“It isn’t!”
“It is!”
“It is not!”
The shouts rose louder and louder.
“It is not poison, it is milk!” cried Tony, and suddenly seizing the mug of milk, which had been brought into the Court to give its evidence, he lifted it to his lips, and before the Jailer could prevent it, he drained the milk to the last drop and ran out of the Court. For every one was too astonished to stop him.
The moment he was outside, he felt a sudden and awful change in himself. He was growing, growing, growing. He hurried out of the town. He felt that it would soon be too small to hold him. Outside he got bigger and bigger till the trees of the nearer forest were like grass under his feet, and the mug ran out of his hand like a little grain of rape-seed. And there beside him stood the Mountain—a little girl in a blue dress—and he was taller than she was.
“Hullo!” said the Blue Mountain, “where did you spring from?”
“From the town down there,” said Tony.
“There?” said the Mountain, stooping, “that’s not a town, silly, you know it’s only an ant-heap, really.”
