“Something might happen to you, you stupid little bunch of bill and feathers,” shouted the giant angrily, “but things don’t happen to folk as big as I am, I’ll have you know.” And he started off down the road faster than he had ever walked before in all his life. For a long while nothing happened except that the trees grew taller and taller; but suddenly the giant heard a growling which sounded louder than any growling that he had ever heard before, and in a moment a dreadful creature came out of the woods. It was a thousand times as big as the giant. Its enormous tail switched from side to side. It walked on four legs, and when it stretched one of them out, the giant saw that it was armed with sharp claws almost as long as his whole body. The creature was covered with a thick growth of yellow-and-black hair which stood on end at the sight of the strange object in the road. It glared at him with horrible great yellow eyes, and then put out one big paw to touch him and rolled him over and over in the dust. Never was a giant so terribly frightened before. The monster tumbled him about and played with him awhile, then gave a great yawn which revealed a vast cavern of a mouth as red as a fiery furnace, and walked away. The giant lay trembling, but after a time he shook himself and turned toward home. “Salt or no salt, I’ll go no farther,” he declared. “I’ll go home, and I’ll run faster than any giant ever ran before.” He ran as fast as he could, but somehow he did not get over the ground at all rapidly. It seemed a long way from one tree to another. He was tired and he was thirsty. He stopped at a clear, quiet little pool to get a drink. A beetle sat in the bottom of the pool, looking straight at him. “I never saw a beetle like that in the water before,” growled the giant, and he made an ugly face at it. The beetle did the same, but made no reply. The giant drank what he wanted and went on. It was a long, long way. The sun rose and the sun set many and many a time, but at last the giant was at the gate of the castle. “Let me in,” he cried. “I tell you, let me in.” He pounded on the gate with all his might, and at last he heard his brothers coming. “I’ll kill them,” he growled, “for keeping me out here,” and he thumped louder than ever. At last Lumpkin opened the gate. “It is strange, isn’t it,” he said, “that Mumpkin does not come. I suppose he’s found something good to eat, another boy, maybe, and he means to keep it all for himself. I don’t care whether he comes or not, but I want that salt. Ugh! what a horrid beetle that is,” and he crushed it with his foot. This was the end of Mumpkin. The forest was no ordinary forest, of course, but an enchanted wilderness; and whoever went too far in it turned into some wild creature. The giant had not found it out, but he had really been a beetle for a long, long time, and the monster that had given him such a fright was only a playful cat.