



Produced by Internet Archive; University of Florida, David Garcia, and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.











[Illustration: THE POOR HOME.]






_Alfred Crowquill's Fairy Tales._

       *       *       *       *       *

  THE

  GIANT HANDS:

  OR,

  THE REWARD OF INDUSTRY.

       *       *       *       *       *

  LONDON:
  G. ROUTLEDGE & CO., FARRINGDON STREET.
  NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET.
  1856.



  LONDON:
  SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,
  COVENT GARDEN.






THE GIANT HANDS.


Poor lit-tle Wil-lie re-turn-ed from the for-est la-den with as much
wood as his fee-ble strength could bear. He was hun-gry and wea-ry, and
had a great sor-row at his heart, for he had lost his fa-ther in the
ear-ly spring, leav-ing his mo-ther to toil for a scant live-li-hood to
sup-port her-self and him.

He threw the wood up-on the cin-ders on the hearth, and quick-ly rais-ed
a cheer-ful blaze, at which he warm-ed his na-ked, swol-len feet, as he
watch-ed the smoke ma-king its fan-tas-tic ed-dies up the wide chim-ney,
and a-midst the raf-ters of the low roof. He heav-ed a deep sigh; for he
saw no pot up-on the fire, which ought to have been bub-bling up with
their fru-gal din-ner: but, a-las! they had none.

"This must not be any long-er," thought he, "for I am get-ting ve-ry big
and strong, and have a pair of hands that ought not to be i-dle. As my
poor mo-ther gets weak-er, I should work for her; and as I grow in-to a
man, she should not work any more, but sit by the fire and get the
din-ner rea-dy, which I shall then be a-ble to la-bour for."

[Illustration: MEETING THE HANDS.]

Wil-lie was of an in-dus-tri-ous mind, and did not love to sit i-dle
when e-ven his ti-ny strength might be used to some end.

So he sat and lis-ten-ed for the foot-step of his poor mo-ther, who, he
knew, would come home, wea-ri-ed with la-bour, to share her scan-ty
crust with her boy.

He had not to wait long be-fore the latch lift-ed, and his mo-ther
en-ter-ed. She kiss-ed him, and threw her-self in-to a chair, with the
tears of fa-tigue and ex-haus-tion in her eyes.

He em-bra-ced her, and whis-per-ed in-to her ear his firm resolve to
start out in-to the world, and seek for la-bour, that he might no
long-er be a bur-then to her. Her heart sank at the i-dea; but she saw
no o-ther means to save them from star-va-tion, as her fail-ing strength
gave warn-ing of the in-e-vi-ta-ble e-vil.

The morn-ing a-rose bright and cheer-ful. The old lock-er was o-pen-ed,
and his on-ly shoes, trea-sur-ed for high-days and ho-li-days, were
ta-ken out and brush-ed up, as was al-so his best suit, which was
in-deed ve-ry lit-tle bet-ter than the care-ful-ly mend-ed suit of his
e-ve-ry-day wear. He, how-e-ver, thought him-self ve-ry fine, and felt
that his ap-pear-ance would act as a re-com-men-da-tion in his fa-vour.

They sat down to break-fast: it was a ve-ry tear-ful one, and, with a
strange feel-ing, they a-void-ed each o-ther's looks, hop-ing to hide
their tears one from the o-ther.

Oh! it want-ed a great re-so-lu-tion for poor Wil-lie to say, "Well!
dear mo-ther, I must be start-ing;" but he did do it at last, al-though
it was af-ter ma-ny strug-gles to keep down the beat-ings of his heart.

[Illustration: THE FIRST ASSISTANCE.]

His mo-ther heard him with a be-wil-der-ed look, as if she heard the
pro-po-sal for the first time; and her grief burst forth with
un-con-trol-la-ble vi-o-lence as she threw her arms round his neck with
an a-go-ny on-ly known to a fond mo-ther.

He tried to com-fort her, and to smile through his tears, as he put on
his hat with a re-so-lute thump, seiz-ed up-on his stick and wal-let,
and lift-ed the latch of the door that was to o-pen for his bold
en-trance in-to the world, so full of pro-mise to him.

Again they lin-ger-ed in their lit-tle gar-den, where e-ve-ry flow-er
seem-ed an old friend to be part-ed with: a-gain the tears and the
em-bra-ces. At last the lit-tle gate was swung wide o-pen, and Wil-lie
step-ped bold-ly forth. His mo-ther co-ver-ed her face and wept. He
turn-ed to-wards her with ir-re-so-lu-tion: he felt how dif-fi-cult it
was to leave one so dear and af-fec-tion-ate; but his du-ty was sim-ple,
and he would do it: with one more "good bye," he was gone on his way
weep-ing.

