The Princess and the Goblin

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THE PRINCESS AND THE GOBLIN

by

GEORGE MACDONALD

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

Why the Princess Has a Story About Her

There was once a little princess whose father was king over a greatcountry full of mountains and valleys. His palace was built upon oneof the mountains, and was very grand and beautiful. The princess,whose name was Irene, was born there, but she was sent soon after herbirth, because her mother was not very strong, to be brought up bycountry people in a large house, half castle, half farmhouse, on theside of another mountain, about half-way between its base and its peak.

The princess was a sweet little creature, and at the time my storybegins was about eight years old, I think, but she got older very fast.Her face was fair and pretty, with eyes like two bits of night sky,each with a star dissolved in the blue. Those eyes you would havethought must have known they came from there, so often were they turnedup in that direction. The ceiling of her nursery was blue, with starsin it, as like the sky as they could make it. But I doubt if ever shesaw the real sky with the stars in it, for a reason which I had bettermention at once.

These mountains were full of hollow places underneath; huge caverns,and winding ways, some with water running through them, and someshining with all colours of the rainbow when a light was taken in.There would not have been much known about them, had there not beenmines there, great deep pits, with long galleries and passages runningoff from them, which had been dug to get at the ore of which themountains were full. In the course of digging, the miners came uponmany of these natural caverns. A few of them had far-off openings outon the side of a mountain, or into a ravine.

Now in these subterranean caverns lived a strange race of beings,called by some gnomes, by some kobolds, by some goblins. There was alegend current in the country that at one time they lived above ground,and were very like other people. But for some reason or other,concerning which there were different legendary theories, the king hadlaid what they thought too severe taxes upon them, or had requiredobservances of them they did not like, or had begun to treat them withmore severity, in some way or other, and impose stricter laws; and theconsequence was that they had all disappeared from the face of thecountry. According to the legend, however, instead of going to someother country, they had all taken refuge in the subterranean caverns,whence they never came out but at night, and then seldom showedthemselves in any numbers, and never to many people at once. It wasonly in the least frequented and most difficult parts of the mountainsthat they were said to gather even at night in the open air. Those whohad caught sight of any of them said that they had greatly altered inthe course of generations; and no wonder, seeing they lived away fromthe sun, in cold and wet and dark places. They were now, notordinarily ugly, but either absolutely hideous, or ludicrouslygrotesque both in face and form. There was no invention, they said, ofthe most lawless imagination expressed by pen or pencil, that couldsurpass the extravagance of their appearance. But I suspect those whosaid so had mistaken some of their animal companions for the goblinsthemselves—of which more by and by. The goblins themselves were notso far removed from the human as such a description would imply. Andas they grew misshapen in body they had grown in knowledge andcleverness, and now were able to do things no mortal could see thepossibility of. But as they grew in cunning, they grew in mischief,and their great delight was in every way they could think of to annoythe people who lived in the open-air storey above them. They hadenough of affection left for each other to preserve them from beingabsolutely cruel for cruelty's sake to those that came in their way;but still they so heartily cherished the ancestral grudge against thosewho occupied their former possessions and especially against thedescendants of the king who had caused their expulsion, that theysought every opportunity of tormenting them in ways that were as odd astheir inventors; and although dwarfed and misshapen, they had strengthequal to their cunning. In the process of time they had got a king anda government of their own, whose chief business, beyond their ownsimple affairs, was to devise trouble for their neighbours. It willnow be pretty evident why the little princess had never seen the sky atnight. They were much too afraid of the goblins to let her out of thehouse then, even in company with ever so many attendants; and they hadgood reason, as we shall see by and by.

CHAPTER 2

The Princess Loses Herself

I have said the Princess Irene was about eight years old when my storybegins. And this is how it begins.

One very wet day, when the mountain was covered with mist which wasconstantly gathering itself together into raindrops, and pouring downon the roofs of the great old house, whence it fell in a fringe ofwater from the eaves all round about it, the princess could not ofcourse go out. She got very tired, so tired that even her toys couldno longer amuse her. You would wonder at that if I had time todescribe to you one half of the toys she had. But then, you wouldn'thave the toys themselves, and that makes all the difference: you can'tget tired of a thing before you have it. It was a picture, though,worth seeing—the princess sitting in the nursery with the sky ceilingover her head, at a great table covered with her toys. If the artistwould like to draw this, I should advise him not to meddle with thetoys. I am afraid of attempting to describe them, and I think he hadbetter not try to draw them. He had better not. He can do a thousandthings I can't, but I don't think he could draw those toys. No mancould better make the princess herself than he could, though—leaningwith her back bowed into the back of the chair, her head hanging down,and her hands in her lap, very miserable as she would say herself, noteven knowing what she would like, except it were to go out and getthoroughly wet, and catch a particularly nice cold, and have to go tobed and take gruel. The next moment after you see her sitting there,her nurse goes out of the room.

Even that is a change, and the princess wakes up a little, and looksabout her. Then she tumbles off her chair and runs out of the door,not the same door the nurse went out of, but one which opened at thefoot of a curious old stair of worm-eaten oak, which looked as if neveranyone had set foot upon it. She had once before been up six steps,and that was sufficient reason, in such a day, for trying to find outwhat was at the top of it.

Up and up she ran—such a long way it seemed to her!—until she came tothe top of the third flight. There she found the landing was the endof a long passage. Into this she ran. It was full of doors on eachside. There were so many that she did not care to open any, but ran onto the end, where she turned into another passage, also full of doors.When she had turned twice more, and still saw doors and only doorsabout her, she began to get frightened. It was so silent! And allthose doors must hide rooms with nobody in them! That was dreadful.Also the rain made a great trampling noise on the roof. She turned andstarted at full speed, her little footsteps echoing through the soundsof the rain—back for the stairs and her safe nursery. So she thought,but she had lost herself long ago. It doesn't follow that she waslost, because she had lost herself, though.

She ran for some distance, turned several times, and then began to beafraid. Very soon she was sure that she had lost the way back. Roomseverywhere, and no stair! Her little heart beat as fast as her littlefeet ran, and a lump of tears was growing in her throat. But she wastoo eager and perhaps too frightened to cry for some time. At last herhope failed her. Nothing but passages and doors everywhere! She threwherself on the floor, and burst into a wailing cry broken by sobs.

She did not cry long, however, for she was as brave as could beexpected of a princess of her age. After a good cry, she got up, andbrushed the dust from her frock. Oh, what old dust it was! Then shewiped her eyes with her hands, for princesses don't always have theirhandkerchiefs in their pockets, any more than some other little girls Iknow of. Next, like a true princess, she resolved on going wisely towork to find her way back: she would walk through the passages, andlook in every direction for the stair. This she did, but withoutsuccess. She went over the same ground again an again without knowingit, for the passages and doors were all alike. At last, in a corner,through a half-open door, she did see a stair. But alas! it went thewrong way: instead of going down, it went up. Frightened as she was,however, she could not help wishing to see where yet further the staircould lead. It was very narrow, and so steep that she went on like afour-legged creature on her hands and feet.

