Read Ebook: The Giant Hands; or the Reward of Industry by Crowquill Alfred

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 69 lines and 7685 words, and 2 pages

"Then I shall leave you," said Wil-lie.

Rage made the face of the o-gress glow like a fur-nace, as she made a pounce at poor Wil-lie for his ill-ad-vis-ed speech; and she would have caught him in her gripe, had he not dod-ged round a large bun-dle of ve-ge-ta-bles which luck-i-ly lay on the floor. Round and round she went af-ter him, un-til he felt that he must be caught; when a ve-ry large hand grasp-ed her round the waist, and hur-ri-ed her, yell-ing, out of the kit-chen; Wil-lie fol-low-ing, re-turn-ing thanks for his de-li-ver-ance. They came to a large win-dow which o-pen-ed to the sea: the hand thrust the o-gress out, and held her ex-ten-ded over the roll-ing waves.

"Mercy! mercy!" groan-ed, the o-gress, as she gaz-ed upon the aw-ful depth be-neath her.

The hand gra-du-al-ly re-lax-ed its hold; and the o-gress, with one des-pair-ing cry, whirl-ed o-ver and o-ver, and fell with such a plump in-to the sea, that the spray flew o-ver the high-est tow-er, and the fish-es swam a-way in ter-ror. She went down, down, down: but never came up, up, up.

Wil-lie ran out of the front door; and when he got to the mar-gin of the sea, he turn-ed his eye to the waves, ex-pect-ing every mo-ment to see the head of the dread-ful o-gress pop up a-gain; but it did not. He saw the good hands fol-low-ing him: they plun-ged into the sea close at his feet; he jump-ed in-to the palm of one, and seat-ed himself. Be-tween the fin-ger and thumb of each hand was one of his cook-ing forks, stuck through two of the o-gress's ve-ry best hand-ker-chiefs, which made ve-ry ad-mi-ra-ble sails, catch-ing the wind, and waft-ing him a-long o-ver the sea as well as the fi-nest ship e-ver built.

As the moon rose, it found him safe-ly land-ed and snug under the roof of a good farm-er who had pro-mi-sed him work--ay, e-ven as much as he could do: but the farm-er did not know the trea-sure he pos-sess-ed, for the next morn-ing lit-tle Wil-lie was work-ing in his shirt-sleeves in the corn-field reap-ing and shear-ing as much as two men, and stout ones too, could do in a long day. But there, un-der the shel-ter of the high corn, were the friend-ly hands work-ing mi-ra-cles; ga-ther-ing up the corn, and put-ting it in-to sheaves in a man-ner that could not be e-qual-led by mor-tal hands.

Wil-lie whistl-ed, and cut a-way, not-with-stand-ing the burn-ing heat of the sun: his sic-kle glis-ten-ed, and the corn fell in such long sweeps that I do be-lieve it was as ma-gi-cal as the hands them-selves.

The long-est day will, how-e-ver, have an end: but when Wil-lie's first day wa-ned, the farm-er was struck with as-to-nish-ment at be-hold-ing the gold-en rows of hea-vy corn, stand-ing for his ad-mi-ra-tion in the well ti-ed sheaves. He look-ed from the lit-tle man to the fruits of his la-bour, and pro-mi-sed to him-self to do his best to se-cure so va-lu-a-ble a ser-vant.

"Oh, oh!" said the farm-er, "if he can reap so well, per-haps he can plough:" so ac-cord-ing-ly the next morn-ing found lit-tle Wil-lie as a plough-man. But how could he know how to do it? any one would say. Why, the hands guid-ed the plough; and the lands were plough-ed in fur-rows as straight as the flight of an ar-row sped by the strong-est arm.

The farm-er watch-ed from his win-dow, but the hands were in-vi-si-ble to his eyes: he saw the plough cut its way un-err-ing-ly in-to the bo-som of the earth, in a man-ner that sur-pri-sed e-ven his ex-pe-ri-ence, and he a-gain bless-ed his good for-tune that had giv-en him such a won-der-ful lit-tle la-bour-er.