The lark rose in the morn-ing sky, and sang her joy-ous song. The sweet,
bal-my air of ear-ly day cool-ed his throb-bing brow, and his tears
gra-du-al-ly ceas-ed to flow; but his lit-tle breast heav-ed now and
then with sobs as the storm of grief sub-si-ded. His foot-steps grew
quick-er the far-ther he left his home be-hind; for be-fore him lay the
land of pro-mise, and his lit-tle brain was full of dreams of suc-cess,
and the con-se-quent joy that would be at his heart when he re-trod
those ve-ry fields on his re-turn, la-den with rich-es to throw in-to
his mo-ther's lap.

[Illustration: THE LITTLE TENT.]

As these thoughts rush-ed through his mind, they gave him much com-fort;
and he even hummed an air as he trot-ted on, to show his man-li-ness and
cou-rage.

Pre-sen-tly, as he pass-ed through a val-ley which was la-den with the
sweets of wild flow-ers that bloom-ed on ei-ther side, a cu-ri-ous and
al-most trans-pa-rent flee-cy cloud ap-pear-ed a-cross his path, from
which a-rose _two e-nor-mous hands_. He start-ed, and well he
might, for he saw no-bo-dy be-long-ing to them: no, there they were,
on-ly hands. There was no fear of them, for they were spread o-pen up-on
the grass be-fore him with-out the slight-est ex-pres-sion of
threat-en-ing in them.

As he stood ga-zing with won-der up-on them, a voice, which ap-pear-ed
to pr-oceed from the cloud, said,--

"Wil-lie, be not a-fraid: I know the praise-wor-thy er-rand that you are
on, and I come to be-friend you. Per-se-vere in your de-sire to be
in-dus-tri-ous, and. I will be e-ver rea-dy to as-sist you. I shall be
in-vi-si-ble to all eyes but yours, and will work when the need
ap-pears. Come on, then, and fear not; the road to suc-cess is o-pen to
you, as it al-ways is to in-dus-tr-ious re-so-lu-tion."

"Thank you, good hands," said Wil-lie; "I am sure you mean me good, for
I am too lit-tle for you to wish to harm." The arms va-nish-ed, and
Wil-lie pro-ceed-ed on his way.

He felt so re-as-su-red by this ex-tra-or-di-na-ry ad-ven-ture, which
pro-mi-sed so well for his fu-ture suc-cess, that he leap-ed and dan-ced
a-long his path with ex-cite-ment and de-light: he look-ed for-ward to
no ob-sta-cle to stop him in his ca-reer, and he pur-su-ed his way
re-joic-ing.

[Illustration: THE OGRESS'S CASTLE.]

How-e-ver, as the day grew on, he slack-en-ed his pace, for the
un-ac-cus-tom-ed fa-tigue be-gan to tell up-on his frame; so at last he
threw him-self up-on the grass, and look-ed up-wards to the blue sky,
and watch-ed the flee-cy clouds pur-sue each o-ther a-cross the
bound-less ex-panse of the hea-vens. As he lay, half dream-ing, he
thought he heard some-thing like the roll-ing of thun-der: he lis-ten-ed
with great-er at-ten-tion, un-til he was as-sur-ed there was some cause
in his close vi-ci-ni-ty for the un-u-su-al and cu-ri-ous sounds. He
a-rose, and pro-ceed-ed to-wards the di-rec-tion of the sounds, which
grew loud-er and loud-er as he ad-van-ced; when, com-ing to the edge of
a pre-ci-pice, he be-held a grand and aw-ful rush of foam-ing wa-ters,
which threw them-selves head-long down the riv-en rocks with a
deaf-en-ing roar and tu-mult.

He look-ed from right to left, and his way seem-ed bar-red by this
tre-men-dous ob-sta-cle. His heart fail-ed him as he saw how
im-pos-si-ble it was for him to pro-ceed: in-deed, as he sat him-self
down on the edge of the ca-ta-ract, he could not help weep-ing at his
un-ex-pect-ed di-lem-ma.

He had not been ma-ny mi-nutes in-dul-ging in his grief, when he felt
him-self gent-ly lift-ed from the ground by a gi-gan-tic hand, which
pass-ed him high a-bove the threat-en-ing wa-ters, and pla-ced him in
safe-ty on the op-po-site bank. As