CHAPTER 3

The Princess and—We Shall See Who

When she came to the top, she found herself in a little square place,with three doors, two opposite each other, and one opposite the top ofthe stair. She stood for a moment, without an idea in her little headwhat to do next. But as she stood, she began to hear a curious hummingsound. Could it be the rain? No. It was much more gentle, and evenmonotonous than the sound of the rain, which now she scarcely heard.The low sweet humming sound went on, sometimes stopping for a littlewhile and then beginning again. It was more like the hum of a veryhappy bee that had found a rich well of honey in some globular flower,than anything else I can think of at this moment. Where could it comefrom? She laid her ear first to one of the doors to hearken if it wasthere—then to another. When she laid her ear against the third door,there could be no doubt where it came from: it must be from somethingin that room. What could it be? She was rather afraid, but hercuriosity was stronger than her fear, and she opened the door verygently and peeped in. What do you think she saw? A very old lady whosat spinning.

Perhaps you will wonder how the princess could tell that the old ladywas an old lady, when I inform you that not only was she beautiful, buther skin was smooth and white. I will tell you more. Her hair wascombed back from her forehead and face, and hung loose far down and allover her back. That is not much like an old lady—is it? Ah! but itwas white almost as snow. And although her face was so smooth, hereyes looked so wise that you could not have helped seeing she must beold. The princess, though she could not have told you why, did thinkher very old indeed—quite fifty, she said to herself. But she wasrather older than that, as you shall hear.

While the princess stared bewildered, with her head just inside thedoor, the old lady lifted hers, and said, in a sweet, but old andrather shaky voice, which mingled very pleasantly with the continuedhum of her wheel:

'Come in, my dear; come in. I am glad to see you.'

That the princess was a real princess you might see now quite plainly;for she didn't hang on to the handle of the door, and stare withoutmoving, as I have known some do who ought to have been princesses butwere only rather vulgar little girls. She did as she was told, steppedinside the door at once, and shut it gently behind her.

'Come to me, my dear,' said the old lady.

And again the princess did as she was told. She approached the oldlady—rather slowly, I confess—but did not stop until she stood by herside, and looked up in her face with her blue eyes and the two meltedstars in them.

'Why, what have you been doing with your eyes, child?' asked the oldlady.

'Crying,' answered the princess.

'Why, child?'

'Because I couldn't find my way down again.'

'But you could find your way up.'

'Not at first—not for a long time.'

'But your face is streaked like the back of a zebra. Hadn't you ahandkerchief to wipe your eyes with?'

'No.'

'Then why didn't you come to me to wipe them for you?'

'Please, I didn't know you were here. I will next time.'

'There's a good child!' said the old lady.

Then she stopped her wheel, and rose, and, going out of the room,returned with a little silver basin and a soft white towel, with whichshe washed and wiped the bright little face. And the princess thoughther hands were so smooth and nice!

When she carried away the basin and towel, the little princess wonderedto see how straight and tall she was, for, although she was so old, shedidn't stoop a bit. She was dressed in black velvet with thick whiteheavy-looking lace about it; and on the black dress her hair shone likesilver. There was hardly any more furniture in the room than theremight have been in that of the poorest old woman who made her bread byher spinning. There was no carpet on the floor—no tableanywhere—nothing but the spinning-wheel and the chair beside it. Whenshe came back, she sat down and without a word began her spinning oncemore, while Irene, who had never seen a spinning-wheel, stood by herside and looked on. When the old lady had got her thread fairly goingagain, she said to the princess, but without looking at her:

'Do you know my name, child?'

'No, I don't know it,' answered the princess.

'My name is Irene.'

'That's my name!' cried the princess.

'I know that. I let you have mine. I haven't got your name. You'vegot mine.'

'How can that be?' asked the princess, bewildered. 'I've always had myname.'

'Your papa, the king, asked me if I had any objection to your havingit; and, of course, I hadn't. I let you have it with pleasure.'

'It was very kind of you to give me your name—and such a pretty one,'said the princess.

'Oh, not so very kind!' said the old lady. 'A name is one of thosethings one can give away and keep all the same. I have a good manysuch things. Wouldn't you like to know who I am, child?'

'Yes, that I should—very much.'

'I'm your great-great-grandmother,' said the lady.

'What's that?' asked the princess.

'I'm your father's mother's father's mother.'

'Oh, dear! I can't understand that,' said the princess.

'I dare say not. I didn't expect you would. But that's no reason whyI shouldn't say it.'

'Oh, no!' answered the princess.

'I will explain it all to you when you are older,' the lady went on.'But you will be able to understand this much now: I came here to takecare of you.'

'Is it long since you came? Was it yesterday? Or was it today,because it was so wet that I couldn't get out?'

'I've been here ever since you came yourself.'

'What a long time!' said the princess. 'I don't remember it at all.'

'No. I suppose not.'

'But I never saw you before.'

'No. But you shall see me again.'

'Do you live in this room always?'

'I don't sleep in it. I sleep on the opposite side of the landing. Isit here most of the day.'

'I shouldn't like it. My nursery is much prettier. You must be aqueen too, if you are my great big grand-mother.'

'Yes, I am a queen.'

'Where is your crown, then?' 'In my bedroom.'

'I should like to see it.'

'You shall some day—not today.'

'I wonder why nursie never told me.'

'Nursie doesn't know. She never saw me.'

'But somebody knows that you are in the house?'

'No; nobody.'

'How do you get your dinner, then?'

'I keep poultry—of a sort.'

'Where do you keep them?'

'I will show you.'

'And who makes the chicken broth for you?'

'I never kill any of MY chickens.'

'Then I can't understand.'

'What did you have for breakfast this morning?' asked the lady.

'Oh! I had bread and milk, and an egg—I dare say you eat their eggs.'

'Yes, that's it. I eat their eggs.'

'Is that what makes your hair so white?'

'No, my dear. It's old age. I am very old.'

'I thought so. Are you fifty?'

'Yes—more than that.'

'Are you a hundred?'

'Yes—more than that. I am too old for you to guess. Come and see mychickens.'

Again she stopped her spinning. She rose, took the princess by thehand, led her out of the room, and opened the door opposite the stair.The princess expected to see a lot of hens and chickens, but instead ofthat, she saw the blue sky first, and then the roofs of the house, witha multitude of the loveliest pigeons, mostly white, but of all colours,walking about, making bows to each other, and talking a language shecould not understand. She clapped her hands with delight, and up rosesuch a flapping of wings that she in her turn was startled.

'You've frightened my poultry,' said the old lady, smiling.

'And they've frightened me,' said the princess, smiling too. 'But whatvery nice poultry! Are the eggs nice?'

'Yes, very nice.' 'What a small egg-spoon you must have! Wouldn't itbe better to keep hens, and get bigger eggs?'

'How should I feed them, though?'

'I see,' said the princess. 'The pigeons feed themselves. They've gotwings.'

'Just so. If they couldn't fly, I couldn't eat their eggs.'

'But how do you get at the eggs? Where are their nests?'

The lady took hold of a little loop of string in the wall at the sideof the door and, lifting a shutter, showed a great many pigeon-holeswith nests, some with young ones and some with eggs in them. The birdscame in at the other side, and she took out the eggs on this side. Sheclosed it again quickly, lest the young ones should be frightened.

'Oh, what a nice way!' cried the princess. 'Will you give me an egg toeat? I'm rather hungry.'

'I will some day, but now you must go back, or nursie will be miserableabout you. I dare say she's looking for you everywhere.'

'Except here,' answered the princess. 'Oh, how surprised she will bewhen I tell her about my great big grand-grand-mother!'

'Yes, that she will!' said the old lady with a curious smile. 'Mind youtell her all about it exactly.'

'That I will. Please will you take me back to her?'

'I can't go all the way, but I will take you to the top of the stair,and then you must run down quite fast into your own room.'

