why you don't wish for something sensible--something to eat ordrink, or good manners, or good tempers. Go along with you, do!"

  It almost snarled as it shook its whiskers, and turned a sulky brownback on them. The most hopeful felt that further parley was vain.

  They turned again to the colossal Robert.

  "What ever shall we do?" they said; and they all said it.

  "First," said Robert grimly, "I'm going to reason with that baker's boy.I shall catch him at the end of the road."

  "Don't hit a chap smaller than yourself, old man," said Cyril.

  "Do I look like hitting him?" said Robert scornfully. "Why, I should_kill_ him. But I'll give him something to remember. Wait till I pull upmy stocking." He pulled up his stocking, which was as large as a smallbolster-case, and strode off. His strides were six or seven feet long,so that it was quite easy for him to be at the bottom of the hill, readyto meet the baker's boy when he came down swinging the empty basket tomeet his master's cart, which had been leaving bread at the cottagesalong the road.

  Robert crouched behind a haystack in the farmyard, that is at thecorner, and when he heard the boy come whistling along he jumped out athim and caught him by the collar.

  "Now," he said, and his voice was about four times its usual size, justas his body was four times its, "I'm going to teach you to kick boyssmaller than you."

  He lifted up the baker's boy and set him on the top of the haystack,which was about sixteen feet from the ground, and then he sat down onthe roof of the barn and told the baker's boy exactly what he thought ofhim. I don't think the boy heard it all--he was in a sort of trance ofterror. When Robert had said everything he could think of, and somethings twice over, he shook the boy and said--

  He lifted up the baker's boy and set him on top of thehaystack]

  "And now get down the best way you can," and left him.

  I don't know how the baker's boy got down, but I do know that he missedthe cart and got into the very hottest of hot water when he turned up atlast at the bakehouse. I am sorry for him, but after all, it was quiteright that he should be taught that boys mustn't use their feet whenthey fight, but their fists. Of course the water he got into only becamehotter when he tried to tell his master about the boy he had lickedand the giant as high as a church, because no one could possibly believesuch a tale as that. Next day the tale was believed--but that was toolate to be of any use to the baker's boy.

  When Robert rejoined the others he found them in the garden. Anthea hadthoughtfully asked Martha to let them have dinner out there--because thedining-room was rather small, and it would have been so awkward to havea brother the size of Robert in there. The Lamb, who had sleptpeacefully during the whole stormy morning, was now found to besneezing, and Martha said he had a cold and would be better indoors.

  "And really it's just as well," said Cyril, "for I don't believe he'dever have stopped screaming if he'd once seen you, the awful size youare!"

  Robert was indeed what a draper would call an "out-size" in boys. Hefound himself able to step right over the iron gate in the frontgarden.

  Martha brought out the dinner--it was cold veal and baked potatoes, withsago pudding and stewed plums to follow.

  She of course did not notice that Robert was anything but the usualsize, and she gave him as much meat and potatoes as usual and no more.You have no idea how small your usual helping of dinner looks when youare many times your proper size. Robert groaned, and asked for morebread. But Martha would not go on giving more bread for ever. She was ina hurry, because the keeper intended to call on his way to BenenhurstFair, and she wished to be smartly dressed before he came.

  "I wish _we_ were going to the Fair," said Robert.

  "You can't go anywhere that size," said Cyril.

  "Why not?" said Robert. "They have giants at fairs, much bigger onesthan me."

  "Not much, they don't," Cyril was beginning, when Jane screamed "Oh!"with such loud suddenness that they all thumped her on the back andasked whether she had swallowed a plum-stone.

  "No," she said, breathless from being thumped, "it's--it's not aplum-stone. It's an idea. Let's take Robert to the Fair, and get them togive us money for showing him! Then we really _shall_ get something outof the old Sammyadd at last!"

  "Take me, indeed!" said Robert indignantly. "Much more likely me takeyou!"

  And so it turned out. The idea appealed irresistibly to everyone butRobert, and even he was brought round by Anthea's suggestion that heshould have a double share of any money they might make. There was alittle old pony-cart in the coach-house--the kind that is called agoverness-cart. It seemed desirable to get to the Fair as quickly aspossible, so Robert--who could now take enormous steps and so go veryfast indeed--consented to wheel the others in this. It was as easy tohim now as wheeling the Lamb in the mail-cart had been in the morning.The Lamb's cold prevented his being of the party.

