Part One: How the Giants Went Exploring

After the earth was newly washed by the Flood, nearly all the land of Europe lay flat and green under the sun. Except in one far corner there was not a mountain nor a valley nor a hill nor a hollow, nor so much as a little stream. The soft young grass stretched away and away, in a wide meadow, as far as one could see.

But there was nobody there to look. For all the people there were, lived in the Up-and-Down Country, on a great forked point in the Far North. And that was a very different kind of place, with mountains that went up and valleys that went down, cliffs that rose and cascades that fell, and not so much flat land as a giant could cover with his pocket-handkerchief.

But the giant Wind-and-Weather, who lived there, did not mind that in the least. He sat quite placidly on a mountain-top and looked through a kind of glass that he had, out over the sea. As for his wife, the giantess Sun-and-Sea, nothing bothered her. She sat on a cliff and wove on a kind of loom that she had, back and forth, back and forth, with a noise like the long ocean rollers on a fair day.

When it came to the children, they never sat at all. Like the country, they were always going up or down,—sliding down the mountains, scrambling up the waterfalls, or playing Follow-the-Leader, hoppety-skip, skippety-hop, straight down the long row of peaks that made their home.

And when they all played together, it made rather a good game. For there were fourteen of them, sturdy youngsters, each over a mile high, and growing fifty feet or so every day. Then too, they happened in the jolliest way, for they came in pairs so that every one had his twin. There were Handsig and Grandsig, Kildarg and Hildarg, Besseld and Hesseld, Holdwig and Voldwig, Grünweg and Brünweg, Bratzen and Gratzen, Mutzen and Putzen,—a boy and a girl, a boy and a girl, a boy and a girl, straight down through.

Now, one morning, with Handsig ahead and Putzen straggling somewhere behind, they were all playing Follow-the-Leader, rather harder than usual. Handsig had rolled down peaks, and wriggled up, hopped on one foot and jumped on two, turned somersaults and splashed through waterfalls. And the whole line of them had come rolling, wriggling, hopping, jumping, tumbling, splashing after. Being put to it for something to do next, Handsig started on the dead run from peak to peak, straight along the mountain-tops.

All of a sudden he stopped short. Ahead of him were no more mountains, only a straight drop thousands of feet to the sea. He had come, before he knew it, to the end of the Up-and-Down Country. But that was not what made Handsig stop so quickly. He had been to the end of the land before. It was something beyond the water that attracted him,—another country so different from his that at first it did not seem to be land at all. There was no up or down in it. It stretched flat and green as far as he could see.

Handsig waved his arms and shouted, “Oh, Kildarg, Hildarg, Besseld, Hesseld, see the nice, green running-place!”

And all the other children, thinking it was still part of the game, waved their arms and shouted, “Oh, Kildarg, Hildarg, Besseld, Hesseld, see the nice, green running-place.”

By that time Handsig had no doubt any longer. Without another word he plunged headforemost into the sea, and swam with all his might straight for the wide meadow that was the rest of Europe.

Splash! Splash! Splash! The other children dived after, and puffing, blowing, kicking, raced across the channel. Then hand in hand, fourteen in a row, they scampered pell-mell down across the plain where Germany is to-day.

But with swimming so hard and running so fast, poor Putzen was quite out of breath. It was so strange, too, to be going along on a level. It did not pitch one forward; it did not hold one back. It was just the same—just the same, step after step after step. The twenty-six legs beside Putzen did not stop for a minute; they beat along faster and faster. Putzen hung on to Mutzen as best she could, but her legs would not go and her breath would not come. And so, gasping and plunging, she sprawled headlong, pulling Mutzen after her.

Mutzen dragged down Gratzen, and Gratzen dragged down Bratzen; and so they all tumbled till the land for miles around was a mass of upturned turf and sprawling giant children. Then Bratzen wailed, and Gratzen wailed; and Mutzen and Putzen who were at the bottom of the whole pile, wailed loudest of all; and the air was so full of large sounds that it seemed likely to burst.

Now, Grandsig, who felt responsible as the oldest girl of the family, started to scramble up to quiet Mutzen and Putzen. As she did so, her hands dug into the soft, moist earth, and scratched up two good-sized hills. A happy idea struck her. “Kildarg! Hildarg!” she cried. “Look!” And she burrowed into the earth again, scooping up handful after handful.

Kildarg sat up and wiped his eyes. Hildarg sat up and wiped her eyes. Then they both began to dig as if their lives depended on it. In a twinkling, there were no more giant children piled on top of Mutzen and Putzen; and twenty-eight giant hands were scooping out valleys and piling up mountains of earth.

Handsig and Grandsig made big mountains; Mutzen and Putzen made little ones. Every single giant child piled up a whole range higher than he was himself. Then, when all of them were done, there was such a patting and a pounding as never was heard before, as the valleys were smoothed, and the mountains molded into shape. There were sharp peaks and blunt peaks, smooth peaks and rough peaks, single peaks, double peaks, triple peaks. As for the valleys, they were of all sorts,—straight and crooked, wide and narrow, long and short.

Grandsig looked at it all, quite satisfied. “Oh, children,” she cried, “we have made an Up-and-Down Country!”