The little princess put her hand in the old lady's, who, looking thisway and that, brought her to the top of the first stair, and thence tothe bottom of the second, and did not leave her till she saw herhalf-way down the third. When she heard the cry of her nurse'spleasure at finding her, she turned and walked up the stairs again,very fast indeed for such a very great grandmother, and sat down to herspinning with another strange smile on her sweet old face.

About this spinning of hers I will tell you more another time.

Guess what she was spinning.

CHAPTER 4

What the Nurse Thought of It

'Why, where can you have been, princess?' asked the nurse, taking herin her arms. 'It's very unkind of you to hide away so long. I began tobe afraid—' Here she checked herself.

'What were you afraid of, nursie?' asked the princess.

'Never mind,' she answered. 'Perhaps I will tell you another day. Nowtell me where you have been.'

'I've been up a long way to see my very great, huge, old grandmother,'said the princess.

'What do you mean by that?' asked the nurse, who thought she was makingfun.

'I mean that I've been a long way up and up to see my greatgrandmother. Ah, nursie, you don't know what a beautiful mother ofgrandmothers I've got upstairs. She is such an old lady, with suchlovely white hair—as white as my silver cup. Now, when I think of it,I think her hair must be silver.'

'What nonsense you are talking, princess!' said the nurse.

'I'm not talking nonsense,' returned Irene, rather offended. 'I willtell you all about her. She's much taller than you, and much prettier.'

'Oh, I dare say!' remarked the nurse.

'And she lives upon pigeons' eggs.'

'Most likely,' said the nurse.

'And she sits in an empty room, spin-spinning all day long.'

'Not a doubt of it,' said the nurse.

'And she keeps her crown in her bedroom.'

'Of course—quite the proper place to keep her crown in. She wears itin bed, I'll be bound.'

'She didn't say that. And I don't think she does. That wouldn't becomfortable—would it? I don't think my papa wears his crown for anight-cap. Does he, nursie?'

'I never asked him. I dare say he does.'

'And she's been there ever since I came here—ever so many years.'

'Anybody could have told you that,' said the nurse, who did not believea word Irene was saying.

'Why didn't you tell me, then?'

'There was no necessity. You could make it all up for yourself.'

'You don't believe me, then!' exclaimed the princess, astonished andangry, as she well might be.

'Did you expect me to believe you, princess?' asked the nurse coldly.'I know princesses are in the habit of telling make-believes, but youare the first I ever heard of who expected to have them believed,' sheadded, seeing that the child was strangely in earnest.

The princess burst into tears.

'Well, I must say,' remarked the nurse, now thoroughly vexed with herfor crying, 'it is not at all becoming in a princess to tell storiesand expect to be believed just because she is a princess.'

'But it's quite true, I tell you.'

'You've dreamt it, then, child.'

'No, I didn't dream it. I went upstairs, and I lost myself, and if Ihadn't found the beautiful lady, I should never have found myself.'

'Oh, I dare say!'

'Well, you just come up with me, and see if I'm not telling the truth.'

'Indeed I have other work to do. It's your dinnertime, and I won'thave any more such nonsense.'

The princess wiped her eyes, and her face grew so hot that they weresoon quite dry. She sat down to her dinner, but ate next to nothing.Not to be believed does not at all agree with princesses: for a realprincess cannot tell a lie. So all the afternoon she did not speak aword. Only when the nurse spoke to her, she answered her, for a realprincess is never rude—even when she does well to be offended.

Of course the nurse was not comfortable in her mind—not that shesuspected the least truth in Irene's story, but that she loved herdearly, and was vexed with herself for having been cross to her. Shethought her crossness was the cause of the princess's unhappiness, andhad no idea that she was really and deeply hurt at not being believed.But, as it became more and more plain during the evening in her everymotion and look, that, although she tried to amuse herself with hertoys, her heart was too vexed and troubled to enjoy them, her nurse'sdiscomfort grew and grew. When bedtime came, she undressed and laidher down, but the child, instead of holding up her little mouth to bekissed, turned away from her and lay still. Then nursie's heart gaveway altogether, and she began to cry. At the sound of her first sobthe princess turned again, and held her face to kiss her as usual. Butthe nurse had her handkerchief to her eyes, and did not see themovement.

'Nursie,' said the princess, 'why won't you believe me?'

'Because I can't believe you,' said the nurse, getting angry again.

'Ah! then, you can't help it,' said Irene, 'and I will not be vexedwith you any more. I will give you a kiss and go to sleep.'

'You little angel!' cried the nurse, and caught her out of bed, andwalked about the room with her in her arms, kissing and hugging her.

'You will let me take you to see my dear old great big grandmother,won't you?' said the princess, as she laid her down again.

'And you won't say I'm ugly, any more—will you, princess?' 'Nursie, Inever said you were ugly. What can you mean?'

'Well, if you didn't say it, you meant it.'

'Indeed, I never did.'

'You said I wasn't so pretty as that—'

'As my beautiful grandmother—yes, I did say that; and I say it again,for it's quite true.'

'Then I do think you are unkind!' said the nurse, and put herhandkerchief to her eyes again.

'Nursie, dear, everybody can't be as beautiful as every other body, youknow. You are very nice-looking, but if you had been as beautiful asmy grandmother—'

'Bother your grandmother!' said the nurse.

'Nurse, that's very rude. You are not fit to be spoken to till you canbehave better.'

The princess turned away once more, and again the nurse was ashamed ofherself.

'I'm sure I beg your pardon, princess,' she said, though still in anoffended tone. But the princess let the tone pass, and heeded only thewords.

'You won't say it again, I am sure,' she answered, once more turningtowards her nurse. 'I was only going to say that if you had been twiceas nice-looking as you are, some king or other would have married you,and then what would have become of me?'

'You are an angel!' repeated the nurse, again embracing her. 'Now,'insisted Irene, 'you will come and see my grandmother—won't you?'

'I will go with you anywhere you like, my cherub,' she answered; and intwo minutes the weary little princess was fast asleep.

CHAPTER 5

The Princess Lets Well Alone

When she woke the next morning, the first thing she heard was the rainstill falling. Indeed, this day was so like the last that it wouldhave been difficult to tell where was the use of it. The first thingshe thought of, however, was not the rain, but the lady in the tower;and the first question that occupied her thoughts was whether sheshould not ask the nurse to fulfil her promise this very morning, andgo with her to find her grandmother as soon as she had had herbreakfast. But she came to the conclusion that perhaps the lady wouldnot be pleased if she took anyone to see her without first askingleave; especially as it was pretty evident, seeing she lived onpigeons' eggs, and cooked them herself, that she did not want thehousehold to know she was there. So the princess resolved to take thefirst opportunity of running up alone and asking whether she mightbring her nurse. She believed the fact that she could not otherwiseconvince her she was telling the truth would have much weight with hergrandmother.

The princess and her nurse were the best of friends all dressing-time,and the princess in consequence ate an enormous little breakfast.

'I wonder, Lootie'—that was her pet name for her nurse—'what pigeons'eggs taste like?' she said, as she was eating her egg—not quite acommon one, for they always picked out the pinky ones for her.

'We'll get you a pigeon's egg, and you shall judge for yourself,' saidthe nurse.

'Oh, no, no!' returned Irene, suddenly reflecting they might disturbthe old lady in getting it, and that even if they did not, she wouldhave one less in consequence.

'What a strange creature you are,' said the nurse—'first to want athing and then to refuse it!'

But she did not say it crossly, and the princess never minded anyremarks that were not unfriendly.

