{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_10816/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_10816","id":"gutenberg_10816","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10816","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction","Fairy tales","Ghouls and ogres -- Juvenile fiction","Mothers and sons -- Juvenile fiction","Work ethic -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"[Illustration: THE POOR HOME.]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n_Alfred Crowquill's Fairy Tales._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE\n\n  GIANT HANDS:\n\n  OR,\n\n  THE REWARD OF INDUSTRY.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  LONDON:\n  G. ROUTLEDGE & CO., FARRINGDON STREET.\n  NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET.\n  1856.\n\n\n\n  LONDON:\n  SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,\n  COVENT GARDEN.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE GIANT HANDS.\n\n\nPoor lit-tle Wil-lie re-turn-ed from the for-est la-den with as much\nwood as his fee-ble strength could bear. He was hun-gry and wea-ry, and\nhad a great sor-row at his heart, for he had lost his fa-ther in the\near-ly spring, leav-ing his mo-ther to toil for a scant live-li-hood to\nsup-port her-self and him.\n\nHe threw the wood up-on the cin-ders on the hearth, and quick-ly rais-ed\na cheer-ful blaze, at which he warm-ed his na-ked, swol-len feet, as he\nwatch-ed the smoke ma-king its fan-tas-tic ed-dies up the wide chim-ney,\nand a-midst the raf-ters of the low roof. He heav-ed a deep sigh; for he\nsaw no pot up-on the fire, which ought to have been bub-bling up with\ntheir fru-gal din-ner: but, a-las! they had none.\n\n\"This must not be any long-er,\" thought he, \"for I am get-ting ve-ry big\nand strong, and have a pair of hands that ought not to be i-dle. As my\npoor mo-ther gets weak-er, I should work for her; and as I grow in-to a\nman, she should not work any more, but sit by the fire and get the\ndin-ner rea-dy, which I shall then be a-ble to la-bour for.\"\n\n[Illustration: MEETING THE HANDS.]\n\nWil-lie was of an in-dus-tri-ous mind, and did not love to sit i-dle\nwhen e-ven his ti-ny strength might be used to some end.\n\nSo he sat and lis-ten-ed for the foot-step of his poor mo-ther, who, he\nknew, would come home, wea-ri-ed with la-bour, to share her scan-ty\ncrust with her boy.\n\nHe had not to wait long be-fore the latch lift-ed, and his mo-ther\nen-ter-ed. She kiss-ed him, and threw her-self in-to a chair, with the\ntears of fa-tigue and ex-haus-tion in her eyes.\n\nHe em-bra-ced her, and whis-per-ed in-to her ear his firm resolve to\nstart out in-to the world, and seek for la-bour, that he might no\nlong-er be a bur-then to her. Her heart sank at the i-dea; but she saw\nno o-ther means to save them from star-va-tion, as her fail-ing strength\ngave warn-ing of the in-e-vi-ta-ble e-vil.\n\nThe morn-ing a-rose bright and cheer-ful. The old lock-er was o-pen-ed,\nand his on-ly shoes, trea-sur-ed for high-days and ho-li-days, were\nta-ken out and brush-ed up, as was al-so his best suit, which was\nin-deed ve-ry lit-tle bet-ter than the care-ful-ly mend-ed suit of his\ne-ve-ry-day wear. He, how-e-ver, thought him-self ve-ry fine, and felt\nthat his ap-pear-ance would act as a re-com-men-da-tion in his fa-vour.\n\nThey sat down to break-fast: it was a ve-ry tear-ful one, and, with a\nstrange feel-ing, they a-void-ed each o-ther's looks, hop-ing to hide\ntheir tears one from the o-ther.\n\nOh! it want-ed a great re-so-lu-tion for poor Wil-lie to say, \"Well!\ndear mo-ther, I must be start-ing;\" but he did do it at last, al-though\nit was af-ter ma-ny strug-gles to keep down the beat-ings of his heart.