The Boy was going out to Roxbury. He was going alone, though he was only five years old. His Aunt Mary had put him in the horse car, and the car went directly past his house; and the Boy “hoped he did know enough to ask somebody big to ask the conductor to stop the car.”

So there the Boy was, all alone and very proud, with his legs sticking straight out, because they were not long enough to hang over,—but he did not mind that, because it showed his trousers all the better,—and his five cents clutched tight in his little warm hand.

Proud as he was, the Boy had a slight feeling of uneasiness somewhere down in the bottom of his heart. His Aunt Mary had just been reading “Jack and the Bean-stalk” to him, and he was not quite sure that the man opposite him was not an ogre. He was a very, very large man, about twelve feet tall, the boy thought, and at least nine feet round. He had a wide mouth, full of sharp-looking teeth, and he rolled his eyes as he read the newspaper. He was not dressed like an ogre, and he carried no knife in sight; but it might be in one of the pockets of his big gray coat.

Altogether, the Boy did not like the looks of this man at all, but nobody else seemed to mind him. A pretty girl sat down close beside him,—a plump, tender-looking young girl,—but the big man took no notice of her or anybody else, and kept on reading his newspaper and rolling his eyes.

So the Boy sat still, only keeping a good lookout, so that if this formidable person should pull out a knife, or begin to grind his teeth and roar, “Fee! fi! fo! fum!” he could slip off the seat and out at the door before his huge enemy could get upon his feet.

The car began to fill up rapidly. Soon every seat was occupied, and several men were standing up. One of them trod, by accident, on the ogre’s toe,—the Boy could not help calling him the ogre, though he felt it might not be right,—and he gave a kind of growl, which made the Boy quiver and prepare to jump; but his eyes never moved from his newspaper, so the Boy sat still.

By and by a poor woman got in, with a heavy baby in her arms. She looked very tired, but though there were several other men sitting down beside the big gray one, no one moved to give the woman a seat.

The boy remembered his manners, and knew that he ought to get up; but then came the thought, “If I get up, I shall be close to the ogre, for there is no standing-room anywhere else. I am wedged so close between these two ladies that I can hardly get out: and if I do, there cannot possibly be room for that large woman.”

The Boy gave heed to this thought, though he knew in his heart that it did not make any difference. Just then the tired woman gave a sigh and shifted the heavy baby to the other arm.

The Boy did not wait any longer, but slipped at once down from his seat. “Here is a little room, ma’am!” he said, in his clear, childish voice. “There isn’t enough for you, but you might put the baby down, and rest your arms.”

At that moment the car gave a lurch, and the Boy lost his balance and fell forward,—right against the knees of the ogre.

“Hi! hi!” said the big man, putting aside his newspaper, “what’s all this? Hey?”

The Boy could not speak for fright; but the poor woman answered, “It’s the dear little gentleman offering me his seat for the baby, sir! The Lord bless him for a little jewel that he is!”

“Hi! hi!” growled the big man, getting heavily up from his seat and still holding the boy’s arm, which he had grasped as the child fell, “this won’t do! One gentleman in the car, eh? And an old fellow reading his newspaper! Here, sit down here, my friend!” and he helped the woman to his seat, and bowed to her as if she were a duchess. “And as for you, Hop-o’-my-thumb—” Then he stooped and took the Boy up, and set him on his left arm, which was as big as a table. “There, sir!” he said, “sit you there and be comfortable, as you deserve.”

The Boy sat very still; indeed, he was too frightened to move. Since the man had called him Hop-o’-my-thumb, he was quite sure that he must be an ogre; perhaps the very ogre from whom Hop and his brothers escaped. The book said he died, but books do not always tell the truth; Papa said so.

When the big man began to feel in the right-hand pockets of his gray coat, the child trembled so excessively that he shook the great arm on which he sat.

The man looked quickly at him. “What is the matter, my lad?” he asked; and his voice, though gruff, did not sound unkind. “You are not afraid of a big man, are you? Do you think I am an ogre?”

“Yes!” said the boy; and he gave one sob, and then stopped himself.

The gray man burst into a great roar of laughter, which made every one in the car jump in his seat.

Still laughing, he drew his hand from his pocket, and in it was—not a knife, but a beautiful, shining, golden pear. “Take that, young Hop-o’-my-thumb,” he said, putting it in the Boy’s hands. “If you will eat that, I promise not to eat you,—not even to take a single bite. Are you satisfied?”

The boy ventured to raise his eyes to the man’s face; and there he saw such a kind, funny, laughing look that before he knew it he was laughing, too.

“I don’t believe you are an ogre, after all!” he said.

“Don’t you?” said the big man. “Well, neither do I! But you may as well eat the pear, just the same.”

And the Boy did.