ver failed to exhort one another to fight bravely, and recollect that
the world had its eyes upon them; although, in simple truth, the only
spectator was the Giant Antaeus, with his one, great, stupid eye in the
middle of his forehead.

When the two armies joined battle, the cranes would rush forward,
flapping their wings and stretching out their necks, and would perhaps
snatch up some of the Pygmies crosswise in their beaks. Whenever this
happened, it was truly an awful spectacle to see those little men of
might kicking and sprawling in the air, and at last disappearing down
the crane's long, crooked throat, swallowed up alive. A hero, you know,
must hold himself in readiness for any kind of fate; and doubtless
the glory of the thing was a consolation to him, even in the crane's
gizzard. If Antaeus observed that the battle was going hard against his
little allies, he generally stopped laughing, and ran with mile-long
strides to their assistance, flourishing his club aloft and shouting
at the cranes, who quacked and croaked, and retreated as fast as they
could. Then the Pygmy army would march homeward in triumph, attributing
the victory entirely to their own valor, and to the warlike skill and
strategy of whomsoever happened to be captain general; and for a tedious
while afterwards, nothing would be heard of but grand processions, and
public banquets, and brilliant illuminations, and shows of wax-work,
with likenesses of the distinguished officers, as small as life.

In the above-described warfare, if a Pygmy chanced to pluck out a
crane's tail feather, it proved a very great feather in his cap. Once or
twice, if you will believe me, a little man was made chief ruler of
the nation for no other merit in the world than bringing home such a
feather.

But I have now said enough to let you see what a gallant little people
these were, and how happily they and their forefathers, for nobody knows
how many generations, had lived with the immeasurable Giant Antaeus.
In the remaining part of the story, I shall tell you of a far more
astonishing battle than any that was fought between the Pygmies and the
cranes.

One day the mighty Antaeus was lolling at full length among his little
friends. His pine-tree walking stick lay on the ground, close by his
side. His head was in one part of the kingdom, and his feet extended
across the boundaries of another part; and he was taking whatever
comfort he could get, while the Pygmies scram