LILITH A Fantasy Novel By George MacDonald - online book

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86                                    LILITH
the baby in her arms at the foot of my tree, ' that I never see any children among the giants ? '
She stared a little, as if looking in vain for some sense in the question, then replied,
' They are giants ; there are no little ones.'
' Have they never any children ?' I asked.
' No; there are never any in the wood for them. They do not love them. If they saw ours, they would stamp them.'
' Is there always the same number of the giants then ? I thought, before I had time to know better, that they were your fathers and mothers.'
She burst into the merriest laughter, and said,
' No, good giant; we are their firsters.'
But as she said it, the merriment died out of her, and she looked scared.
I stopped working, and gazed at her, bewildered.
' How can that be ? ' I exclaimed.
' I do not say; I do not understand,' she answered. ' But we were here and they not. They go from us. I am sorry, but we cannot help it. They could have helped it.'
' How long have you been here ?' I asked, more and more puzzled—in the hope of some side-light on the matter.
' Always, I think,' she replied. ' I think somebody made us always.'
I turned to my scraping.
She saw I did not understand.
' The giants were not made always,' she resumed. If a Little One doesn't care, he grows greedy, and then lazy, and then big, and then stupid, and then bad. The dull creatures don't know that they come from
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