e was taller than any of the children.

"Where is your caravan?" Janet asked.

"Just over there," the giant said. "They're waiting for me. I came here
to make my toilet. Where are you going?"

"We're going to Faringdon," said Robert.

"That's where we've come from," said the giant. "There's been a fair
there. We're going to Cirencester."

"What a shame!" said Horace. "That means we've missed you."

"But you're seeing me now," said the giant, adding again, with his
Yorkshire laugh, "free."

"I know," said Jack, "but that's not the same as at a fair. The naphtha
lamps, you know."

The giant shuddered. "I like to be away from them," he said.

"Who else is there with you?" asked Gregory.

"The King," said the giant.

"The King!" they all exclaimed.

"Yes, King Pip. He's a dwarf. We travel together, but we show
separately. A penny each."

"Might we see him if we paid a penny?" Janet asked.

"I shouldn't if I were you," said the giant.

"Why not?" said Gregory. "Isn't he nice?"

"No," said the giant very firmly. "He's not; he's nasty."

"I'm so sorry," said Janet.

"So am I," said the giant.

"I've always liked giants best," said Mary.

"But why don't you leave him?" said Jack.

"I can't," said the giant. "We don't belong to ourselves. We belong to
Mr. Kite. Mr. Kite is the showman."

"And did you sell yourself to him like a slave?" Hester asked.

The giant laughed. "Very much like a slave," he said. "You see, there's
nothing else to do when you're big like me and have no money. I'm too
weak to work, and it's ridiculous, too. No one ought to be so big. So I
must do what I can."

"What's the matter with King Pip?" Robert asked.

"He's selfish and bad-tempered," said the giant. "He thinks it's a fine
thing to be so small."

"And you think it a fine thing to be so big, don't you?" said Robert.

The giant opened his blue eyes. "I! Not me. I'd give everything I ever
possessed to be five feet seven instead of seven feet five. It's never
done me any good."

"But it's rather grand to be as big as that," Robert suggested.

"Grand! You may have the grandeur. It's worse than being a criminal. I
can't walk out unless it's pitch dark or very early morning, because if
I did the people would see me free--as you are doing--I have to live in
a narrow stuffy carriage. I'm ill, too. Giants are always ill."

Janet was full of sympathy. "We're so sorry," she said. "And here's our
money--it isn't fair to be s