\n\n[Illustration: THE FIRST ASSISTANCE.]\n\nHis mo-ther heard him with a be-wil-der-ed look, as if she heard the\npro-po-sal for the first time; and her grief burst forth with\nun-con-trol-la-ble vi-o-lence as she threw her arms round his neck with\nan a-go-ny on-ly known to a fond mo-ther.\n\nHe tried to com-fort her, and to smile through his tears, as he put on\nhis hat with a re-so-lute thump, seiz-ed up-on his stick and wal-let,\nand lift-ed the latch of the door that was to o-pen for his bold\nen-trance in-to the world, so full of pro-mise to him.\n\nAgain they lin-ger-ed in their lit-tle gar-den, where e-ve-ry flow-er\nseem-ed an old friend to be part-ed with: a-gain the tears and the\nem-bra-ces. At last the lit-tle gate was swung wide o-pen, and Wil-lie\nstep-ped bold-ly forth. His mo-ther co-ver-ed her face and wept. He\nturn-ed to-wards her with ir-re-so-lu-tion: he felt how dif-fi-cult it\nwas to leave one so dear and af-fec-tion-ate; but his du-ty was sim-ple,\nand he would do it: with one more \"good bye,\" he was gone on his way\nweep-ing.\n\nThe lark rose in the morn-ing sky, and sang her joy-ous song. The sweet,\nbal-my air of ear-ly day cool-ed his throb-bing brow, and his tears\ngra-du-al-ly ceas-ed to flow; but his lit-tle breast heav-ed now and\nthen with sobs as the storm of grief sub-si-ded. His foot-steps grew\nquick-er the far-ther he left his home be-hind; for be-fore him lay the\nland of pro-mise, and his lit-tle brain was full of dreams of suc-cess,\nand the con-se-quent joy that would be at his heart when he re-trod\nthose ve-ry fields on his re-turn, la-den with rich-es to throw in-to\nhis mo-ther's lap.\n\n[Illustration: THE LITTLE TENT.]\n\nAs these thoughts rush-ed through his mind, they gave him much com-fort;\nand he even hummed an air as he trot-ted on, to show his man-li-ness and\ncou-rage.\n\nPre-sen-tly, as he pass-ed through a val-ley which was la-den with the\nsweets of wild flow-ers that bloom-ed on ei-ther side, a cu-ri-ous and\nal-most trans-pa-rent flee-cy cloud ap-pear-ed a-cross his path, from\nwhich a-rose _two e-nor-mous hands_. He start-ed, and well he\nmight, for he saw no-bo-dy be-long-ing to them: no, there they were,\non-ly hands. There was no fear of them, for they were spread o-pen up-on\nthe grass be-fore him with-out the slight-est ex-pres-sion of\nthreat-en-ing in them.\n\nAs he stood ga-zing with won-der up-on them, a voice, which ap-pear-ed\nto pr-oceed from the cloud, said,--\n\n\"Wil-lie, be not a-fraid: I know the praise-wor-thy er-rand that you are\non, and I come to be-friend you. Per-se-vere in your de-sire to be\nin-dus-tri-ous, and. I will be e-ver rea-dy to as-sist you. I shall be\nin-vi-si-ble to all eyes but yours, and will work when the need\nap-pears. Come on, then, and fear not; the road to suc-cess is o-pen to\nyou, as it al-ways is to in-dus-tr-ious re-so-lu-tion.\"\n\n\"Thank you, good hands,\" said Wil-lie; \"I am sure you mean me good, for\nI am too lit-tle for you to wish to harm.\" The arms va-nish-ed, and\nWil-lie pro-ceed-ed on his way.\n\nHe felt so re-as-su-red by this ex-tra-or-di-na-ry ad-ven-ture, which\npro-mi-sed so well for his fu-ture suc-cess, that he leap-ed and dan-ced\na-long his path with ex-cite-ment and de-light: he look-ed for-ward to\nno ob-sta-cle to stop him in his ca-reer, and he pur-su-ed his way\nre-joic-ing.\n\n[Illustration: THE OGRESS'S CASTLE.]