“And here are you Honeytowners, living like princes,” growled Guntrop, looking about him. “Look at it all, the richest land I ever saw! So much food that you can even keep that great fool of a giant in honey!”
“How dare you talk of our giant like that,” said Peter angrily. “He’s a good giant; the best there is. He’s protected us from our enemies for hundreds of years, he’s . . .”
“Enemies!” sneered Guntrop. “Protected you from your enemies? He’s too fat! He couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding. A hundred years ago, when he was younger and thinner—maybe he could fight then—fifty years ago, even, but not now, oh no, not now.”
“All this is nonsense; he happens to be our giant, and no concern of yours,” retorted Peter. “We’ll feed him as we want, and not ask you.”
“No concern of ours, isn’t he,” snarled Guntrop. “We’ll see about that, we will.”
“What do you mean by that?” demanded Peter.
“Never you mind,” said Guntrop darkly.
“Well, pay me for the honey, please, and go on your way,” said Peter. “I have work to do; I cannot afford to spend the day in idle gossip, even if you can.”
“Gossip? Pay?” shouted Guntrop. “You’ll see, you will. You’ve got a big shock coming to you. As for payment for the honey, you can take this!” He snatched up his big horse-whip and lashed Peter hard about the legs. Peter cried out with pain, and fell to the ground. Guntrop leaped upon his waggon, shouted wildly at the horses and whipped them into a mad gallop. The waggon shot out of the farmyard, gathering speed, and went swaying dangerously down the road, tilting round the corner with a desperate scrabbling of hooves, and was gone.
Slowly, Peter picked himself up out of the dust, and hobbled painfully into the house.
As soon as Peter felt well enough, he saddled his best horse and rode into town with all speed. He went straight to the Mayor and told him all that had happened. The Mayor looked grave at Peter’s news. He said,
“Your tale is bad enough, Peter Gaskin, but it is only, one of many. From every part of our land stories have been brought to me of Mosslanders attacking and robbing our innocent people.”
“Worst of all,” cried Peter, “they have no fear of Giant Dumpling any more.”
“We’ll see about that,” said the Mayor, “but you know what this means, don’t you? It means war. War with the Mosslanders, for they will come and take our land from us if we do nothing. I’m making a proclamation this very hour. Every able-bodied man is to have his sword and bow to hand, and be ready to march at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“So soon?” said Peter.
“It cannot be soon enough. We must defend ourselves before the Mosslanders have a chance to cross Moss Bridge. Once they cross the river we’re lost. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“But Giant Dumpling would defend us,” said Peter.
“I fear that Guntrop was only too near the truth,” sighed the Mayor. “Poor old Dumpling is very fat, and he’s not a fierce giant, alas; never was, and never will be. You cannot keep that kind of thing a secret for ever, and the Mosslanders have found it out at last. Still, you never can be sure, he may be of some use, so we’ll take him along with us. If he isn’t fierce he is strong; after all he is a giant. Come, let’s go and see him.”
The Mayor called his Council and his General, and they all trooped off to see Giant Dumpling, followed by a growing crowd of Honeytowners.
Giant Dumpling was having a nap when the crowd arrived at his cave, and it took a great deal of knocking and shouting to waken him. He came at last to his door, sleepily rubbing his eyes.
“What’s all the noise?” he rumbled. “Can’t you let a fellow have his sleep in peace? Ooh, what a lot of people! Hello, Mr. Mayor. Hello, General Gait, what are you doing in your uniform? And all you fellows with swords, what are you up to? You want to be careful—nasty things swords, I can’t abide them—you’ll be hurting somebody with those things if you’re not careful. Oooh, and bows too, worse and worse. Now you really shouldn’t play at soldiers . . .”
“Giant Dumpling, we’re not playing . . .” shouted General Gait.
“. . . it really is much too dangerous,” pursued Giant Dumpling. “Eat honey and grow good fruit, that’s the best way to live. Now put these nasty things away, and let me have my sleep, and come back when you can be sensible.”
“Giant Dumpling,” shouted General Gait, louder still, “we’re not playing soldiers. All this is serious. The Mosslanders are about to attack. We must stop them crossing the river. Moss Bridge is our only hope of defence.”
“Oh, well, that’s different,” said Giant Dumpling. “Off you go and have your battle, and wake me up when it’s all over.”
“Oh no, we want you to help us,” protested the Mayor. “We haven’t kept you in honey for all these years for you to go off to bed at the first sign of a battle. What’s the use of having a real giant if you cannot fight for us!”
“Oh dear. I’m not really a warlike giant,” wailed Dumpling.
“Surely you can look fierce, even if you don’t do any fighting?” asked Peter.
“I don’t think I can even do that,” moaned Dumpling.
“There’s not another drop of honey for you if you don’t come to Moss Bridge with us in the morning,” said the Mayor sternly.
“Then I’ll have to come, I suppose,” wailed Dumpling, “though I’d much rather stay at home and read a good book, I really would. Oh, but I’ll come, if you insist, though what use I’ll be I cannot guess. I’ve never held a sword in my life, and I wouldn’t know how to fire an arrow.”
“You can stamp and make the ground shake, and roar like thunder and put such fear into the Mosslanders that they’ll not dare to cross that bridge,” General Gait suggested.
“I’ll do my best, but I don’t promise anything, mind you,” said Dumpling; and with that they let him go back to his bed, tut-tutting and shaking his head.
The scene at Moss Bridge early the next day was one that every Honeytowner would remember to the end of his days. Moss River was the boundary between the Honeytowners’ lands and the bare acres of Mossland, and a swift and wide river it was. Moss Bridge was the only way of crossing the river. It was a wooden bridge that arched gracefully over the tumbling waters, and it was wide enough for two laden waggons to pass each other, with room to spare. The Honeytown army reached the bridge soon after nine o’clock, having made good speed along their excellent roads. They marched smartly along, with their helmets glittering in the sun. The foot-soldiers came first, then the cavalry, then the horse-drawn cannons, then the supply train of donkeys and mules and the field-kitchens. Last of all, behind the rearmost donkey-boy, came Giant Dumpling, lagging behind and trying to look as though he had nothing at all to do with the army. True, he did wear a sword, but it was so rusty that anyone could see that it would never come out of its scabbard. Twice, Giant Dumpling had tried to turn back, saying he’d forgotten something important, but each time General Gait had called him back into line. He trudged along now, looking out nervously for any sign of Mosslanders. Though he was far away at the back of the army, Giant Dumpling was so tall that he would see the enemy long before anyone else.
“Any sign of the Mosslanders?” shouted General Gait
“Not a single one, thank goodness,” said Giant Dumpling.
The army marched over the bridge. The cannons took up positions by the river, on the Honeytown side, and the men began to dig them in, ready to give covering fire over the heads of their own men. The cavalry trotted over the bridge in good order. The mules and donkeys ambled over the bridge, not hurrying for anyone. Last of all, and full of trembling fear, fat and shaking, Giant Dumpling crossed over the bridge.