He was vastly delicate.

His eyes and something about his face grew finer--grew, as people say, "interesting." His hair, after one cutting, began to tangle into a mat.

"It's the degenerate strain coming out in him," said the parish doctor, marking these things, but just how far he was right in that, and just how far the youngster's lapse from ideal healthfulness was the result of living entirely in a whitewashed barn upon Lady Wondershoot's sense of charity tempered by justice, is open to question.
The photographs of him that present him from three to six show him developing into a round-eyed, flaxen-haired youngster with a truncated nose and a friendly stare.

There lurks about his lips that never very remote promise of a smile that all the photographs of the early giant children display.

In summer he wears loose garments of ticking tacked together with string; there is usually one of those straw baskets upon his head that workmen use for their tools, and he is barefooted.