At first he held it awkwardly, yet he looked at it with shining eyes.
Then he turned about, holding the sword forward, as the Masked Lady had
held it. He could feel that the hilt of the sword was beginning to fit
snugly into his hand.

Gradually a strange transformation occurred. His body straightened,
his eyes shone more than ever. He took a step forward, and he knew
that his knees were no longer trembling. In a clear voice he cried out
to the Giant Fear:

"Defend yourself!"

But the giant reeled and trembled. He tried to hold his bludgeon
aloft, but his hands shook so that it nearly fell. He became as pale
as death, and it was quite impossible for him to meet Everychild's eye.
He retreated with stumbling steps. It seemed that he would fall. His
power had deserted him.

He made a last, terrible effort to lift his bludgeon; but Everychild
darted forward with the speed of lightning, holding his sword before
him. It was a very sharp sword, and it pierced the giant's body as
easily as if the great creature had been made of paper.

The Giant Fear tottered. His bludgeon slipped from his grasp and his
eyes became dim. He fell with a crash. He was dead!

At that very moment a sound of distant music could be heard. It was
all very wonderful. The music drew nearer; it sounded more loudly.

Everychild turned and restored the slim sword to the Masked Lady.