And truly the giants seemed to be as much pleased
with the little folk as a boy would be who had found a flying squirrel.
[Footnote: A story like this of giants in a canoe would very naturally
originate about the Bay of Fundy, where, in the dense and frequent
fogs, all objects assume greatly exaggerated apparent dimensions. One
often beholds there, on the shore, "men as trees walking."]
And as they drew near the beach, lo! they beheld three wigwams, high as
mountains, in size according to that of the giants. And coming to meet
them was the chief, who was taller than the rest.
"Ha!" he cried. "Son, what have you there? Where did you pick up that
little brother?" "_Noo_, my father, I found him lost in the fog."
"Well, bring him home to the lodge, my son!" So the giant took the
small canoe in the palm of his hand, the man and his wife sitting
therein, and carried them home. Then they were taken into the wigwam,
and the canoe was laid carefully in the eaves, but within easy reach,
about a hundred and fifty yards from the ground.
Then an abundant meal was set before them, but the benevolent host,
mindful of their small size, did not give them more to eat than they
would have needed for about ten years to come, and informed them in a
subdued whisper, which could hardly have been heard a hundred miles
off, that his name was Oscoon.
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