'Well, you see, Lootie, there are reasons,' she returned, and said nomore, for she did not want to bring up the subject of their formerstrife, lest her nurse should offer to go before she had had hergrandmother's permission to bring her. Of course she could refuse totake her, but then she would believe her less than ever.

Now the nurse, as she said herself afterwards, could not be everymoment in the room; and as never before yesterday had the princessgiven her the smallest reason for anxiety, it had not yet come into herhead to watch her more closely. So she soon gave her a chance, and,the very first that offered, Irene was off and up the stairs again.

This day's adventure, however, did not turn out like yesterday's,although it began like it; and indeed to-day is very seldom likeyesterday, if people would note the differences—even when it rains.The princess ran through passage after passage, and could not find thestair of the tower. My own suspicion is that she had not gone up highenough, and was searching on the second instead of the third floor.When she turned to go back, she failed equally in her search after thestair. She was lost once more.

Something made it even worse to bear this time, and it was no wonderthat she cried again. Suddenly it occurred to her that it was afterhaving cried before that she had found her grandmother's stair. Shegot up at once, wiped her eyes, and started upon a fresh quest.

This time, although she did not find what she hoped, she found what wasnext best: she did not come on a stair that went up, but she came uponone that went down. It was evidently not the stair she had come up,yet it was a good deal better than none; so down she went, and wassinging merrily before she reached the bottom. There, to her surprise,she found herself in the kitchen. Although she was not allowed to gothere alone, her nurse had often taken her, and she was a greatfavourite with the servants. So there was a general rush at her themoment she appeared, for every one wanted to have her; and the reportof where she was soon reached the nurse's ears. She came at once tofetch her; but she never suspected how she had got there, and theprincess kept her own counsel.

Her failure to find the old lady not only disappointed her, but madeher very thoughtful. Sometimes she came almost to the nurse's opinionthat she had dreamed all about her; but that fancy never lasted verylong. She wondered much whether she should ever see her again, andthought it very sad not to have been able to find her when sheparticularly wanted her. She resolved to say nothing more to her nurseon the subject, seeing it was so little in her power to prove her words.

CHAPTER 6

The Little Miner

The next day the great cloud still hung over the mountain, and the rainpoured like water from a full sponge. The princess was very fond ofbeing out of doors, and she nearly cried when she saw that the weatherwas no better. But the mist was not of such a dark dingy grey; therewas light in it; and as the hours went on it grew brighter andbrighter, until it was almost too brilliant to look at; and late in theafternoon the sun broke out so gloriously that Irene clapped her hands,crying:

'See, see, Lootie! The sun has had his face washed. Look how brighthe is! Do get my hat, and let us go out for a walk. Oh, dear! oh,dear! how happy I am!'

Lootie was very glad to please the princess. She got her hat andcloak, and they set out together for a walk up the mountain; for theroad was so hard and steep that the water could not rest upon it, andit was always dry enough for walking a few minutes after the rainceased. The clouds were rolling away in broken pieces, like great,overwoolly sheep, whose wool the sun had bleached till it was almosttoo white for the eyes to bear. Between them the sky shone with adeeper and purer blue, because of the rain. The trees on the roadsidewere hung all over with drops, which sparkled in the sun like jewels.The only things that were no brighter for the rain were the brooks thatran down the mountain; they had changed from the clearness of crystalto a muddy brown; but what they lost in colour they gained in sound—orat least in noise, for a brook when it is swollen is not so musical asbefore. But Irene was in raptures with the great brown streamstumbling down everywhere; and Lootie shared in her delight, for she toohad been confined to the house for three days.

At length she observed that the sun was getting low, and said it wastime to be going back. She made the remark again and again, but, everytime, the princess begged her to go on just a little farther and alittle farther; reminding her that it was much easier to go downhill,and saying that when they did turn they would be at home in a moment.So on and on they did go, now to look at a group of ferns over whosetops a stream was pouring in a watery arch, now to pick a shining stonefrom a rock by the wayside, now to watch the flight of some bird.Suddenly the shadow of a great mountain peak came up from behind, andshot in front of them. When the nurse saw it, she started and shook,and catching hold of the princess's hand turned and began to run downthe hill.

'What's all the haste, nursie?' asked Irene, running alongside of her.

'We must not be out a moment longer.'

'But we can't help being out a good many moments longer.'

It was too true. The nurse almost cried. They were much too far fromhome. It was against express orders to be out with the princess onemoment after the sun was down; and they were nearly a mile up themountain! If His Majesty, Irene's papa, were to hear of it, Lootiewould certainly be dismissed; and to leave the princess would break herheart. It was no wonder she ran. But Irene was not in the leastfrightened, not knowing anything to be frightened at. She kept onchattering as well as she could, but it was not easy.

'Lootie! Lootie! why do you run so fast? It shakes my teeth when Italk.'

'Then don't talk,' said Lootie.

'But the princess went on talking. She was always saying: 'Look, look,Lootie!' but Lootie paid no more heed to anything she said, only ran on.

'Look, look, Lootie! Don't you see that funny man peeping over therock?'

Lootie only ran the faster. They had to pass the rock, and when theycame nearer, the princess saw it was only a lump of the rock itselfthat she had taken for a man.

'Look, look, Lootie! There's such a curious creature at the foot ofthat old tree. Look at it, Lootie! It's making faces at us, I dothink.'

Lootie gave a stifled cry, and ran faster still—so fast that Irene'slittle legs could not keep up with her, and she fell with a crash. Itwas a hard downhill road, and she had been running very fast—so it wasno wonder she began to cry. This put the nurse nearly beside herself;but all she could do was to run on, the moment she got the princess onher feet again.

'Who's that laughing at me?' said the princess, trying to keep in hersobs, and running too fast for her grazed knees.

'Nobody, child,' said the nurse, almost angrily.

But that instant there came a burst of coarse tittering from somewherenear, and a hoarse indistinct voice that seemed to say: 'Lies! lies!lies!'

'Oh!' cried the nurse with a sigh that was almost a scream, and ran onfaster than ever.

'Nursie! Lootie! I can't run any more. Do let us walk a bit.'

'What am I to do?' said the nurse. 'Here, I will carry you.'

She caught her up; but found her much too heavy to run with, and had toset her down again. Then she looked wildly about her, gave a greatcry, and said:

'We've taken the wrong turning somewhere, and I don't know where weare. We are lost, lost!'

The terror she was in had quite bewildered her. It was true enoughthey had lost the way. They had been running down into a little valleyin which there was no house to be seen.

Now Irene did not know what good reason there was for her nurse'sterror, for the servants had all strict orders never to mention thegoblins to her, but it was very discomposing to see her nurse in such afright. Before, however, she had time to grow thoroughly alarmed likeher, she heard the sound of whistling, and that revived her. Presentlyshe saw a boy coming up the road from the valley to meet them. He wasthe whistler; but before they met his whistling changed to singing.And this is something like what he sang:

'Ring! dod! bang!
Go the hammers' clang!
Hit and turn and bore!
Whizz and puff and roar!
Thus we rive the rocks,
Force the goblin locks.—
See the shining ore!
One, two, three—
Bright as gold can be!
Four, five, six—
Shovels, mattocks, picks!
Seven, eight, nine—
Light your lamp at mine.
Ten, eleven, twelve—
Loosely hold the helve.
We're the merry miner-boys,
Make the goblins hold their noise.'

'I wish YOU would hold your noise,' said the nurse rudely, for the veryword GOBLIN at such a time and in such a place made her tremble. Itwould bring the goblins upon them to a certainty, she thought, to defythem in that way. But whether the boy heard her or not, he did notstop his singing.

'Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—
This is worth the siftin';
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen—
There's the match, and lay't in.
Nineteen, twenty—
Goblins in a plenty.'

'Do be quiet,' cried the nurse, in a whispered shriek. But the boy,who was now close at hand, still went on.

'Hush! scush! scurry!
There you go in a hurry!
Gobble! gobble! goblin!
There you go a wobblin';
Hobble, hobble, hobblin'—
Cobble! cobble! cobblin'!
Hob-bob-goblin!—
Huuuuuh!'

'There!' said the boy, as he stood still opposite them. 'There!that'll do for them. They can't bear singing, and they can't standthat song. They can't sing themselves, for they have no more voicethan a crow; and they don't like other people to sing.'

The boy was dressed in a miner's dress, with a curious cap on his head.He was a very nice-looking boy, with eyes as dark as the mines in whichhe worked and as sparkling as the crystals in their rocks. He wasabout twelve years old. His face was almost too pale for beauty, whichcame of his being so little in the open air and the sunlight—for evenvegetables grown in the dark are white; but he looked happy, merryindeed—perhaps at the thought of having routed the goblins; and hisbearing as he stood before them had nothing clownish or rude about it.

'I saw them,' he went on, 'as I came up; and I'm very glad I did. Iknew they were after somebody, but I couldn't see who it was. Theywon't touch you so long as I'm with you.'

'Why, who are you?' asked the nurse, offended at the freedom with whichhe spoke to them.

'I'm Peter's son.'

'Who's Peter?'

'Peter the miner.'

'I don't know him.'

'I'm his son, though.'

'And why should the goblins mind you, pray?'

'Because I don't mind them. I'm used to them.'

'What difference does that make?'

'If you're not afraid of them, they're afraid of you. I'm not afraidof them. That's all. But it's all that's wanted—up here, that is.It's a different thing down there. They won't always mind that songeven, down there. And if anyone sings it, they stand grinning at himawfully; and if he gets frightened, and misses a word, or says a wrongone, they—oh! don't they give it him!'

'What do they do to him?' asked Irene, with a trembling voice.

'Don't go frightening the princess,' said the nurse.

'The princess!' repeated the little miner, taking off his curious cap.'I beg your pardon; but you oughtn't to be out so late. Everybody knowsthat's against the law.'

'Yes, indeed it is!' said the nurse, beginning to cry again. 'And Ishall have to suffer for it.'

'What does that matter?' said the boy. 'It must be your fault. It isthe princess who will suffer for it. I hope they didn't hear you callher the princess. If they did, they're sure to know her again: they'reawfully sharp.'

'Lootie! Lootie!' cried the princess. 'Take me home.'

'Don't go on like that,' said the nurse to the boy, almost fiercely.'How could I help it? I lost my way.'

'You shouldn't have been out so late. You wouldn't have lost your wayif you hadn't been frightened,' said the boy. 'Come along. I'll soonset you right again. Shall I carry your little Highness?'

'Impertinence!' murmured the nurse, but she did not say it aloud, forshe thought if she made him angry he might take his revenge by tellingsomeone belonging to the house, and then it would be sure to come tothe king's ears. 'No, thank you,' said Irene. 'I can walk very well,though I can't run so fast as nursie. If you will give me one hand,Lootie will give me another, and then I shall get on famously.'

They soon had her between them, holding a hand of each.

'Now let's run,' said the nurse.

'No, no!' said the little miner. 'That's the worst thing you can do.If you hadn't run before, you would not have lost your way. And if yourun now, they will be after you in a moment.'

'I don't want to run,' said Irene.

'You don't think of me,' said the nurse.

'Yes, I do, Lootie. The boy says they won't touch us if we don't run.'

'Yes, but if they know at the house that I've kept you out so late Ishall be turned away, and that would break my heart.'

'Turned away, Lootie! Who would turn you away?'

'Your papa, child.'

'But I'll tell him it was all my fault. And you know it was, Lootie.'

'He won't mind that. I'm sure he won't.'

'Then I'll cry, and go down on my knees to him, and beg him not to takeaway my own dear Lootie.'

The nurse was comforted at hearing this, and said no more. They wenton, walking pretty fast, but taking care not to run a step.

'I want to talk to you,' said Irene to the little miner; 'but it's soawkward! I don't know your name.'

'My name's Curdie, little princess.'

'What a funny name! Curdie! What more?'

'Curdie Peterson. What's your name, please?'

'Irene.'

'What more?'

'I don't know what more. What more is my name, Lootie?'

'Princesses haven't got more than one name. They don't want it.'

'Oh, then, Curdie, you must call me just Irene and no more.'

'No, indeed,' said the nurse indignantly. 'He shall do no such thing.'

'What shall he call me, then, Lootie?'

'Your Royal Highness.'

'My Royal Highness! What's that? No, no,Lootie. I won't be called names. I don't like them. You told me onceyourself it's only rude children that call names; and I'm sure Curdiewouldn't be rude. Curdie, my name's Irene.'

'Well, Irene,' said Curdie, with a glance at the nurse which showed heenjoyed teasing her; 'it is very kind of you to let me call youanything. I like your name very much.'

He expected the nurse to interfere again; but he soon saw that she wastoo frightened to speak. She was staring at something a few yardsbefore them in the middle of the path, where it narrowed between rocksso that only one could pass at a time.

'It is very much kinder of you to go out of your way to take us home,'said Irene.

'I'm not going out of my way yet,' said Curdie. 'It's on the otherside of those rocks the path turns off to my father's.'

'You wouldn't think of leaving us till we're safe home, I'm sure,'gasped the nurse.

'Of course not,' said Curdie.

'You dear, good, kind Curdie! I'll give you a kiss when we get home,'said the princess.

The nurse gave her a great pull by the hand she held. But at thatinstant the something in the middle of the way, which had looked like agreat lump of earth brought down by the rain, began to move. One afteranother it shot out four long things, like two arms and two legs, butit was now too dark to tell what they were. The nurse began to tremblefrom head to foot. Irene clasped Curdie's hand yet faster, and Curdiebegan to sing again:

'One, two—
Hit and hew!
Three, four—
Blast and bore!
Five, six—
There's a fix!
Seven, eight—
Hold it straight!
Nine, ten—
Hit again!
Hurry! scurry!
Bother! smother!
There's a toad
In the road!
Smash it!
Squash it!
Fry it!
Dry it!
You're another!
Up and off!
There's enough!—
Huuuuuh!'

As he uttered the last words, Curdie let go his hold of his companion,and rushed at the thing in the road as if he would trample it under hisfeet. It gave a great spring, and ran straight up one of the rockslike a huge spider. Curdie turned back laughing, and took Irene's handagain. She grasped his very tight, but said nothing till they hadpassed the rocks. A few yards more and she found herself on a part ofthe road she knew, and was able to speak again.

'Do you know, Curdie, I don't quite like your song: it sounds to merather rude,' she said.

'Well, perhaps it is,' answered Curdie. 'I never thought of that; it'sa way we have. We do it because they don't like it.'

'Who don't like it?'

'The cobs, as we call them.'

'Don't!' said the nurse.

'Why not?' said Curdie.

'I beg you won't. Please don't.'

'Oh! if you ask me that way, of course, I won't; though I don't a bitknow why. Look! there are the lights of your great house down below.You'll be at home in five minutes now.'

