“Now, you ridiculous old Thunderthump!” said his wife, with a smile as broad as the sea in the sun, “how can I mend your white stockings and look after little boys? You have got plenty to last you over Sunday, I am sure. Just look what good little boys they are!”
Tricksey-Wee and Buffy-Bob peered through the bristles, and discovered a row of little boys, about a dozen, with very fat faces and goggle eyes, sitting before the fire, and looking stupidly into it. Thunderthump intended the most of these for pickling, and was feeding them well before salting them. Now and then, however, he could not keep his teeth off them, and would eat one by the by, without salt.
He strode up to the wretched children. Now, what made them very wretched indeed was, that they knew if they could only keep from eating, and grow thin, the giant would dislike them, and turn them out to find their way home; but notwithstanding this, so greedy were they, that they ate as much as ever they could hold. The giantess, who fed them, comforted herself with thinking that they were not real boys and girls, but only little pigs pretending to be boys and girls.
“Now tell me the truth,” cried the giant, bending his face down over them. They shook with terror, and everyone hoped it was somebody else the giant liked best. “Where is the little boy that ran into the hall just now? Whoever tells me a lie shall be instantly boiled.”
“He’s in the broom,” cried one dough-faced boy. “He’s in there, and a little girl with him.”
“The naughty children,” cried the giant, “to hide from me !” And he made a stride towards the broom.
“Catch hold of the bristles, Bobby. Get right into a tuft, and hold on,” cried Tricksey-Wee, just in time.