\n\nHow-e-ver, as the day grew on, he slack-en-ed his pace, for the\nun-ac-cus-tom-ed fa-tigue be-gan to tell up-on his frame; so at last he\nthrew him-self up-on the grass, and look-ed up-wards to the blue sky,\nand watch-ed the flee-cy clouds pur-sue each o-ther a-cross the\nbound-less ex-panse of the hea-vens. As he lay, half dream-ing, he\nthought he heard some-thing like the roll-ing of thun-der: he lis-ten-ed\nwith great-er at-ten-tion, un-til he was as-sur-ed there was some cause\nin his close vi-ci-ni-ty for the un-u-su-al and cu-ri-ous sounds. He\na-rose, and pro-ceed-ed to-wards the di-rec-tion of the sounds, which\ngrew loud-er and loud-er as he ad-van-ced; when, com-ing to the edge of\na pre-ci-pice, he be-held a grand and aw-ful rush of foam-ing wa-ters,\nwhich threw them-selves head-long down the riv-en rocks with a\ndeaf-en-ing roar and tu-mult.\n\nHe look-ed from right to left, and his way seem-ed bar-red by this\ntre-men-dous ob-sta-cle. His heart fail-ed him as he saw how\nim-pos-si-ble it was for him to pro-ceed: in-deed, as he sat him-self\ndown on the edge of the ca-ta-ract, he could not help weep-ing at his\nun-ex-pect-ed di-lem-ma.\n\nHe had not been ma-ny mi-nutes in-dul-ging in his grief, when he felt\nhim-self gent-ly lift-ed from the ground by a gi-gan-tic hand, which\npass-ed him high a-bove the threat-en-ing wa-ters, and pla-ced him in\nsafe-ty on the op-po-site bank. As the hand put him on his feet, it\nbe-came in-dis-tinct; but be-fore it had quite van-ish-ed, Wil-lie took\noff his hat, and, bow-ing, said,--\"Thank you kind-ly, good hand; you\nhave kept your promise well.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE OGRESS'S CASTLE.]\n\nCer-tain now that the fai-ry hands were not a dream, which he had\nreal-ly be-gun to think them, his cou-rage rose with the con-vic-tion of\nthe pro-tec-tion which sur-round-ed him from their great pow-er and\ngood-will to-wards him.\n\nHe soon came to a dense wood, where the gi-gan-tic trees, with gnarl-ed\nand twist-ed trunks, wound their e-nor-mous limbs a-round each o-ther in\nthe most fan-tas-tic forms, and the tan-gled un-der-wood twi-ned like\nsnakes a-cross the path, as if to for-bid any ven-tu-rous foot from\nen-ter-ing into the dark green depths. He, how-e-ver, look-ed up-on all\nsuch ob-sta-cles as no-thing in com-pa-ri-son with the last which he had\nbeen en-a-bled to sur-mount with the as-sist-ance of the hands. So he\nplun-ged on, strik-ing right and left, to clear his way, with his good\nstick. As he was lay-ing a-bout with a right good will, he was brought\nto a stand-still by a fe-ro-ci-ous growl. He turn-ed his eyes a-round,\nand be-held, much to his dis-may, a fierce wolf pre-par-ing to spring\nup-on him. He shrank down with ter-ror as he look-ed up-on the white\nteeth and fi-e-ry eyes of the sa-vage brute, and gave him-self up for\nlost, when, to his joy, one of the great hands e-mer-ged from a-midst\nthe thick fo-li-age of a tree, and pla-ced it-self be-tween him and his\nen-e-my; at the same time the o-ther hand seiz-ed the wolf, and crush-ed\nit in its grasp.\n\nWil-lie fell on his knees, and re-turn-ed thanks for his de-li-ver-ance;\nthen, look-ing round for the hands, he found they had va-nish-ed.\n\n[Illustration: THE KITCHEN OF THE OGRESS.]\n\nWea-ri-ed with his jour-ney, he sat down un-der a tree, de-ter-min-ed to\nrest for the night; and pull-ing out his wal-let, pre-par-ed to re-fresh\nhim-self with part of its con-tents, for he had scarce-ly eat-en any all\nday, so com-plete-ly had he been ta-ken up by the won-der-ful\nap-pear-ance of the good hands.\n\nAf-ter fi-nish-ing his meal, which he did with ex-ceed-ing rel-ish, he\nbe-gan to turn o-ver in his mind how he was to make up his bed in his\nve-ry large bed-cham-ber, for it ap-pear-ed as if he had got the great\nfo-rest all to him-self. When he had col-lect-ed a suf-fi-ci-en-cy of\ndri-ed leaves to-ge-ther to make his rest-ing place soft-er, he\npre-par-ed to lie down, when, to his as-to-nish-ment and de-light, he\nbe-held the gi-gan-tic hands spread them-selves over him, with the\nfin-gers en-twin-ed, ma-king for him the most per-fect lit-tle tent in\nthe world. How his heart bound-ed with gra-ti-tude to-wards the good\nfai-ry hands, as he felt how safe-ly he might in-dulge in his slum-bers\nbe-neath such pro-tec-tion!