Nothing more happened. They reached home in safety. Nobody had missedthem, or even known they had gone out; and they arrived at the doorbelonging to their part of the house without anyone seeing them. Thenurse was rushing in with a hurried and not over-gracious good night toCurdie; but the princess pulled her hand from hers, and was justthrowing her arms round Curdie's neck, when she caught her again anddragged her away.

'Lootie! Lootie! I promised a kiss,' cried Irene.

'A princess mustn't give kisses. It's not at all proper,' said Lootie.

'But I promised,' said the princess.

'There's no occasion; he's only a miner-boy.'

'He's a good boy, and a brave boy, and he has been very kind to us.Lootie! Lootie! I promised.'

'Then you shouldn't have promised.'

'Lootie, I promised him a kiss.'

'Your Royal Highness,' said Lootie, suddenly grown very respectful,'must come in directly.'

'Nurse, a princess must not break her word,' said Irene, drawingherself up and standing stock-still.

Lootie did not know which the king might count the worst—to let theprincess be out after sunset, or to let her kiss a miner-boy. She didnot know that, being a gentleman, as many kings have been, he wouldhave counted neither of them the worse. However much he might havedisliked his daughter to kiss the miner-boy, he would not have had herbreak her word for all the goblins in creation. But, as I say, thenurse was not lady enough to understand this, and so she was in a greatdifficulty, for, if she insisted, someone might hear the princess cryand run to see, and then all would come out. But here Curdie cameagain to the rescue.

'Never mind, Princess Irene,' he said. 'You mustn't kiss me tonight.But you shan't break your word. I will come another time. You may besure I will.'

'Oh, thank you, Curdie!' said the princess, and stopped crying.

'Good night, Irene; good night, Lootie,' said Curdie, and turned andwas out of sight in a moment.

'I should like to see him!' muttered the nurse, as she carried theprincess to the nursery.

'You will see him,' said Irene. 'You may be sure Curdie will keep hisword. He's sure to come again.'

'I should like to see him!' repeated the nurse, and said no more. Shedid not want to open a new cause of strife with the princess by sayingmore plainly what she meant. Glad enough that she had succeeded bothin getting home unseen, and in keeping the princess from kissing theminer's boy, she resolved to watch her far better in future. Hercarelessness had already doubled the danger she was in. Formerly thegoblins were her only fear; now she had to protect her charge fromCurdie as well.

CHAPTER 7

The Mines

Curdie went home whistling. He resolved to say nothing about theprincess for fear of getting the nurse into trouble, for while heenjoyed teasing her because of her absurdity, he was careful not to doher any harm. He saw no more of the goblins, and was soon fast asleepin his bed.

He woke in the middle of the night, and thought he heard curious noisesoutside. He sat up and listened; then got up, and, opening the doorvery quietly, went out. When he peeped round the corner, he saw, underhis own window, a group of stumpy creatures, whom he at once recognizedby their shape. Hardly, however, had he begun his 'One, two, three!'when they broke asunder, scurried away, and were out of sight. Hereturned laughing, got into bed again, and was fast asleep in a moment.

Reflecting a little over the matter in the morning, he came to theconclusion that, as nothing of the kind had ever happened before, theymust be annoyed with him for interfering to protect the princess. Bythe time he was dressed, however, he was thinking of something quitedifferent, for he did not value the enmity of the goblins in the least.As soon as they had had breakfast, he set off with his father for themine.

They entered the hill by a natural opening under a huge rock, where alittle stream rushed out. They followed its course for a few yards,when the passage took a turn, and sloped steeply into the heart of thehill. With many angles and windings and branchings-off, and sometimeswith steps where it came upon a natural gulf, it led them deep into thehill before they arrived at the place where they were at presentdigging out the precious ore. This was of various kinds, for themountain was very rich in the better sorts of metals. With flint andsteel, and tinder-box, they lighted their lamps, then fixed them ontheir heads, and were soon hard at work with their pickaxes and shovelsand hammers. Father and son were at work near each other, but not inthe same gang—the passages out of which the ore was dug, they calledgangs—for when the lode, or vein of ore, was small, one miner wouldhave to dig away alone in a passage no bigger than gave him just roomto work—sometimes in uncomfortable cramped positions. If they stoppedfor a moment they could hear everywhere around them, some nearer, somefarther off, the sounds of their companions burrowing away in alldirections in the inside of the great mountain—some boring holes inthe rock in order to blow it up with gunpowder, others shovelling thebroken ore into baskets to be carried to the mouth of the mine, othershitting away with their pickaxes. Sometimes, if the miner was in a verylonely part, he would hear only a tap-tapping, no louder than that of awoodpecker, for the sound would come from a great distance off throughthe solid mountain rock.

The work was hard at best, for it is very warm underground; but it wasnot particularly unpleasant, and some of the miners, when they wantedto earn a little more money for a particular purpose, would stop behindthe rest and work all night. But you could not tell night from daydown there, except from feeling tired and sleepy; for no light of thesun ever came into those gloomy regions. Some who had thus remainedbehind during the night, although certain there were none of theircompanions at work, would declare the next morning that they heard,every time they halted for a moment to take breath, a tap-tapping allabout them, as if the mountain were then more full of miners than everit was during the day; and some in consequence would never stayovernight, for all knew those were the sounds of the goblins. Theyworked only at night, for the miners' night was the goblins' day.Indeed, the greater number of the miners were afraid of the goblins;for there were strange stories well known amongst them of the treatmentsome had received whom the goblins had surprised at their work duringthe night. The more courageous of them, however, amongst them PeterPeterson and Curdie, who in this took after his father, had stayed inthe mine all night again and again, and although they had several timesencountered a few stray goblins, had never yet failed in driving themaway. As I have indicated already, the chief defence against them wasverse, for they hated verse of every kind, and some kinds they couldnot endure at all. I suspect they could not make any themselves, andthat was why they disliked it so much. At all events, those who weremost afraid of them were those who could neither make verses themselvesnor remember the verses that other people made for them; while thosewho were never afraid were those who could make verses for themselves;for although there were certain old rhymes which were very effectual,yet it was well known that a new rhyme, if of the right sort, was evenmore distasteful to them, and therefore more effectual in putting themto flight.

Perhaps my readers may be wondering what the goblins could be about,working all night long, seeing they never carried up the ore and soldit; but when I have informed them concerning what Curdie learned thevery next night, they will be able to understand.

For Curdie had determined, if his father would permit him, to remainthere alone this night—and that for two reasons: first, he wanted toget extra wages that he might buy a very warm red petticoat for hismother, who had begun to complain of the cold of the mountain airsooner than usual this autumn; and second, he had just a faint hope offinding out what the goblins were about under his window the nightbefore.

When he told his father, he made no objection, for he had greatconfidence in his boy's courage and resources.

'I'm sorry I can't stay with you,' said Peter; 'but I want to go andpay the parson a visit this evening, and besides I've had a bit of aheadache all day.'

'I'm sorry for that, father,' said Curdie.

'Oh, it's not much. You'll be sure to take care of yourself, won'tyou?'

'Yes, father; I will. I'll keep a sharp look-out, I promise you.'Curdie was the only one who remained in the mine. About six o'clockthe rest went away, everyone bidding him good night, and telling him totake care of himself; for he was a great favourite with them all.

'Don't forget your rhymes,' said one.

'No, no,' answered Curdie.

'It's no matter if he does,' said another, 'for he'll only have to makea new one.'

'Yes: but he mightn't be able to make it fast enough,' said another;'and while it was cooking in his head, they might take a mean advantageand set upon him.'

'I'll do my best,' said Curdie. 'I'm not afraid.'

