eeing you free." And she held out sixpence.

"Oh, no," said the giant. "I didn't mean that. I like to see you and
talk. There's too few people to talk to naturally. Most of them ask
silly questions all the time, especially the doctors. If you want to
pay to see me, you must come to the fair. I shall be on view to-night."

"But we're going the other way," said Robert.

"I'm very sorry," said the giant. "I should have looked forward to
seeing you."

"What's your name?" Gregory asked.

"My real name is William Steward," said the giant, "but they call me
the Human Colossus."

"Is there anything we could do for you?"

Janet asked. "We have some papers; would you like them?"

"No," said the giant; "I don't read much. There is one thing I'd like,
but I don't suppose you have it. A little tobacco. I'm clean out of it,
and I'd like a smoke."

"We've got tobacco all right," said Robert. "You know," he added to
Janet, "in that tin labelled 'For--'"

But Janet stopped him in time, and drew him aside. "Run and get it,"
she said; "but be sure to scrape the label off. He wouldn't like to see
'For Tramps and Gipsies' on it."

Robert was quickly back, and handed the tin to the giant, who was
delighted.

He was just beginning his thanks when a shrill whistle sounded, and he
said good-bye instead.

"That's His Majesty," he explained. "He thinks I've been long enough.
And I am long enough," he added, making his only joke--"too long. Well,
good-bye. I'm glad to have met you. Don't forget to look for the Human
Colossus whenever you come to a fair. It's easy to remember the Human
Colossus. Good-bye."

And he shambled off through the trees to the road.

They had their last lunch with Kink just outside Faringdon's red town,
and then sped him on his solitary way home, promising, however, to come
and meet him somewhere outside London in three or four days' time; and
so they stood in a group in the middle of the road until the Slowcoach
and its driver and its black guardian were out of sight. And if some of
their eyes were not quite dry, I am sure you don't blame them.

"Now," said Robert, as he made a note of what his pedometer
said--sixty-seven miles and a quarter, for he considered this the end
of the real walk--"now for the station."

First, however, a telegram had to go, and Hester insisted on sending
it, as she had an idea, and this is what she sent:

"Avory, The Gables, Chiswick. Alas! alack! we're coming back."

Th