  It was a strange sensation being wheeled in a pony-carriage by a giant.Everyone enjoyed the journey except Robert and the few people theypassed on the way. These mostly went into what looked like some kind ofstanding-up fits by the roadside, as Anthea said. Just outsideBenenhurst, Robert hid in a barn, and the others went on to the Fair.

  It was a strange sensation being wheeled in apony-carriage by a giant]

  There were some swings, and a hooting-tooting blaring merry-go-round,and a shooting-gallery and Aunt Sallies. Resisting an impulse to win acocoanut,--
or at least to attempt the enterprise,--Cyril went up to thewoman who was loading little guns before the array of glass bottles onstrings against a sheet of canvas.

  "Here you are, little gentleman!" she said. "Penny a shot!"

  "No, thank you," said Cyril, "we are here on business, not on pleasure.Who's the master?"

  "The what?"

  "The master--the head--the boss of the show."

  "Over there," she said, pointing to a stout man in a dirty linen jacketwho was sleeping in the sun; "but I don't advise you to wake him sudden.His temper's contrairy, especially these hot days. Better have a shotwhile you're waiting."

  "It's rather important," said Cyril. "It'll be very profitable to him. Ithink he'll be sorry if we take it away."

  "Oh, if it's money in his pocket," said the woman. "No kid now? What isit?"

  "It's a _giant_."

  "You _are_ kidding?"

  "Come along and see," said Anthea.

  The woman looked doubtfully at them, then she called to a ragged littlegirl in striped stockings and a dingy white petticoat that came belowher brown frock, and leaving her in charge of the "shooting-gallery" sheturned to Anthea and said, "Well, hurry up! But if you _are_ kidding,you'd best say so. I'm as mild as milk myself, but my Bill he's a fairterror and"--

  Anthea led the way to the barn. "It really _is_ a giant," she said."He's a giant little boy--in a suit like my brother's there. And wedidn't bring him up to the Fair because people do stare so, and theyseem to go into kind of standing-up fits when they see him. And wethought perhaps you'd like to show him and get pennies; and if you liketo pay us something, you can--only, it'll have to be rather a lot,because we promised him he should have a double share of whatever wemade."

  The woman murmured something indistinct, of which the children couldonly hear the words, "Swelp me!" "balmy," and "crumpet," which conveyedno definite idea to their minds.

  She had taken Anthea's hand, and was holding it very firmly; and Antheacould not help wondering what would happen if Robert should havewandered off or turned his proper size during the interval. But she knewthat the Psammead's gifts really did last till sunset, howeverinconvenient their lasting might be; and she did not think, somehow,that Robert would care to go out alone while he was that size.

  When they reached the barn and Cyril called "Robert!" there was a stiramong the loose hay, and Robert began to come out. His hand and arm camefirst--then a foot and leg. When the woman saw the hand she said "My!"but when she saw the foot she said "Upon my word!" and when, by slow andheavy degrees, the whole of Robert's enormous bulk was at lastdisclosed, she drew a long breath and began to say many things, comparedwith which "balmy" and "crumpet" seemed quite ordinary. She dropped intounderstandable English at last.

  "What'll you take for him?" she said excitedly. "Anything in reason.We'd have a special van built--leastways, I know where there's asecond-hand one would do up handsome--what a baby elephant had, as died.What'll you take? He's soft, ain't he? Them giants mostly is--but Inever see--no, never! What'll you take? Down on the nail. We'll treathim like a king, and give him first-rate grub and a doss fit for abloomin' dook. He must be dotty or he wouldn't need you kids to cart himabout. What'll you take for him?"

  "They won't take anything," said Robert sternly. "I'm no more soft thanyou are--not so much, I shouldn't wonder. I'll come and be a show forto-day if you'll give me,"--he hesitated at the enormous price he wasabout to ask,--"if you'll give me fifteen shillings."

  "Done," said the woman, so quickly that Robert felt he had been unfairto himself, and wished he had asked thirty. "Come on now--and see myBill--and we'll fix a price for the season. I dessay you might get asmuch as two pounds a week reg'lar. Come on--and make yourself as smallas you can for gracious' sake!"

  This was not very small, and a crowd gathered quickly, so that it was atthe head of an enthusiastic procession that Robert entered the trampledmeadow where the Fair was held, and passed over the stubby yellow dustygrass to the door of the biggest tent. He crept in, and the woman wentto call her Bill. He was the big sleeping man, and he did not seem atall pleased at being awakened. Cyril, watching through a slit in thetent, saw him scowl and shake a heavy fist and a sleepy head. Then thewoman went on speaking very fast. Cyril heard "Strewth," and "biggestdraw you ever, so help me!" and he began to share Robert's feeling thatfifteen shillings was indeed far too little. Bill slouched up to thetent and entered. When he beheld the magnificent proportions of Roberthe said but little,--"Strike me pink!" were the only words the childrencould afterwards remember,--but he produced fifteen shillings, mainly insixpences and coppers, and handed it to Robert.

