“HELLO, old sport!” said Wendell; “I didn’t expect you till Monday.”

“Oh, I just dropped in,” said the Pixie. “Great book, isn’t it? But, go easy, son, go easy. Danger, you know.”

“Yes, I am going easy,” said Wendell. “I haven’t read one word out loud. It’s some book, though!”

“Let’s read that thing about giants,” suggested the Pixie. “That ought to just suit your case.”

“I suppose there’s no harm in reading this aloud,” said Wendell, hesitatingly. “Just sort of directions, you see.”

“Go slowly,” commanded the Pixie. “And if you see any charm coming to meet you, stop short.”

Wendell read:—
“‘SOME TRIED METHODS FOR KILLING GIANTS.

“‘Method ye first:—To kill a giant—’{97}”

“Put salt on his tail,” interpolated the Pixie.

“Please listen,” said Wendell, and went on,—

“‘Dig a hole deeper than his height a few steps from his door. Cover it with branches of trees. Standing on the further side, away from his house, taunt him in a loud voice. When he rushes out, he will fall into the hole, and can be easily despatched.’”

“By whom?” inquired the Pixie, after deep thought. “I vote, not by me.”

“Well, here’s another,” said Wendell. “‘Method ye second:—Assume the disguise of a wayworn traveler. Knock at the giant’s door and ask for a night’s lodging.’—I can’t do that,” said Wendell. “He knows me by smell.”

“Never mind. Read it through,” said the Pixie.

“‘He will tell you that he has no extra bed, but that you are welcome to share his son’s.’—Yes, but he hasn’t a son,” said Wendell.

“Never mind. It’s interesting. Go on,” said the Pixie.

“‘When you go to bed, he will put a gold chain around his son’s neck and a hempen rope round your neck. As soon as he has left you, put the hempen rope round his son’s neck and the gold chain round your own neck, and then feign sleep. After a time, the giant will return. He will feel for the gold chain, and finding it on your neck, and the hempen rope on his son’s neck, he will cut off his son’s head with his sword. You must then wait until you hear the giant’s snores, and rising quickly’—”

“Taking care,” suggested the Pixie, “not to step on a tack.{98}”

“‘—make your way to his bedside, and lop off his head with his own sword.’”

“Too much shortening in that recipe,” said the Pixie. “Try another.”

“‘Giant-killing as recommended by Puss-in-Boots,’” read Wendell. “‘Invite the giant to a feast at your castle, and after he is in a good humor, make a wager that you can change yourself into an animal more quickly than he can. Change yourself into a cat; and whatever form the giant assumes, whether that of lion, tiger, leopard, or what-not, let the onlookers declare that the contest is a draw and that the trial must be made again. Convince the giant that in order to insure a perfectly fair trial, both contestants should change to the same shape, and choose that of a mouse. At the word, allow the giant to take the shape of a mouse, while you retain that of a cat, and immediately devour him.’”

“That sounds rather good,” said the Pixie approvingly. “You’d have to practice your transformations at home, first, of course, and be sure you have the charm down pat.”

Wendell did not answer immediately. “Say, that gives me an idea,” he finally declared. “Why kill the Giant, anyway?”

“To please the Beauteous Maiden, of course,” said the Pixie.

“Yes, but why kill ............