But at night time, after the giant-killing nephews and nieces were in bed (they retire very early), Tonto would fare forth boldly, striding over the hills and hollows he came to a great city; then, leaning over, until his giant back ached, he would peer in through the lighted windows at the old people gathered round the fires, and at the young ones dancing and singing, and the tears of loneliness would trickle off his nose and his gigantic heart would crinkle up like a persimmon for very sadness. When he could bear it no longer, he would snatch a dozen or more sheets from the yards, where the good dames had hung them to dry, and muffling his face in these stolen handkerchiefs would weep bitterly.
His gusty sighs often blew the roofs from the houses, and his tears fell in showers so that the people next day would shake their heads over the night's storm. On his way through the narrow streets he was constantly brushing off shutters and stumbling over lamp posts, catching his heels in park gates and fences. I hate to think that the small boys were blamed for much of this damage. He had many narrow escapes, but always managed to turn himself into a church steeple or an arch, before he was discovered.
So things went on and on in this fashion for a great while, 'til he had wandered in every city of the world excepting one. On the night that he came to the last city it happened,—yes siree, it happened then. Now this city chanced to be the King's city, and Tonto, in search of amusement, had gone directly to the stately palace. With his eye plastered tightly against one of the long windows he gazed enviously at the brilliant scene within. The King, who was fat and jolly, sat upon his golden throne tapping his foot to the fascinating tune of the royal fiddles. The Court Gentlemen were bobbing and bouncing about in tight breeches and lace coats, and the Ladies in cob-webby gowns and buckled slippers,—the Ladies, mind you, were bobbing and bouncing too. In fact I think that they must have been