\n\n\"Thank you a-gain, good hands,\" said he, \"for your kind care of me; but\nbe-fore I say my pray-ers, can-not you, since you are so pow-er-ful,\ntell me some-thing of my dear mo-ther--whe-ther she is more con-so-led,\nand whe-ther she has food to eat?\"\n\n\"Good Wil-lie,\" re-plied a voice, \"your mo-ther knows that you will be\npro-tect-ed, as all good chil-dren are; and she has food, for she is\nin-dus-tri-ous; her hands were giv-en to her from my king-dom, in which\nno i-dle hands are ever made, as you shall know from me here-af-ter.\nSleep, then, in peace, that you may rise pre-pa-red for la-bour on the\ncom-ing morn.\" So Wil-lie slept.\n\n[Illustration: THE DEATH OF THE OGRESS.]\n\nWil-lie was ear-ly a-foot; for the day, ac-cord-ing to the hands, was to\nbe a day of la-bour, with its fruits. He soon left the wood be-hind him,\nand saw a large cas-tle before him.\n\n\"Here, sure-ly, is some-thing to be done,\" thought he; so he leapt up\nthe steps, and tri-ed to raise the knock-er, but it was too hea-vy for\nhis pu-ny strength. In an in-stant the hands ap-pear-ed, and knock-ed\nsuch a dou-ble knock, that it e-cho-ed like thun-der through the\nval-ley, and you might have heard it rum-bling a-way on the dis-tant\nmoun-tains.\n\nThe door o-pen-ed with a sud-den jerk, and the mis-tress of the man-sion\nap-pear-ed. The mo-ment Wil-lie saw her, he back-ed down the steps, for\nshe was an o-gress, and as ug-ly as o-gress-es ge-ne-ral-ly are. She\ngla-red up-on the lit-tle-man who she sup-po-sed had giv-en that great\nknock, with sur-prise and as-to-nish-ment; and then, in a voice like a\nve-ry hoarse ra-ven, she cri-ed--\n\n\"How dar-ed you to knock like that at my door, you lit-tle var-let? You\nhave put me all in a twit-ter.\"\n\nWil-lie trem-bling-ly took off his hat, and re-pli-ed in an hum-ble\nvoice, \"If you please, prin-cess, I wish-ed to know whe-ther you want-ed\na ser-vant to as-sist in your mag-ni-fi-cent cas-tle.\"\n\n\"A ser-vant, brat!\" said she; \"what can you do?\"\n\n\"Any-thing to please your high-ness, for I want to work.\"\n\n\"Oh, oh! do you? Then, come in, for my ser-vants have all left me\nbe-cause I don't put my work out,\" said she.\n\n[Illustration: THE RESCUE.]\n\nWith that, Wil-lie en-ter-ed, and soon found that he had plen-ty to do;\nfor his first job was to get the o-gress's din-ner ready, who, in truth,\nhad no de-li-cate ap-pe-tite, for the pro-vi-si-on con-sist-ed of fish,\nfowl, beef, soup, mut-ton, and ham-pers of ve-ge-ta-bles.\n\nHe sigh-ed as he look-ed up-on such a-bun-dance, which would have di-ned\nsump-tu-ous-ly his own na-tive vil-lage. A-gain he sigh-ed: as he did\nso, the gi-ant hands ap-pear-ed. If you could on-ly have seen them truss\nthis, skew-er that, boil the o-ther, turn out the sau-ces, pick the\npic-kles, cut the bread, and put the dish-es to the fire, you would have\nbeen as-to-nish-ed, Wil-lie all the time do-ing all he knew to aid in\nthe work.\n\nThe o-gress di-ned, and smi-led up-on her trea-sure of a ser-vant.\n\nSelf-in-dul-gent people are al-ways un-grate-ful; and so the o-gress\npro-ved, for she was con-ti-nu-al-ly de-si-ring more and more at the\nhands of poor Wil-lie, un-til he had no rest: and, one day, when she had\nbeen more im-po-sing than u-su-al, he turn-ed round, and told her that\nshe left him hard-ly time to sleep, and that her ap-pe-tite was\nfright-ful.