"We've discontinued temporarily," he told us. He turned to me as the senior pilot. "Ferrule, the government wants this area patrolled by plane at night. Boston to the New Brunswick border, to connect with Canadian patrol planes. You and Jones want to tackle it?" We did, of course. We were dispatched that same night--one of six or eight planes flying independently of one another. We left Boston about ten that evening, I and my relief pilot, Bob Jones; and we carried a newly installed code radio with a fellow named Green to operate it. It is a run of about three hundred miles from Boston, up the crescent curve of coast to the Canadian border. Our orders were to fly at about a thousand feet of altitude, keeping a mile or so offshore. If we saw one of these giants we were to follow it, keep it in sight, and try to determine where it went. We were to report at once by radio. A battleship had already been ordered north; it was to remain in Cape Cod waters, waiting further developments. The night was calm and starlit. An hour passed. Then two hours. We saw nothing unusual. We were up around the Penobscot now. Jones, at my elbow, murmured, "One was seen here, Frank. That last one--" A plane came by, flying south. Another patrol doubtless. We felt that no giant could be ahead of us or this other plane would have seen him; stopped and stayed with him. The flattened moon came up out of the sea to the east. It was golden at first, laying a broad golden path on the water. We passed over the many islands. We saw a ship or two--and occasionally a plane. And then we saw the giant! The actual sight of him, even fortified by what I expected, was a shock of horror. Jones murmured, "Good God!" He gripped my arm impulsively, but I shook him off. "Don't do that, you fool!" "Look at him, Frank!" Bob cried then. He was no more than a mile or so ahead. He stood at the entrance to a cove. A rocky headland perhaps a hundred feet high was beside him; and he stood with a hand resting against it as though to steady himself. The ocean surface lapped at his knees. To the right, a mile or so offshore, was the tiny dark blob of an island. Bird's Nest Island! I realized it suddenly. And this was our cove. Our summer home was set in the trees only a few hundred yards back from where the giant was standing. Green's radio was sending the news. He hunched down, intent at his work. Jones was shaking beside me. "Lower, Frank! Get down near him!" We spiraled down. The moonlight was on him, a hundred-foot figure of a man, naked from the waist up. He had pale hair, close cut, on a round head. "Frank, look at the people!" A group of tiny black figures was on the cliff, standing in fascinated horror. The giant had not moved; and then with a swift step and a flip of his arm he reached back over the cliff. The tiny figures were scattered. In a patch of moonlit rock two of them lay dead.