  "We'll fix up about what you're to draw when the show's over to-night,"he said with hoarse heartiness. "Lor' love a duck! you'll be that happywith us you'll never want to leave us. Can you do a song now--or a bitof a breakdown?"

  "Not to-day," said Robert, rejecting the idea of trying to sing "As oncein May," a favourite of his mother's, and the only song he could thinkof at the moment.

  "Get Levi and clear them bloomin' photos out. Clear the tent. Stick outa curtain or suthink," the man went on. "Lor', what a pity we ain't gotno tights his size! But we'll have 'em before the week's out. Young man,your fortune's made. It's a good thing you came to me, and not to somechaps as I could tell you on. I've known blokes as beat their giants,and starved 'em too; so I'll tell you straight, you're in luck this dayif you never was afore. 'Cos I'm a lamb, I am--and I don't deceive you."

  "I'm not afraid of anyone beating me," said Robert, looking down on the"lamb." Robert was crouched on his knees, because the tent was not bigenough for him to stand upright in, but even in that position he couldstill look down on most people. "But I'm awfully hungry--I wish you'dget me something to eat."

  "Here, 'Becca," said the hoarse Bill. "Get him some grub--the bestyou've got, mind!" Another whisper followed, of which the children onlyheard, "Down in black and white--first thing to-morrow."

  Then the woman went to get the food--it was only bread and cheese whenit came, but it was delightful to the large and empty Robert; and theman went to post sentinels round the tent, to give the alarm if Robertshould attempt to escape with his fifteen shillings.

  "As if we weren't honest," said Anthea indignantly when the meaning ofthe sentinels dawned on her.

  Then began a very strange and wonderful afternoon.

  Bill was a man who knew his business. In a very little while, thephotographic views, the spyglasses you look at them through so that theyreally seem rather real, and the lights you see them by, were all packedaway. A curtain--it was an old red-and-black carpet really--was runacross the tent. Robert was concealed behind, and Bill was standing on atrestle-table outside the tent making a speech. It was rather a goodspeech. It began by saying that the giant it was his privilege tointroduce to the public that day was the eldest son of the Emperor ofSan Francisco, compelled through an unfortunate love affair with theDuchess of the Fiji Islands to leave his own country and take refuge inEngland--the land of liberty--where freedom was the right of every man,no matter how big he was. It ended by the announcement that the firsttwenty who came to the tent door should see the giant for threepenceapiece. "After that," said Bill, "the price is riz, and I don'tundertake to say what it won't be riz to. So now's yer time."

  A young man with his sweetheart on her afternoon out was the first tocome forward. For this occasion his was the princely attitude--noexpense spared--money no object. His girl wished to see the giant? Well,she should see the giant, even though seeing the giant cost threepenceeach and the other entertainments were all penny ones.

  The flap of the tent was raised--the couple entered. Next moment a wildshriek from the girl thrilled through all present. Bill slapped his leg."That's done the trick!" he whispered to 'Becca. It was indeed asplendid advertisement of the charms of Robert.

  When the young girl came out she was pale and trembling, and a crowd wasround the tent.

  When the girl came out she was pale and tr
embling]

  "What was it like?" asked a farm-hand.

  "Oh!--horrid!--you wouldn't believe," she said. "It's as big as a barn,and that fierce. It froze the blood in my bones. I wouldn't ha' missedseeing it for anything."

  The fierceness was only caused by Robert's trying not to laugh. But thedesire to do that soon left him, and before sunset he was more inclinedto cry than laugh, and more inclined to sleep than either. For, by onesand twos and threes, people kept coming in all the afternoon, and Roberthad to shake hands with those who wished it, and to allow himself to bepunched and pulled and patted and thumped, so that people might makesure he was really real.

  The other children sat on a bench and watched and waited, and were verybored indeed. It seemed to them that this was the hardest way of earningmoney that could have been invented. And only fifteen shillings! Billhad taken four times that already, for the news of the giant had spread,and trades-people in carts, and gentlepeople in carriages, came from farand near. One gentleman with an eyeglass, and a very large yellow rosein his buttonhole, offered Robert, in an obliging whisper, ten pounds aweek to appear at the Crystal Palace. Robert had to say "No."