\n\nCould you have seen her face, you would have been as fright-en-ed as\nWil-lie was.\n\n\"Lit-tle wretch!\" scream-ed she, \"I have half a mind to snap you up as I\nwould the wing of a chick-en: and, re-mem-ber from this mo-ment, if my\ndin-ner is short of what I de-sire, I will eat you to make up for what\nyou have o-mit-ted.\"\n\n\"Then I shall leave you,\" said Wil-lie.\n\n[Illustration: THE REAPING.]\n\nRage made the face of the o-gress glow like a fur-nace, as she made a\npounce at poor Wil-lie for his ill-ad-vis-ed speech; and she would have\ncaught him in her gripe, had he not dod-ged round a large bun-dle of\nve-ge-ta-bles which luck-i-ly lay on the floor. Round and round she went\naf-ter him, un-til he felt that he must be caught; when a ve-ry large\nhand grasp-ed her round the waist, and hur-ri-ed her, yell-ing, out of\nthe kit-chen; Wil-lie fol-low-ing, re-turn-ing thanks for his\nde-li-ver-ance. They came to a large win-dow which o-pen-ed to the sea:\nthe hand thrust the o-gress out, and held her ex-ten-ded over the\nroll-ing waves.\n\n\"Mercy! mercy!\" groan-ed, the o-gress, as she gaz-ed upon the aw-ful\ndepth be-neath her.\n\nThe hand gra-du-al-ly re-lax-ed its hold; and the o-gress, with one\ndes-pair-ing cry, whirl-ed o-ver and o-ver, and fell with such a plump\nin-to the sea, that the spray flew o-ver the high-est tow-er, and the\nfish-es swam a-way in ter-ror. She went down, down, down: but never came\nup, up, up.\n\nWil-lie ran out of the front door; and when he got to the mar-gin of the\nsea, he turn-ed his eye to the waves, ex-pect-ing every mo-ment to see\nthe head of the dread-ful o-gress pop up a-gain; but it did not. He saw\nthe good hands fol-low-ing him: they plun-ged into the sea close at his\nfeet; he jump-ed in-to the palm of one, and seat-ed himself. Be-tween\nthe fin-ger and thumb of each hand was one of his cook-ing forks, stuck\nthrough two of the o-gress's ve-ry best hand-ker-chiefs, which made\nve-ry ad-mi-ra-ble sails, catch-ing the wind, and waft-ing him a-long\no-ver the sea as well as the fi-nest ship e-ver built.\n\n[Illustration: THE PLOUGHING.]\n\nAs the moon rose, it found him safe-ly land-ed and snug under the roof\nof a good farm-er who had pro-mi-sed him work--ay, e-ven as much as he\ncould do: but the farm-er did not know the trea-sure he pos-sess-ed, for\nthe next morn-ing lit-tle Wil-lie was work-ing in his shirt-sleeves in\nthe corn-field reap-ing and shear-ing as much as two men, and stout ones\ntoo, could do in a long day. But there, un-der the shel-ter of the high\ncorn, were the friend-ly hands work-ing mi-ra-cles; ga-ther-ing up the\ncorn, and put-ting it in-to sheaves in a man-ner that could not be\ne-qual-led by mor-tal hands.\n\nWil-lie whistl-ed, and cut a-way, not-with-stand-ing the burn-ing heat\nof the sun: his sic-kle glis-ten-ed, and the corn fell in such long\nsweeps that I do be-lieve it was as ma-gi-cal as the hands them-selves.\n\nThe long-est day will, how-e-ver, have an end: but when Wil-lie's first\nday wa-ned, the farm-er was struck with as-to-nish-ment at be-hold-ing\nthe gold-en rows of hea-vy corn, stand-ing for his ad-mi-ra-tion in the\nwell ti-ed sheaves. He look-ed from the lit-tle man to the fruits of his\nla-bour, and pro-mi-sed to him-self to do his best to se-cure so\nva-lu-a-ble a ser-vant.\n\n\"Oh, oh!\" said the farm-er, \"if he can reap so well, per-haps he can\nplough:\" so ac-cord-ing-ly the next morn-ing found lit-tle Wil-lie as a\nplough-man. But how could he know how to do it? any one would say. Why,\nthe hands guid-ed the plough; and the lands were plough-ed in fur-rows\nas straight as the flight of an ar-row sped by the strong-est arm.\n\n[Illustration: THE BRIDGE.]