'We all know that,'they returned, and left him.

CHAPTER 8

The Goblins

For some time Curdie worked away briskly, throwing all the ore he haddisengaged on one side behind him, to be ready for carrying out in themorning. He heard a good deal of goblin-tapping, but it all soundedfar away in the hill, and he paid it little heed. Towards midnight hebegan to feel rather hungry; so he dropped his pickaxe, got out a lumpof bread which in the morning he had laid in a damp hole in the rock,sat down on a heap of ore, and ate his supper. Then he leaned back forfive minutes' rest before beginning his work again, and laid his headagainst the rock. He had not kept the position for one minute beforehe heard something which made him sharpen his ears. It sounded like avoice inside the rock. After a while he heard it again. It was agoblin voice—there could be no doubt about that—and this time hecould make out the words.

'Hadn't we better be moving?' it said.

A rougher and deeper voice replied:

'There's no hurry. That wretched little mole won't be through tonight,if he work ever so hard. He's not by any means at the thinnest place.'

'But you still think the lode does come through into our house?' saidthe first voice.

'Yes, but a good bit farther on than he has got to yet. If he hadstruck a stroke more to the side just here,' said the goblin, tappingthe very stone, as it seemed to Curdie, against which his head lay, 'hewould have been through; but he's a couple of yards past it now, and ifhe follow the lode it will be a week before it leads him in. You seeit back there—a long way. Still, perhaps, in case of accident itwould be as well to be getting out of this. Helfer, you'll take thegreat chest. That's your business, you know.'

'Yes, dad,' said a third voice. 'But you must help me to get it on myback. It's awfully heavy, you know.'

'Well, it isn't just a bag of smoke, I admit. But you're as strong asa mountain, Helfer.'

'You say so, dad. I think myself I'm all right. But I could carry tentimes as much if it wasn't for my feet.'

'That is your weak point, I confess, my boy.'

'Ain't it yours too, father?'

'Well, to be honest, it's a goblin weakness. Why they come so soft, Ideclare I haven't an idea.'

'Specially when your head's so hard, you know, father.'

'Yes my boy. The goblin's glory is his head. To think how the fellowsup above there have to put on helmets and things when they go fighting!Ha! ha!'

'But why don't we wear shoes like them, father? I should likeit—especially when I've got a chest like that on my head.'

'Well, you see, it's not the fashion. The king never wears shoes.'

'The queen does.'

'Yes; but that's for distinction. The first queen, you see—I mean theking's first wife—wore shoes, of course, because she came fromupstairs; and so, when she died, the next queen would not be inferiorto her as she called it, and would wear shoes too. It was all pride.She is the hardest in forbidding them to the rest of the women.'

'I'm sure I wouldn't wear them—no, not for—that I wouldn't!' said thefirst voice, which was evidently that of the mother of the family. 'Ican't think why either of them should.'

'Didn't I tell you the first was from upstairs?' said the other. 'Thatwas the only silly thing I ever knew His Majesty guilty of. Why shouldhe marry an outlandish woman like that-one of our natural enemies too?'

'I suppose he fell in love with her.'

'Pooh! pooh! He's just as happy now with one of his own people.'

'Did she die very soon? They didn't tease her to death, did they?'

'Oh, dear, no! The king worshipped her very footmarks.'

'What made her die, then? Didn't the air agree with her?'

'She died when the young prince was born.'

'How silly of her! We never do that. It must have been because shewore shoes.'

'I don't know that.'

'Why do they wear shoes up there?'

'Ah, now that's a sensible question, and I will answer it. But inorder to do so, I must first tell you a secret. I once saw the queen'sfeet.'

'Without her shoes?'

'Yes—without her shoes.'

'No! Did you? How was it?'

'Never you mind how it was. She didn't know I saw them. And what doyou think!—they had toes!'

'Toes! What's that?'

'You may well ask! I should never have known if I had not seen thequeen's feet. Just imagine! the ends of her feet were split up intofive or six thin pieces!'

'Oh, horrid! How could the king have fallen in love with her?'

'You forget that she wore shoes. That is just why she wore them. Thatis why all the men, and women too, upstairs wear shoes. They can'tbear the sight of their own feet without them.'

'Ah! now I understand. If ever you wish for shoes again, Helfer, I'llhit your feet—I will.'

'No, no, mother; pray don't.'

'Then don't you.'

'But with such a big box on my head—'

A horrid scream followed, which Curdie interpreted as in reply to ablow from his mother upon the feet of her eldest goblin.

'Well, I never knew so much before!' remarked a fourth voice.

'Your knowledge is not universal quite yet,' said the father. 'Youwere only fifty last month. Mind you see to the bed and bedding. Assoon as we've finished our supper, we'll be up and going. Ha! ha! ha!'

'What are you laughing at, husband?'

'I'm laughing to think what a mess the miners will find themselvesin—somewhere before this day ten years.'

'Why, what do you mean?'

'Oh, nothing.'

'Oh, yes, you do mean something. You always do mean something.'

'It's more than you do, then, wife.' 'That may be; but it's not morethan I find out, you know.'

'Ha! ha! You're a sharp one. What a mother you've got, Helfer!'

'Yes, father.'

'Well, I suppose I must tell you. They're all at the palace consultingabout it tonight; and as soon as we've got away from this thin placeI'm going there to hear what night they fix upon. I should like to seethat young ruffian there on the other side, struggling in the agoniesof—'

He dropped his voice so low that Curdie could hear only a growl. Thegrowl went on in the low bass for a good while, as inarticulate as ifthe goblin's tongue had been a sausage; and it was not until his wifespoke again that it rose to its former pitch.

'But what shall we do when you are at the palace?' she asked.

'I will see you safe in the new house I've been digging for you for thelast two months. Podge, you mind the table and chairs. I commit themto your care. The table has seven legs—each chair three. I shallrequire them all at your hands.'

After this arose a confused conversation about the various householdgoods and their transport; and Curdie heard nothing more that was ofany importance.

He now knew at least one of the reasons for the constant sound of thegoblin hammers and pickaxes at night. They were making new houses forthemselves, to which they might retreat when the miners should threatento break into their dwellings. But he had learned two things of fargreater importance. The first was, that some grievous calamity waspreparing, and almost ready to fall upon the heads of the miners; thesecond was—the one weak point of a goblin's body; he had not knownthat their feet were so tender as he had now reason to suspect. He hadheard it said that they had no toes: he had never had opportunity ofinspecting them closely enough, in the dusk in which they alwaysappeared, to satisfy himself whether it was a correct report. Indeed,he had not been able even to satisfy himself as to whether they had nofingers, although that also was commonly said to be the fact. One ofthe miners, indeed, who had had more schooling than the rest, was wontto argue that such must have been the primordial condition of humanity,and that education and handicraft had developed both toes andfingers—with which proposition Curdie had once heard his fathersarcastically agree, alleging in support of it the probability thatbabies' gloves were a traditional remnant of the old state of things;while the stockings of all ages, no regard being paid in them to thetoes, pointed in the same direction. But what was of importance wasthe fact concerning the softness of the goblin feet, which he foresawmight be useful to all miners. What he had to do in the meantime,however, was to discover, if possible, the special evil design thegoblins had now in their heads.