  "I can't," he said regretfully. "It's no use promising what you can'tdo."

  "Ah, poor fellow, bound for a term of years, I suppose! Well, here's mycard; when your time's up come to me."

  "When your time's up come to me"]

  "I will--if I'm the same size then," said Robert truthfully.

  "If you grow a bit, so much the better," said the gentleman.

  When he had gone, Robert beckoned Cyril and said--

  "Tell them I must and will have a rest. And I want my tea."

  Tea was provided, and a paper hastily pinned on the tent. It said--

  CLOSED FOR HALF AN HOUR WHILE THE GIANT GETS HIS TEA

  Then there was a hurried council.

  "How am I to get away?" said Robert.

  "I've been thinking about it all the afternoon."

  "Why, walk out when the sun sets and you're your right size. They can'tdo anything to us."

  Robert opened his eyes. "Why, they'd nearly kill us," he said, "whenthey saw me get my right size. No, we must think of some other way. We_must_ be alone when the sun sets."

  "I know," said Cyril briskly, and he went to the door, outside whichBill was smoking a clay pipe and talking in a low voice to 'Becca.Cyril heard him say--"Good as havin' a fortune left you."

  "Look here," said Cyril, "you can let people come in again in a minute.He's nearly finished tea. But he _must_ be left alone when the sun sets.He's very queer at that time of day, and if he's worried I won't answerfor the consequences."

  "Why--what comes over him?" asked Bill.

  "I don't know; it's--it's sort of a _change_," said Cyril candidly. "Heisn't at all like himself--you'd hardly know him. He's very queerindeed. Someone'll get hurt if he's not alone about sunset." This wastrue.

  "He'll pull round for the evening, I s'pose?"

  "Oh yes--half an hour after sunset he'll be quite himself again."

  "Best humour him," said the woman.

  And so, at what Cyril judged was about half an hour before sunset, thetent was again closed "whilst the giant gets his supper."

  The crowd was very merry about the giant's meals and their coming soclose together.

  "Well, he can pick a bit," Bill owned. "You see he has to eat hearty,being the size he is."

  Inside the tent the four children breathlessly arranged a plan ofretreat.

  "You go _now_," said Cyril to the girls, "and get along home as fast asyou can. Oh, never mind the pony-cart; we'll get that to-morrow. Robertand I are dressed the same. We'll manage somehow, like Sydney Cartondid. Only, you girls _must_ get out, or it's all no go. We can run, butyou can't--whatever you may think. No, Jane, it's no good Robert goingout and knocking people down. The police would follow him till he turnedhis proper size, and then arrest him like a shot. Go you must! If youdon't, I'll never speak to you again. It was you got us into this messreally, hanging round people's legs the way you did this morning. _Go_,I tell you!"

  And Jane and Anthea went.

  "We're going home," they said to Bill. "We're leaving the giant withyou. Be kind to him." And that, as Anthea said afterwards, was verydeceitful, but what were they to do?

  When they had gone, Cyril went to Bill.

  "Look here," he said, "he wants some ears of corn--there's some in thenext field but one. I'll just run and get it. Oh, and he says can't youloop up the tent at the back a bit? He says he's stifling for a breathof air. I'll see no one peeps in at him. I'll cover him up, and he cantake a nap while I go for the corn. He _will_ have it--there's noholding him when he gets like this."

  The giant was made comfortable with a heap of sacks and an oldtarpaulin. The curtain was looped up, and the brothers were left alone.They matured their plan in whispers. Outside, the merry-go-round blaredout its comic tunes, screaming now and then to attract public notice.

  Half a minute after the sun had set, a boy came out past Bill.

  "I'm off for the corn," he said, and mingled quickly with the crowd.

  At the same instant a boy came out of the back of the tent past 'Becca,posted there as sentinel.

  "I'm off after the corn," said this boy also. And he, too, moved awayquietly and was lost in the crowd. The front-door boy was Cyril; theback-door was Robert--now, since sunset, once more his proper size. Theywalked quickly through the field, along the road, where Robert caughtCyril up. Then they ran. They were home as soon as the girls were, forit was a long way, and they ran most of it. It was indeed a _very_ longway, as they found when they had to go and drag the pony-cart home nextmorning, with no enormous Robert to wheel them in it as if it were amail-cart, and they were babies and he was their gigantic nursemaid.

  * * * * *

  I cannot possibly tell you what Bill and 'Becca said when they foundthat the giant had gone. For one thing, I do not know.