The giant saw the homuncule was irascible, and played upon him, being
encouraged thereto by the shouts of laughter. For he did not see
that the people were laughing not at his wit, but at the ridiculous
incongruity of the two voices--the gigantic feeble fife, and the petty
deep, loud drum, the mountain delivered of a squeak, and the mole-hill
belching thunder.

The singular duet came to as singular an end. Giles lost all patience
and self-command, and being a creature devoid of fear, and in a rage to
boot, he actually dropped upon the giant's neck, seized his hair with
one hand, and punched his head with the other. The giant's first impulse
was to laugh, but the weight and rapidity of the blows soon corrected
that inclination.

"He! he! Ah! ha! hallo! oh! oh! Holy saints! here! help! or I must
throttle the imp. I can't! I'll split your skull against the--" and he
made a wild run backwards at the balcony. Giles saw his danger, seized
the balcony in time with both hands, and whipped over it just as the
giant's head came against it with a stunning crack. The people roared
with laughter and exultation at the address of their little champion.
The indignant giant seized two of the laughers, knocked them together
like dumb-bells, shook them and strewed them flat--Catherine shrieked
and threw her apron over Giles--then strode wrathfully away after the
party. This incident had consequences no one then present foresaw. Its
immediate results were agreeable. The Tergovians turned proud of Giles,
and listened with more affability to his prayers for parchment. For
he drove a regular trade with his brother Gerard in this article. Went
about and begged it gratis, and Gerard gave him coppers for it.

On the afternoon of the same day, Catherine and her daughter were