Chapter VIII: Part TWO: How the Bakers Wished They Hadn’t 251 (7)

With that he gave three great springs right over the houses till he landed, splash again, in the deep river. Then he let himself go, leaping and running till Luigi laughed aloud with the dazzle and rush of it.

In a few minutes they had left the twinkling city far behind and were racing over the dusky hills. The trees brushed them as they passed; and above them millions of big, bright stars that Luigi had never seen in the city, seemed to swirl and dance. Luigi drew deep breaths, and nestled happily on the giant’s breast.

Benevaldo stopped and put his great watch up close to his eyes. “It’s getting late, or rather, early,” he said. “I’ll have to take you back again before the people get to swarming in the streets so that I can’t step.”

So he turned and dashed back through the cool night. There was the city again, glimmering beneath the pale sky. Beside it was a river, too, but not the one they had rushed through before. For this one was crossed by shining bridges from shore to shore. Luigi had once seen those bridges from below, and they had seemed to him to tower through the clouds. But now they came hardly to the giant’s waist.

Benevaldo paused. “Do you mind if I jump?” he asked. “You see,” he added apologetically, “it’s rather awkward, crawling under.”

“Oh, no,” cried Luigi joyously. “Let’s jump them!”

So Benevaldo went hurdling down the river, taking the bridges one by one, and dashing the city with spray.

Luigi laughed with delight. “I’m sorry to get back,” he said, as he pointed the way among the city houses.

Benevaldo took him gently out of the bag, and slipped him through the window safely upon his own bed.

“Good-by,” boomed the giant, giving the house an affectionate pat. “Good-by, little boy. Don’t forget Benevaldo, for I shall come again to see you. Watch for me from your window; and if it is too crowded for me to come among the houses, I will run along the river so that you can see my shadow sweeping over the roof tops.”

“Thank you, thank you,” cried Luigi. “But can’t I ever see you yourself again, good giant?”

Benevaldo thought. “If you ever go to the country,” he said, “look for me there. For I shall come to meet you.”

The early wagons began to jangle through the streets, and Benevaldo sprang hastily over the house-tops to his free river. Luigi listened until his great splashing steps were gone.

Rosa yawned and bounced sleepily out of bed. It was to be a great day for her. For a rich lady was to take her with all the neighborhood children on a picnic up the river. She sang as she got ready, but her face fell when she called Luigi to breakfast.

“Oh, brother,” she said, “I wish you were going on the picnic too!”

Luigi smiled bravely. “I wish I _could_ go,” he said.

Rosa gazed at him. “Why, Luigi,” she cried, “how well you look, and how fast you walk!”

Luigi beamed. “The ache is all out of my back,” he explained happily.

“Mother! Mother!” cried Rosa. “Just look at Luigi. The ache is out of his back; and see how well he walks! Can’t he go on the picnic too? I will take good care of him.”

So Luigi went with the other children up the river, where Benevaldo had waded with him the night before. All day long he sat quietly on the steamer, gazing eagerly over the green hills.

All at once he jumped up and waved his cap. For there against the sun was the great figure of his faithful giant, flourishing his friendly arms.

“Rosa! Rosa!” called Luigi. “There he is. See him,—my giant!”

The other children crowded around. “Where? Where?” they cried. But at that moment Benevaldo was lost to view, and there was only his long shadow, scudding across the hills.

But the shadow Luigi and Rosa saw often and often all their lives. And you can see it sometimes too if you will look.

When this book you close for aye,
Childish fancies to efface,
Bid these friendly giants hie
Down the years with you a pace:

Faith! Companions such as they,
Only charméd folk may know;
Those who walked the giants’ way
Some time in the long ago:

Children with the world a-face,
As the waiting years unfold,
With this friendly giant race
Fare ye till the tale is told.

_Seymour Barnard._