they have numbers beyond counting, like the sands of the sea."
"They have arms—they have weapons even, that our brothers in Sunderland have made."
"Besides, Brothers, except for vermin, except for little accidents with evil things, what have we seen of killing?"
"I know," said the eldest brother. "For all that—we are what we are. When the day of trouble comes we must do the thing we have to do."
He closed his knife with a snap—the blade was the length of a man—and used his new pine staff to help himself rise. He stood up and turned towards the squat grey immensity of the house. The crimson of the sunset caught him as he rose, caught the mail and clasps about his neck and the woven metal of his arms, and to the eyes of his brother it seemed as though he was suddenly suffused with blood. . . .
As the young giant rose a little black figure became visible to him against that western incandescence on the top of the embankment that towered above the summit of the down. The black limbs waved in ungainly gestures. Something in the fling of the limbs suggested haste to the young giant's mind. He waved his pine mast in reply, filled the whole valley with his vast Hallo! threw a "Something's up" to his brothers, and set off in twenty-foot strides to meet and help his father.
V
It chanced too that a young man who was not a giant was delivering his soul about these sons of Cos-
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