Two Giants

The Blue Mountains of our neighbour New South Wales, are, it has been

said, the metropolis of Elfland. On those grand cliffs are caves where

grim giants lie in wait ready to be summoned by the fathers and mothers

of naughty, disobedient children. Away down in the cool dells the

fairies hold their councils and their balls, and many a merry frolic

have they when the ghosts are asleep and snoring.

I am going to tell you about giants in this story—about two giants, one

called Fog, and the other named Duty, and when the tale is finished,

you shall tell me which of the giants you like best.

In one of the most lonesome valleys among the mountains lived Harry

Podder, a little boy whose father was a poor selector. The selector,

his wife, and their only child, were quite alone in their solitude; the

dell which they occupied was shut in by high, rugged cliffs, upon whose

steep sides grew dwarfed gum-trees, whose outstretched limbs appeared

like the expanded wings of gigantic birds of prey, ready to swoop down

upon the frail bark-dwelling beneath. Wild, weird, and fantastic was

the scene. Here there was no school for Harry to go to, nor neighbours’

children for him to play with. The mother would take him out among the

peaks and turrets, and teach him from the open page of Nature around

them, until the mind of the lad became almost as strange and wild as

his surroundings.

Many a wondrous tale did the fond parent invent as to what the torrent

cried in its rushing, headlong course down the mountain side; and what

the trees said, as they bent and whispered one to the other in the

breeze; and where the clouds were going, and why the thick mists came

to kill the flowers and enfold the highest spurs as with a winding

sheet. Thus they were a poor but a very happy family.

But a dreadful winter came, which laid the selector on a bed of

sickness, and he was very ill indeed. “Harry, my little son,” said his

mother, “you must go to Ridgeford for the doctor.”

Ridgeford, the nearest township, was four miles distant, over a rough

track across the hills, where lived the only medical man on the range.

The boy hung his head, and she had to repeat her injunction.

“Ridgeford, mother! I can’t go. I’m afraid.”

“Afraid, Harry? Afraid of what?”

“Of the giants, mother.”

“Giants, boy? Why, there are no such beings as giants.”

“Oh, mother, but there is. Did you not show me the Giant Fog, that

haunts our valley? Why, you and I have watched him take all kind of

shapes to hide the sheep from us. He it was who led father into the

river, and caused poor old ‘Possum’ here to fall from the cliff.”

“Possum” was a large kangaroo hound, who looked up into his young

master’s face as his name was mentioned, and then began to frisk about

him.

The mother appeared puzzled for a moment, and then said quietly,—

“Yes, I remember Giant Fog; but, Harry, I know a giant far more

powerful than he. Go to the settlement for the doctor, and I will give

you a letter to my giant, and he will surely help you even if Fog were

to meet you on the way.”

So the mother took a sheet of paper and printed on it in large letters

such as Harry could read, “Duty.”

Then she wrapped up the boy as warmly as she could, gave him a note for

the doctor, and pinned the message to her giant on his breast. That

done, she called “Possum,” the kangaroo hound, and bade him accompany

his master.

Little Harry and the dog started off on their errand, while the woman

attended to her sick husband. Towards afternoon a thick fog settled on

the mountains, and the mother was heard to mutter, “Giant Fog will

overtake my poor child, I fear.”

Many times did she go to the windows and look forth in the hope of

seeing him and his faithful companion descending the cliff, but each

time she was disappointed.

And where was our hero all this time? Such a road as that poor boy had

to travel few little boys have ever seen, much less had to traverse

alone.

Harry thought little of the road; he walked along bravely, quite proud

of his journey, and, above all, his message to the Giant Duty. As he

and Possum climbed the hill-side and looked down on many a rugged

slope, he almost laughed and said, “I wonder if there are really such

things as giants in the mountains after all?”

Arrived at the township the boy gave the letter to the doctor, who

ordered some dinner for Harry, then started him and the dog homeward.

“I hope Giant Fog won’t catch us here, Possum,” cried the youngster, as

he mounted the steep crags above Ridgeford in safety. But the words

were hardly out of his mouth when both he and the dog were enveloped in

a deep mist, whirling and eddying round, till the child was quite giddy

and terrified. He put his hand to his breast, pressed the talisman his

mother had given him, and cried out, “Duty!” Strange, Giant Fog seemed

to clear out of the way for a moment, and they stumbled onward down the

crest of the mountain; but it soon became evident to Harry that all

shadow of the path was lost. Still the brave boy pursued his way, and

when his spirits flagged and the dog whined he cried out, “Duty,

Possum, Duty!”

At length they emerged out upon a ledge of ridges with deep ravines

intervening. Below the fog looked inky black.

Our hero paused, and Possum rubbed himself against him and looked up

whimpering in his face. “Never mind, old boy,” said Harry. “Even if

this is the very castle of Giant Fog, we have Duty with us. On, Possum,

on.”

The kangaroo hound drew back. The boy pressed forward, and in a moment

he felt he was falling rapidly through the air.

How long poor Harry lay at the base of those cruel crags he could not

say, but when he recovered consciousness the dog’s cold nose was

against his cheek. When he attempted to rise from the ground he found

one of his little arms hung useless at his side and sharp pains darted

through every limb. The tears started to his eyes, for he was but a

little fellow.

“Giant Fog has done us a bad turn, Possum; yet Giant Duty will help us

all right,” he muttered, and fell back with a groan of pain.

The dark night fell o’er the mountains. Patiently the mother waited and

watched for the return of her son. In her anxiety she was about to

issue forth in quest of him when the doctor made his appearance.

“Where is Harry?” he inquired eagerly.

“Not come back yet.”

“No, I made all haste to overtake him, but the fog is so thick I have

missed him on the way.”

While they were talking Possum dashed into the house, and without more

ado began to tug at the dress of the woman with might and main, and

with whines and barkings asked as plain as dog could ask for them to

follow him.

The woman understood the mute appeal. Accompanied by the doctor they

hastened after Possum, who led them over spurs and ridges to where lay

his insensible boy-master.

Tenderly did the kind doctor lift the exhausted child, skilfully did he

treat him, and faithfully did the mother nurse and tend him; but for

weeks it was doubtful who was to have the victory—the good or the bad

giant.

But at last one day Harry opened his eyes and said, “Mother, I hope the

doctor came and made father well again?”

“Yes, my darling, the doctor has cured father.”

“I’m so glad, mother. Giant Fog was very cruel, but Giant Duty brought

me home to you in spite of him; so if the doctor has made father well,

it’s all right. Ah! Possum. Here, Possum, old boy!”