“Oh, don’t, please don’t, Bob!” Fitz Mee pleaded, almost in tears. “Let me out of this cage, and take me up and go ahead. And don’t plague me any more, just because you’re so big and so strong. It isn’t like you, Bob—to be so cruel. I don’t like you as a giant; I’d rather have you as a goblin—as a boy, I mean—and I’ll be glad when you’re back in that state again.” “Maybe I won’t be a boy or a goblin any more,” Bob remarked thoughtfully, as he released his companion and took him up in his arms; “maybe I’ll just remain a giant. I rather like being a giant; I don’t have to take pills when I’m a giant. I can eat meat and things.” “But you can’t go in the balloon, as a giant,” Fitz Mee suggested. “No, that’s so. Well, maybe I won’t go in it any more; maybe you don’t want me to.” “You know I do, Bob.” “Sure?” “Of course! Aren’t we on our way to Goblinland, to have the time of our lives—hey?” shrewdly. “Well, I’ll go back to the form of a goblin, then, Fitz; but—ugh!—I don’t like the _pills_!” They topped the hill and reached the hut where Bob had taken the old woman’s dinner. He told the goblin what he had done, and the goblin chuckled and spluttered in great glee. The boy-giant shook him and said to him: “Have you any more gold about you?” “A little,” the green sprite made reply. “Why?” “I want it.” “What for?” “To pay that old woman for the dinner I ate.” “Well, you can’t have it.” “I can’t?” “No, you can’t!” “Why can’t I?” “It’s _my_ gold, not _yours_.” “I know, Fitz; but you’ll let me have it.” “_Will_ I? Not much, Roberty-Boberty!” “Take care!” Bob cried, giving the tiny fellow a threatening shake. “Remember I’m a giant right now, and liable to lose my temper. And don’t you call me any more names, I warn you. Now, hand over that gold.” “You’re a robber, that’s what you are, Rob Taylor,” the goblin complained sullenly, fumbling in his pocket for the gold demanded. “And you’re a mischievous, ill-tempered little pest,” Bob laughed. At last, with apparent reluctance, the goblin dropped two or three nuggets into the boy-giant’s broad palm. “There!” he muttered. “But I don’t see what you want to pay the old woman for.” “Because it’s _right_ to pay her,” Bob explained; “I took her dinner.” “Oh!” giggling. “Yes, sir. And you _know_ it’s right, Fitz; you’re just plaguing me.” “Think so?”—laughing. “Well, pay her. But hurry up about it; I hear our pursuers coming. You’ll fool around and get us trapped, if you don’t look sharp.” “Here!” Bob cried, dropping the goblin to the ground and returning the gold to him. “You go to the door and pay her. If she sees me, she’ll run away again. Go on; I’ll hide.” [Illustration]