Then we heard Polter's voice. "I will let you out, Babs. You come out, sit on my hand and talk with me. That will be nice? We haf a little time." He unfastened the cage and put it on the cushion beside him. He was still propped up on one elbow. "I let you out, now. Be careful, Babs." My heart was almost smothering me. "Alan! We've got to get still closer! Try something! Get large, shall we?" Alan whispered tensely, "I don't know! I don't know what to do." "We can get closer," Glora whispered. "But never larger--not here. They would discover us too soon." We crept forward. We reached the edge of the cushion. Its top surface was a trifle lower than our heads--a billowing, wrinkled mass of fabric. But I saw that the folds of it were rough enough to afford a footing. I thought that I could climb it. We stood erect. There was a deep shadow along here, but it was brighter on the cushion top. We could see over its edge; an undulating spread of surface with the giant length of Polter stretched over it. The cage was near us. Polter's great fingers fumbled with it; a door in the lattice bars flipped open. "Careful, my Babs!" His voice was a throaty, rumbling roar above us. "Careful! I do not want you to be hurt." From the little doorway came the figure of Babs! The starlight glowed on her blue dress; her black hair was tumbling over her shoulders; her face was pale but she was unharmed. I think that I had never loved her so much as at that moment. Nor ever seen her so beautiful as in miniature, standing at the door of her golden cage, bravely facing the monstrous misshapen figure of her captor. We heard her small voice. "What do you want me to do?" "Stand quiet. Now I put my hand for you." His monstrous hand bristled with a thatch of heavy black hair. He slid it carefully along the cushion. Babs was barely the length of one of its finger joints. She climbed upon its palm. "That iss right, Babs. Now I bring you--hold tight to my finger. Here, I crook the little one. Fling your arms around it." With a swoop his hand took her aloft and away. Then we saw her, twenty feet or so in the air, still on his hand as he held it near his face. "Now we haf a little talk, Babs. When we get to the island, I put you back in your cage." I had a sudden flash of realization. There was something I could do. I know now my judgment was bad. I recall it struck me that Alan would want to do it also. And, perhaps, even Glora. But that wouldn't work. My chances, however desperate, were better alone. Glora and Alan--in our present size--could doubtless disembark safely. Glora knew the layout of the island. And she could follow Polter. Alan and Glora were standing beside me peering over that billowing cushion spread toward the distant giant palm with Babs standing upon it. I gripped Alan's shoulder.