The other children looked. Sure enough! It was nothing but hills and hollows, hills and hollows, just as it was at home. And they all danced about and cried, “Hooray! We have made an Up-and-Down Country.”

“And now,” said Handsig, “let’s run!”

So all the children stepped out from between the mountains they had made, to run back again to the sea.

“But oh!” cried Kildarg, “where is our nice green running-place?”

The children gasped. Instead of their flat grass plot were miles and miles of mudholes, hardening in the sun. As far as they could see, their green meadow was scarred with row after row of great black hollows,—the marks of their twenty-eight running feet.

That was too much for Putzen, and she sat down on one of her mountains and wept a whole lake into a valley. As for the other giantesses, they did very little better, and even Grandsig wept a few giant tears, as she tried to think what they could ever do to get their running-place back again.

“I know!” she cried at last. “We’ll go home and ask father to build us a ship; and then we’ll sail till we find another running-place.”

When a giantess starts to weep, she has so many tears and such large ones, that it is very hard to stop. So, although the children set off at once for home, it was some time before Putzen, Gratzen, and Brünweg, Hesseld, Hildarg and Voldwig were smiling again. And their tears, in a great torrent, flowed after them, over the hubbles, around among the hollows, and out toward the sea.

They cried, in fact, so hard and so much that even to-day their tears are still flowing,—for they gathered and gathered until they became the river Rhine. As for the mountains the giant children built, they too are still there. They hardened until they became quite firm and rocky, so that nowadays in Switzerland people are continually climbing up and over them. And the place where the giant children made, so to speak, the first mud-pies, has been called the Playground of Europe ever since.

When the children got home, there was old Wind-and-Weather sitting as usual on a mountain-top and looking through a kind of glass that he had, out to sea.

“Oh, father,” they cried, “we want a ship to sail the sea to find a running-place again.”

Old Wind-and-Weather was not disturbed in the least. He got up, put his glass into his pocket, and walked along the mountain-ridge. With one slow wrench, he pulled up by the roots a tree taller than he was himself.

“There is your mast,” said Wind-and-Weather.

Then, Handsig and Grandsig pulled up big trees for beams to make the sides and keel; Mutzen and Putzen pulled up little trees for oars. And with as many trees as they could drag, they all trooped after their father down to the seashore.

Half-way down there was the giantess Sun-and-Sea, sitting as usual on a cliff and weaving on a kind of loom that she had.

“Oh, mother,” cried the children, “help us. We are building a ship to sail the sea to find a running-place again.”

Sun-and-Sea was not disturbed in the least. She got up and took out of her loom a sheet longer than she was herself.

“There is your sail,” said Sun-and-Sea.

Wind-and-Weather took the sail down to the shore, and the children began such a hacking and planing and pounding as no shipyard has ever heard. In just a few hours of giant time, there was the great ship with the mast set and the sail rigged, ready to be launched.

Mutzen and Putzen climbed in and took their oars; and the others pushed and pulled until the boat, slipping and grating, shot out into the water. Mutzen and Putzen, having nothing to christen it with, beat on the sides with their oars and cried, “We name you _Mannigfual_!”

“_Mannigfual!_” echoed the other children. “The giants’ good ship _Mannigfual_!”

The children climbed in and took the oars. Wind-and-Weather took the tiller. And there they were, skipping along over the sea. When the wind blew against them, the children rowed and sang. When the wind blew with them, they set the sail and strained their eyes to find a running-place ahead across the water. As for Wind-and-Weather, no matter which way the wind blew, he sat and steered.

Now, it must never be forgotten that giants’ time is as big as they are; and half a year to them was scarcely more than a day. Our night and day they did not bother about in the least, for their big eyes looked through the dark as well as the light. Sunrise and sunset were no more to them than the revolving of a lighthouse lamp to us. But the minute a half-year was up, the giants’ night began, and giant children felt then very much as ordinary children feel in the evening after eight o’clock has struck.

_Mannigfual_ had not sailed many hundred miles when the giants’ night came on. Mutzen and Putzen knew that it was coming, because their heads and their arms and their legs began to feel so very much in the way. Soon they lost track of their oars altogether, their heads bumped, their mouths dropped open, and there they were,—fast asleep. Then Gratzen yawned, and Bratzen yawned,—all the rest even up to Handsig and Grandsig. But somehow or other they managed to keep on rowing.

Wind-and-Weather took out his glass and scanned the sea ahead. In a little while they all saw what he was steering for. It was land. A few minutes more, and they had dropped overboard the great cliff they had brought for an anchor.

Wind-and-Weather picked up Mutzen and Putzen. With one against each shoulder, he stepped leisurely out and waded ashore. The children jumped after, splashing and rubbing their eyes. Straight ahead was a wide valley. Wind-and-Weather laid Mutzen and Putzen in that; and picking out a convenient hill for a pillow, stretched himself across the landscape.

“Well,” said Handsig, looking around, “I don’t think much of this as a running-place!”

And quite right he was. For there was nothing flat or broad about it. The whole country was broken up into little hills, little valleys, little fields, little forests. But Handsig might have spared his words, for there was nobody to listen. So he fitted himself neatly between two hills, and snored as loudly as the others.