sense! Does the
Giant Caranco know the good word of the Gentle Folk whose song brings
luck? Can the Giant Caranco tell the tale that only the fairies know?
Has the Giant Caranco those things in his wallet which are loved of lads
and maids? Of a surety, no! Was ever such nonsense heard!"

In vain rings the shout of the maligner on the rocks above, as the
circle gathers in again closer than ever about us.

"Beware of his thrice-sharpened teeth, Giuseppe! I saw him bite a fair
half-moon out of the iron pipe by the fountain trough this morning!" he
cries.

It is worse than useless now. Not only does the devil's advocate lack
his own halfpenny; but with a swirl of the hand and a cunning jerk at
the side, a stone whizzes after this regardless railer upon honest
giants. Wails and agony follow. It is a dangerous thing to sit in the
scorner's chair, specially when the divinity has the popular acclaim,
with store of sweetmeats and _soldi_ as well.

Most dangerous of all is it to interfere with a god in the making, for
proselytism is hot, and there are divine possibilities.

CHAPTER III

THE STORY OF THE SEVEN DEAD MEN

And the stories! There were many of them. The young faces bent closer as
we told the story of Saint Martin dividing his cloak among the beggars.
Then came our own Cornish giant-killer, adapted for an Italian audience,
dressed to taste in a great brigand hat and a beltful of daggers and
pistols. Blunderbore in the Italian manner was a distinguished success.
It was Henry who told the tales, but yet I think it was I who had the
more abundant praise. For they heard me prompt my Mercurius, and they
saw him appeal to me in a difficulty. Obviously, therefore, Henry was
the servant of the chief magician, who like a great lord only
communicated his pleasure through his steward.

Then with a tale of Venice[1] that was new to them we scared them out of
a year's growth--frightening ourselves also, for then we were but young.
It was well that the time was not far from high noon. The story told in
brief ran thus. It was the story of the "Seven Dead Men."

[Footnote 1: For the origin of this and much else as profitable and
pleasant, see Mr. Horatio Brown's _Life on the Lagoons_, the most
charming and characteristic of Venetian books.]

There were once six men that went fishing on the lagoons. They brought
a little boy, the son of one of them, to remain and cook the polenta. In
the night-time he was alone in th