\n\nThe farm-er watch-ed from his win-dow, but the hands were in-vi-si-ble\nto his eyes: he saw the plough cut its way un-err-ing-ly in-to the\nbo-som of the earth, in a man-ner that sur-pri-sed e-ven his\nex-pe-ri-ence, and he a-gain bless-ed his good for-tune that had giv-en\nhim such a won-der-ful lit-tle la-bour-er.\n\nWil-lie sat at the board of the good farm-er, who thought he could not\nmake too much of him, for he was grate-ful to the in-dus-tri-ous youth,\nwho seem-ed to take plea-sure in work-ing for the in-ter-est of his\nmas-ter. Time roll-ed on, and Wil-lie be-came quite head man, for it was\nfound that he could be en-trust-ed with any-thing. One day, when he was\nout on the moun-tains, where he had gone to ga-ther the flocks for the\nshear-ing, heavy storms came on, and the floods de-lu-ged the val-ley,\nsweep-ing the flocks and the herds a-way in their head-long course.\nWil-lie wise-ly kept his charge upon the moun-tain's side un-til the\nwa-ters had in some de-gree sub-si-ded; but he was a-larm-ed when he\nde-scend-ed in-to the val-leys to find that, in ma-ny pla-ces, the\nwa-ter was im-pass-a-ble to his charge. As he stood in deep thought, the\ngi-ant hands spread them-selves over the tur-bid wa-ters, form-ing the\nmost per-fect bridge im-a-gin-a-ble. He drove the sheep a-cross with-out\nfear, and reach-ed his mas-ter's house in safe-ty, much to the joy of\nall, who had giv-en him up for lost.\n\n[Illustration: THE ESCAPE FROM THE FIRE.]\n\nAs Wil-lie lay down that night, full of gra-ti-tude for his great good\nfor-tune, and think-ing of his home, to which he knew he should so soon\nre-turn to take hap-pi-ness to his fond mo-ther, he was sud-den-ly\na-rous-ed by screams of ter-ror and cries of a-larm. He jump-ed from his\nbed, and put-ting on his clothes, rush-ed in-to the farm-yard, where, to\nhis hor-ror, he be-held his good mas-ter wring-ing his hands, and\na-ban-don-ed to grief; for the flames were fast de-vour-ing his\npeace-ful house, and, worse than all, they had reach-ed the cham-ber of\nhis fa-vour-ite daugh-ter, whom he had in vain at-tempt-ed to res-cue,\nfor no lad-der could reach her win-dow, and the stair-case had long been\nburnt. Wil-lie look-ed on in des-pair, for he could de-vise no means to\nsave the poor child; when sud-den-ly the gi-ant hands ap-pear-ed, and\nplac-ing them-selves a-gainst the side of the house, form-ed a lad-der,\nup which Wil-lie sprang with-out the least he-si-ta-tion. In a few\nmo-ments he gain-ed the suf-fo-cat-ing cham-ber of the girl, and\nfold-ing her in his arms, rush-ed down the friend-ly hands, and pla-ced\nher, unharm-ed, in the em-brace of her des-pair-ing fa-ther.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA hea-vi-ly la-den wag-gon creaks along the wind-ing road, co-ver-ed\nwith a tilt as white as snow; but what has it in-side? You can peep and\nsee: beau-ti-ful ta-bles and chairs, and sides of ba-con, and geese and\nchick-ens, and fair round chees-es, and rolls of gold-en but-ter, with\nwhite eggs peep-ing through the bars of their wick-er pris-on. Where is\nthe wag-gon go-ing? To mar-ket, per-haps: ask the youth who is trudg-ing\nby its side, with a smil-ing, hap-py face, rud-dy with health and the\nwarm tinge of the sun.\n\n[Illustration: THE TRIUMPHANT RETURN.]\n\nWhy, I de-clare that it is Wil-lie, grown quite stout and strong! Where\nis he go-ing with that well-stored wag-gon, which real-ly has no hor-ses\nto draw it, and yet it goes for-ward at a pret-ty pace? Why, I do\nbe-lieve that the gi-ant hands are drag-ging it along!\n\nIt is Wil-lie, in-deed; and, joy-ous mo-ment! he is go-ing home. In his\npock-et he has much bright sil-ver, the pro-duce of his la-bour: the\ncon-tents of the wag-gon shows the farm-er's gra-ti-tude to Wil-lie for\nhis promp-ti-tude, en-er-gy, and in-dus-try; and, more than all, for his\nrisk-ing his life to save that of his dar-ling child.