' He will be very miserable when he finds himself a giant!'
' Oh, no; he will like it well enough ! That is the worst of it.'
' Will he hate the Little Ones ? '
' He will be like the rest; he will not remember us—most likely will not believe there are Little Ones. He will not care; he will eat his apples.'
' Do tell me how it will come about. I understand your world so little! I come from a world where everything is different.'
' I do not know about world. What is it ? What more but a word in your beautiful big mouth ?—That makes it something !'
I Never mind about the word; tell me what next will happen to Blunty.'
'He will wake one morning and find himself a gaint—not like you, good giant, but like any other bad giant. You will hardly know him, but I will tell you which. He will think he has been a giant always, and will not know you, or any of us. The giants have lost themselves, Peony says, and that is why they never smile. I wonder whether they are not glad because they are bad, or bad because they are not glad. But they can't be glad when they have no babies! I wonder what bad means, good giant!'
'I wish I knew no more about it than you!' I returned. ' But I try to be good, and mean to keep on trying.'
So do I—and that is how I know you are good.' A long pause followed.
'Then you do not know where the babies come from into the wood ? ' I said, making one attempt more.