“It is very strange,” said Everychild, not clearly understanding.

“It just needs a little thinking about,” declared the giant.  “And it’s not only in attics that I’m able to help.  That old garden we played in to-day . . . do you know what would happen, if certain persons came into it while I was there?”

As Everychild did not know, the giant continued:  “They would see the columbine growing; and straightway they would think of a poor lady named Ophelia; and then they would think of Shakespeare; and then they would think of the river Avon; and then they would think of lovely English meadows, and then they would think of the sea—­because the Avon finally reaches it, you know—­and then they would think of ships, and then of Columbus, and then of America, and then of millions of new gardens where the columbine of England found new homes.”

Everychild was trying to see the pictures as they passed; but he could not quite keep up.  And after Will o’Dreams had finished he remained silent, going over it all in his mind.

But the giant interrupted him.  “There,” he said, “we ought not to stay up too late.  You know we want to make an early start to-morrow.”

Everychild’s heart prompted him to say impulsively, “And you’ll go on with us?  You’ll not get tired and leave us on the way?”

The giant pondered a moment, and then he replied:  “No.  My search will carry me as far as your search is to carry you.”

“You haven’t told me what it is you’re searching for,” said Everychild.

There was a long silence, and then the giant replied:  “I scarcely liked to speak of it; yet if we are to be friends, perhaps I may do so.  The truth is, I am seeking my mother.”

Everychild felt a little thrilled.  He recalled what Mr. Literal had said of the giant—­how he had been driven away from home because of the evil he had done.  He had refused to believe what Mr. Literal had said; yet what was the meaning of what the giant was now saying?

“I lost my mother long ago,” the giant resumed.  “I can’t explain just how it was.  But there were many who mistrusted me in my childhood and believed I wasn’t up to any good.  They said I was made up of lies.  They drove me from their houses and closed their doors on me.  And my mother and I got lost from each other.  From that day to this I have had bad days when I’ve feared that all my enemies ever said about me was true.  But it is only occasionally I have a bad day.  You see, I remember my mother’s ways so well that it seems almost as if she were with me, much of the time.  But I know well that if I could find her, never to lose her again, I should never have another evil thought.  And so it is that I constantly dream of finding her, and go about the world seeking her.  And I never see a beautiful lady without stopping to ask myself in a whisper, ‘Can it be she?’”

“Was she so beautiful, then?” asked Everychild.