"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 seeing 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 sc.r.a.pe 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."

They caught a train on the funny little branch-line which turned them out at Uffington, and, armed with Mr. Scott's present, "The Scouring of the White Horse," which Mary carried and occasionally read sc.r.a.ps from as they walked along, they made for the green hills and the famous animal cut on their side. To reach it was impossible, for the London train left at 6.24, and it was now nearly three, and there was tea to be eaten; but they came near enough to see it distinctly, and to marvel that the name of horse should ever have been given to it. As Gregory said, "It's no more like a horse than Shakespeare is like a swan."

And then they had tea at a nice inn at Uffington, in a parlour full of photograph frames, and returned to the station.

As the train left, they leaned back in their seats, a great deal more tired than they had ever been in the Slowcoach.

"What a hateful rate this train goes at!" said Robert. "I prefer two miles an hour."

"Oh, yes," they said.

At Paddington they found Collins and Eliza Pollard, with a station omnibus, and they rattled down to Chiswick, pouring out the news, especially that from Lycett's farm.

And so, after dropping Mary and Jack and Horace at their homes, they came once again to "The Gables." A cold supper was waiting for them--one of those nice late meals after a journey--and Mrs. Avory and Runcie sat with them while they ate it.

"You must be glad to be back," Runcie said, "and to sleep in nice beds once more."

"Oh, Runcie," said Hester, "you don't really understand anything."

"I understand what King Edward's head is like on a shilling," said Runcie, with a little twinkle at Janet.

Janet blushed.

"What a shame," she said, "to tell that story! Hester, I suppose that was you, in one of your letters."

"Yes," said Hester; "but, Janet darling, you told me always to tell all the news."

CHAPTER 23

THE MOST SURPRISING ADVENTURE OF ALL

The children had been back two or three days, and Kink was still on the road, when one morning a telegram came from him saying that he had reached Hounslow, and Robert asked if they might all walk out to meet him, and so return home triumphantly in a body. Mrs. Avory agreed, and they trooped off, after the briefest lunch, taking Horace Campbell and the Rotherams with them.

They had been gone two or three hours, and Mrs. Avory was sitting talking with Runcie, when Eliza Pollard brought a card on the bra.s.s tray that Janet had repoussed for her mother's last Christmas present.

It ran:

MR. HENRY AMORY The Red House, Chiswick, W.