“I guess they’re not going to kill him,” the boy muttered. “But I wonder what they’ll do with him; and I wonder what’s to become of _me_.” Again he surveyed the scene below. The Portuguese were setting off toward their village, bearing the kicking, screaming Fitz Mee with them. A gigantic peasant carried the goblin in his arms. “I don’t know what to do,” Bob murmured, in deep perplexity; “I don’t know what I _can_ do. I don’t know the way to Goblinland; and so I can’t go there after help to rescue Fitz. I won’t go back home and leave him to his fate, though; that would be mean and cowardly. I—I don’t know what to—to do.” A while he sat upon the locker, silently and thoughtfully peering over the edge of the basket, occasionally putting the binocular to his eyes. There was not a breath of air; and the balloon hung motionless as a fleecy summer cloud. The boy saw the peasants making their way up the valley to the outskirts of the village, and noted the hub-bub that was raised among the other villagers, at the advent of the goblin. Then the whole crowd disappeared among the trees and buildings of the little hamlet. With a start, Bob roused himself. “I’ve got to do _something_,” he grumbled testily to himself; “I can’t just float here always. Poor old Spasms! I’ve got to help him out of the fix he’s got into, someway. I don’t believe he’d go back on me—I don’t _believe_ he would; and I won’t go back on him. But what in the world can I do?” scratching his head and frowning. “Oh, I’d like to be a giant just for a little while! If I wouldn’t show those Portuguese a thing or two! I’d drop right down among ’em, lick the last one of ’em—and carry Fitz away in the palm of my hand. Oh! but that would be fine!” And he chuckled and wagged his head. Then an idea, suggested by his wish to be a giant, came to him; and he leaped from his seat and hurried to the locker on the opposite side of the car, and threw it open. After a momentary search, he drew forth the hand-satchel containing the food-tablets and drink-pellets. “I’ll just see, anyhow,” he whispered excitedly. “If the goblins make tablets to shrink people, maybe they make some to swell ’em up—make giants of ’em. I’ll just see.” He opened the satchel and, squinting his eyes and wrinkling his brows, commenced to mumble over the names upon the tiny bottles. “Food-tablets—tiger-muscle, food-tablets—lion-heart, drink-pellets—pure water, food-tablets—fat, gob-tabs—for dwarfing purposes.” He grinned and shook his head. “I don’t want any more of those,” he grimaced; “I’m too small for any good use now. It’s funny there isn’t any—ah! What’s this? ‘Giant-tabs—to be used only in cases of extreme need.’ I’ll bet those are the very things I’m looking for. I’m going to try ’em, anyhow. If there ever was a case of extreme need, this is one.” He shook out one of the little tablets and was about to pop it into his mouth, when he started suddenly and sharply and shook his head, muttering: