The Pumpkin Giant lived in a castle, as a matter of course; it is not
fashionable for a giant to live in any other kind of a dwelling--why,
nothing would be more tame and uninteresting than a giant in a
two-story white house with green blinds and a picket fence, or even a
brown-stone front, if he could get into either of them, which he could
not.
The Giant's castle was situated on a mountain, as it ought to have
been, and there was also the usual courtyard before it, and the
customary moat, which was full of--_bones_! All I have got to say
about these bones is, they were not mutton bones. A great many details
of this story must be left to the imagination of the reader; they are
too harrowing to relate. A much tenderer regard for the feelings of
the audience will be shown in this than in most giant stories; we will
even go so far as to state in advance, that the story has a good end,
thereby enabling readers to peruse it comfortably without unpleasant
suspense.
The Pumpkin Giant was fonder of little boys and girls than anything
else in the world; but he was somewhat fonder of little boys, and more
particularly of _fat_ little boys.
The fear and horror of this Giant extended over the whole country.
Even the King on his throne was so severely afflicted with the Giant's
Shakes that he had been obliged to have the throne propped, for fear
it should topple over in some unusually violent fit.
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