\n\nAt last the cot-tage path is reach-ed. His mo-ther is stand-ing at the\ngate: Wil-lie shouts; such a heart-y shout! His mo-ther looks up-on him,\nbut can-not speak: he is soon in her arms.\n\nThat night they sat late be-side their blaz-ing hearth: a-midst the\nsmoke might now be seen a large well-filled pot bub-bling with\nsome-thing more than wa-ter in it.\n\nHow much Wil-lie had to tell his mo-ther of his la-bour, and what he\now-ed to the won-der-ful gi-ant hands, pre-serv-ing him through all\ndan-gers, and e-ver yield-ing him as-sist-ance!\n\nWil-lie's mo-ther smi-led up-on him, as he con-clu-ded his nar-ra-tive,\nwith a kiss.\n\n\"Dear child,\" said she, \"you have been in-deed for-tu-nate; but you were\nde-serv-ing. That which ap-pears to you as a mi-ra-cle is none. Those\ngi-ant hands have been known to ma-ny: their pow-er is e-nor-mous; they\nal-ways as-sist the will-ing and the good; the re-ward they be-stow is\ncer-tain; they are the pow-er-ful _hands of In-dus-try._\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nROUTLEDGE'S EVERLASTING BOOKS,\n\nPRINTED ON CLOTH.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn Super-royal, 8vo, price Sixpence each on Paper, or printed on Cloth,\nOne Shilling, with Cloth Cover.\n\nAUNT MAVOR'S TOY BOOKS FOR LITTLE READERS.\n\nWith Large Coloured Illustrations, and Fancy Covers.\n\nLIST OF THE SERIES, viz:--\n\n   1. The Old Cornish Woman.\n   2. Mr. Hare and Miss Fox.\n   3. Little Polly's Doll's House.\n   4. Story of Reynard the Fox. (The)\n   5. Mother Bunch's Evening Party.\n   6. The Victoria Alphabet.\n   7. Aunt Mavor's Picture Gallery.\n   8. Aunt Mavor's Alphabet.\n   9. Charles Grey's Travels.\n  10. Uncle Hugh's Country House.\n  11. Willie's Holiday.\n  12. The Cat's Tea Party.\n  13. The Conceited Goldfinch; or, St. Valentine's Day.\n  14. Nursery Alphabet. (The)\n  15. History of Tom Thumb. (The)\n  16. Cinderella; or, the Three Sisters.\n  17. The Three Bears.\n  18. Beauty and the Beast.\n  19. Aladdin; or, the Wonderful Lamp.\n  20. The Babes in the Wood.\n  21. Jack the Giant Killer.\n  22. The Dog's Dinner Party.\n  23. Puss in Boots.\n  24. Hop o' my Thumb.\n  25. The Butterfly's Ball.\n  26. Little Red Riding Hood.\n  27. The Little Dog Trusty (By Maria Edgeworth).\n  28. The Cherry Orchard.\n  29. Dick Whittington and his Cat.\n  30. The History of Our Pets.\n  31. Punch and Judy.\n  32. The History of John Gilpin.\n  33. The History of Blue Beard.\n  34. Old Mother Hubbard.\n  35. Little Totty.\n  36. Cock Robin. (Death and Burial of)\n  37. Sinbad the Sailor. (The History of)\n  38. Jack and the Bean Stalk.\n  39. The House that Jack Built.\n\nROUTLEDGE'S TWOPENNY CLOTH FIRST BOOKS.\n\nIllustrated.\n\n  1. Alphabet with Small Letters.\n  2. Alphabet with Capital Letters.\n  3. Domestic Birds and Fables.\n  4. Moral Lessons and Stories of Animals.\n\nROUTLEDGE'S PENNY CLOTH BATTLEDORES.\n\nIllustrated.\n\n  1. First Picture Alphabet.\n  2. Second Picture Alphabet.\n  3. Third Picture Alphabet.\n  4. Lessons in One Syllable,\n  5. Lessons in Numbers.\n  6. Words in Common Use.\n\n\nThe great advantages of the above for the use of Children will be found\nin their being printed on or lined with cloth, and therefore not liable\nto be destroyed.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLONDON: GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & CO., FARRINGDON-STREET.\n\nEdmund Evans, Engraver and Printer, Raquet-court, Fleet-street.","title":"The Giant Hands; or, the Reward of Industry","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":4199}