h, never mind the pony-cart; we'll get that to-morrow. Robert
and I are dressed the same. We'll manage somehow, like Sydney Carton
did. Only, you girls _must_ get out, or it's all no go. We can run, but
you can't--whatever you may think. No, Jane, it's no good Robert going
out and knocking people down. The police would follow him till he turned
his proper size, and then arrest him like a shot. Go you must! If you
don't, I'll never speak to you again. It was you got us into this mess
really, hanging round people's legs the way you did this morning. _Go_,
I tell you!"

And Jane and Anthea went.

"We're going home," they said to Bill. "We're leaving the giant with
you. Be kind to him." And that, as Anthea said afterwards, was very
deceitful, but what were they to do?

When they had gone, Cyril went to Bill.

"Look here," he said, "he wants some ears of corn--there's some in the
next field but one. I'll just run and get it. Oh, and he says can't you
loop up the tent at the back a bit? He says he's stifling for a breath
of air. I'll see no one peeps in at him. I'll cover him up, and he can
take a nap while I go for the corn. He _will_ have it--there's no
holding him when he gets like this."

The giant was made comfortable with a heap of sacks and an old
tarpaulin. The curtain was looped up, and the brothers were left alone.
They matured their plan in whispers. Outside, the merry-go-round blared
out its comic tunes, screaming now and then to attract public notice.

Half a minute after the sun had set, a boy came out past Bill.

"I'm off for the corn," he said, and mingled quickly with the crowd.

At the same instant a boy came out of the back of the tent past 'Becca,
posted there as sentinel.

"I'm off after the corn," said this boy also. And he, too, moved away
quietly and was lost in the crowd. The front-door boy was Cyril; the
back-door was Robert--now, since sunset, once more his proper size. They
walked quickly through the field, along the road, where Robert caught
Cyril up. Then they ran. They were home as soon as the girls were, for
it was a long way, and they ran most of it. It was indeed a _very_ long
way, as they found when they had to go and drag the pony-cart home next
morning, with no enormous Robert to wheel them in it as if it were a
mail-cart, and they were babies and he was their gigantic nursemaid.

* * * * *

I cannot possibly tell you what Bill and 'Becca said whe