Wil-lie sat at the board of the good farm-er, who thought he could not make too much of him, for he was grate-ful to the in-dus-tri-ous youth, who seem-ed to take plea-sure in work-ing for the in-ter-est of his mas-ter. Time roll-ed on, and Wil-lie be-came quite head man, for it was found that he could be en-trust-ed with any-thing. One day, when he was out on the moun-tains, where he had gone to ga-ther the flocks for the shear-ing, heavy storms came on, and the floods de-lu-ged the val-ley, sweep-ing the flocks and the herds a-way in their head-long course. Wil-lie wise-ly kept his charge upon the moun-tain's side un-til the wa-ters had in some de-gree sub-si-ded; but he was a-larm-ed when he de-scend-ed in-to the val-leys to find that, in ma-ny pla-ces, the wa-ter was im-pass-a-ble to his charge. As he stood in deep thought, the gi-ant hands spread them-selves over the tur-bid wa-ters, form-ing the most per-fect bridge im-a-gin-a-ble. He drove the sheep a-cross with-out fear, and reach-ed his mas-ter's house in safe-ty, much to the joy of all, who had giv-en him up for lost.

As Wil-lie lay down that night, full of gra-ti-tude for his great good for-tune, and think-ing of his home, to which he knew he should so soon re-turn to take hap-pi-ness to his fond mo-ther, he was sud-den-ly a-rous-ed by screams of ter-ror and cries of a-larm. He jump-ed from his bed, and put-ting on his clothes, rush-ed in-to the farm-yard, where, to his hor-ror, he be-held his good mas-ter wring-ing his hands, and a-ban-don-ed to grief; for the flames were fast de-vour-ing his peace-ful house, and, worse than all, they had reach-ed the cham-ber of his fa-vour-ite daugh-ter, whom he had in vain at-tempt-ed to res-cue, for no lad-der could reach her win-dow, and the stair-case had long been burnt. Wil-lie look-ed on in des-pair, for he could de-vise no means to save the poor child; when sud-den-ly the gi-ant hands ap-pear-ed, and plac-ing them-selves a-gainst the side of the house, form-ed a lad-der, up which Wil-lie sprang with-out the least he-si-ta-tion. In a few mo-ments he gain-ed the suf-fo-cat-ing cham-ber of the girl, and fold-ing her in his arms, rush-ed down the friend-ly hands, and pla-ced her, unharm-ed, in the em-brace of her des-pair-ing fa-ther.

A hea-vi-ly la-den wag-gon creaks along the wind-ing road, co-ver-ed with a tilt as white as snow; but what has it in-side? You can peep and see: beau-ti-ful ta-bles and chairs, and sides of ba-con, and geese and chick-ens, and fair round chees-es, and rolls of gold-en but-ter, with white eggs peep-ing through the bars of their wick-er pris-on. Where is the wag-gon go-ing? To mar-ket, per-haps: ask the youth who is trudg-ing by its side, with a smil-ing, hap-py face, rud-dy with health and the warm tinge of the sun.

Why, I de-clare that it is Wil-lie, grown quite stout and strong! Where is he go-ing with that well-stored wag-gon, which real-ly has no hor-ses to draw it, and yet it goes for-ward at a pret-ty pace? Why, I do be-lieve that the gi-ant hands are drag-ging it along!

It is Wil-lie, in-deed; and, joy-ous mo-ment! he is go-ing home. In his pock-et he has much bright sil-ver, the pro-duce of his la-bour: the con-tents of the wag-gon shows the farm-er's gra-ti-tude to Wil-lie for his promp-ti-tude, en-er-gy, and in-dus-try; and, more than all, for his risk-ing his life to save that of his dar-ling child.

At last the cot-tage path is reach-ed. His mo-ther is stand-ing at the gate: Wil-lie shouts; such a heart-y shout! His mo-ther looks up-on him, but can-not speak: he is soon in her arms.

That night they sat late be-side their blaz-ing hearth: a-midst the smoke might now be seen a large well-filled pot bub-bling with some-thing more than wa-ter in it.

How much Wil-lie had to tell his mo-ther of his la-bour, and what he ow-ed to the won-der-ful gi-ant hands, pre-serv-ing him through all dan-gers, and e-ver yield-ing him as-sist-ance!

Wil-lie's mo-ther smi-led up-on him, as he con-clu-ded his nar-ra-tive, with a kiss.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet