"You must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow," said the
Giant. But the children said that they did not know where he
lived, and had never seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad.

Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played
with the Giant. But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never
seen again. The Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he
longed for his first little friend, and often spoke of him. "How I
would like to see him!" he used to say.

Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could
not play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched
the children at their games, and admired his garden. "I have many
beautiful flowers," he said; "but the children are the most
beautiful flowers of all."

One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing.
He did not hate the Winter now, for he knew that it was merely the
Spring asleep, and that the flowers were resting.

Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked. It
certainly was a marvellous sight. In the farthest corner of the
garden was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its
branches were all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and
underneath it stood the little boy he had loved.

Downstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He
hastened across the grass, and came near to the child. And when he
came quite close his face grew red with anger, and he said, "Who
hath dared to wound thee?" For on the palms of the child's hands