Although he knew all the gangs and all the natural galleries with whichthey communicated in the mined part of the mountain, he had not theleast idea where the palace of the king of the gnomes was; otherwise hewould have set out at once on the enterprise of discovering what thesaid design was. He judged, and rightly, that it must lie in a fartherpart of the mountain, between which and the mine there was as yet nocommunication. There must be one nearly completed, however; for itcould be but a thin partition which now separated them. If only hecould get through in time to follow the goblins as they retreated! Afew blows would doubtless be sufficient—just where his ear now lay;but if he attempted to strike there with his pickaxe, he would onlyhasten the departure of the family, put them on their guard, andperhaps lose their involuntary guidance. He therefore began to feelthe wall with his hands, and soon found that some of the stones wereloose enough to be drawn out with little noise.

Laying hold of a large one with both his hands, he drew it gently out,and let it down softly.

'What was that noise?' said the goblin father.

Curdie blew out his light, lest it should shine through.

'It must be that one miner that stayed behind the rest,' said themother.

'No; he's been gone a good while. I haven't heard a blow for an hour.Besides, it wasn't like that.'

'Then I suppose it must have been a stone carried down the brookinside.'

'Perhaps. It will have more room by and by.'

Curdie kept quite still. After a little while, hearing nothing but thesounds of their preparations for departure, mingled with an occasionalword of direction, and anxious to know whether the removal of the stonehad made an opening into the goblins' house, he put in his hand tofeel. It went in a good way, and then came in contact with somethingsoft. He had but a moment to feel it over, it was so quicklywithdrawn: it was one of the toeless goblin feet. The owner of it gavea cry of fright.

'What's the matter, Helfer?' asked his mother.

'A beast came out of the wall and licked my foot.'

'Nonsense! There are no wild beasts in our country,' said his father.

'But it was, father. I felt it.'

'Nonsense, I say. Will you malign your native realms and reduce themto a level with the country upstairs? That is swarming with wildbeasts of every description.'

'But I did feel it, father.'

'I tell you to hold your tongue. You are no patriot.'

Curdie suppressed his laughter, and lay still as a mouse—but nostiller, for every moment he kept nibbling away with his fingers at theedges of the hole. He was slowly making it bigger, for here the rockhad been very much shattered with the blasting.

There seemed to be a good many in the family, to judge from the mass ofconfused talk which now and then came through the hole; but when allwere speaking together, and just as if they had bottle-brushes—each atleast one—in their throats, it was not easy to make out much that wassaid. At length he heard once more what the father goblin was saying.

'Now, then,' he said, 'get your bundles on your backs. Here, Helfer,I'll help you up with your chest.'

'I wish it was my chest, father.'

'Your turn will come in good time enough! Make haste. I must go tothe meeting at the palace tonight. When that's over, we can come backand clear out the last of the things before our enemies return in themorning. Now light your torches, and come along. What a distinction itis, to provide our own light, instead of being dependent on a thinghung up in the air—a most disagreeable contrivance—intended no doubtto blind us when we venture out under its baleful influence! Quiteglaring and vulgar, I call it, though no doubt useful to poor creatureswho haven't the wit to make light for themselves.'

Curdie could hardly keep himself from calling through to know whetherthey made the fire to light their torches by. But a moment'sreflection showed him that they would have said they did, inasmuch asthey struck two stones together, and the fire came.

CHAPTER 9

The Hall of the Goblin Palace

A sound of many soft feet followed, but soon ceased. Then Curdie flewat the hole like a tiger, and tore and pulled. The sides gave way, andit was soon large enough for him to crawl through. He would not betrayhimself by rekindling his lamp, but the torches of the retreatingcompany, which he found departing in a straight line up a long avenuefrom the door of their cave, threw back light enough to afford him aglance round the deserted home of the goblins. To his surprise, hecould discover nothing to distinguish it from an ordinary natural cavein the rock, upon many of which he had come with the rest of the minersin the progress of their excavations. The goblins had talked of comingback for the rest of their household gear: he saw nothing that wouldhave made him suspect a family had taken shelter there for a singlenight. The floor was rough and stony; the walls full of projectingcorners; the roof in one place twenty feet high, in another endangeringhis forehead; while on one side a stream, no thicker than a needle, itis true, but still sufficient to spread a wide dampness over the wall,flowed down the face of the rock. But the troop in front of him wastoiling under heavy burdens. He could distinguish Helfer now and then,in the flickering light and shade, with his heavy chest on his bendingshoulders; while the second brother was almost buried in what lookedlike a great feather bed. 'Where do they get the feathers?' thoughtCurdie; but in a moment the troop disappeared at a turn of the way, andit was now both safe and necessary for Curdie to follow them, lest theyshould be round the next turning before he saw them again, for so hemight lose them altogether. He darted after them like a greyhound.When he reached the corner and looked cautiously round, he saw themagain at some distance down another long passage. None of thegalleries he saw that night bore signs of the work of man—or of goblineither. Stalactites, far older than the mines, hung from their roofs;and their floors were rough with boulders and large round stones,showing that there water must have once run. He waited again at thiscorner till they had disappeared round the next, and so followed them along way through one passage after another. The passages grew more andmore lofty, and were more and more covered in the roof with shiningstalactites.

It was a strange enough procession which he followed. But thestrangest part of it was the household animals which crowded amongstthe feet of the goblins. It was true they had no wild animals downthere—at least they did not know of any; but they had a wonderfulnumber of tame ones. I must, however, reserve any contributionstowards the natural history of these for a later position in my story.

At length, turning a corner too abruptly, he had almost rushed into themiddle of the goblin family; for there they had already set down alltheir burdens on the floor of a cave considerably larger than thatwhich they had left. They were as yet too breathless to speak, else hewould have had warning of their arrest. He started back, however,before anyone saw him, and retreating a good way, stood watching tillthe father should come out to go to the palace.

Before very long, both he and his son Helfer appeared and kept on inthe same direction as before, while Curdie followed them again withrenewed precaution. For a long time he heard no sound except somethinglike the rush of a river inside the rock; but at length what seemed thefar-off noise of a great shouting reached his ears, which, however,presently ceased. After advancing a good way farther, he thought heheard a single voice. It sounded clearer and clearer as he went on,until at last he could almost distinguish the words. In a moment ortwo, keeping after the goblins round another corner, he once morestarted back—this time in amazement.

He was at the entrance of a magnificent cavern, of an oval shape, onceprobably a huge natural reservoir of water, now the great palace hallof the goblins. It rose to a tremendous height, but the roof wascomposed of such shining materials, and the multitude of torchescarried by the goblins who crowded the floor lighted up the place sobrilliantly, that Curdie could see to the top quite well. But he hadno idea how immense the place was until his eyes had got accustomed toit, which was not for a good many minutes. The rough projections on thewalls, and the shadows thrown upwards from them by the torches, madethe sides of the chamber look as if they were crowded with statues uponbrackets and pedestals, reaching in irregular tiers from floor to roof.The walls themselves were, in many parts, of gloriously shiningsubstances, some of them gorgeously coloured besides, which powerfullycontrasted with the shadows. Curdie could not help wondering whetherhis rhymes would be of any use against such a multitude of goblins asfilled the floor of the hall, and indeed felt considerably tempted tobegin his shout of 'One, two, three!', but as there was no reason forrouting them and much for endeavouring to discover their designs, hekept himself perfectly quiet, and peering round the edge of thedoorway, listened with both his sharp ears.

At the other end of the hall, high above the heads of the multitude,was a terrace-like ledge of considerable height, caused by the recedingof the upper part of the cavern-wall. Upon this sat the king and hiscourt: the king on a throne hollowed out of a huge block of greencopper ore, and his court upon lower seats around it. The king hadbeen making them a speech, and the applause which followed it was whatCurdie had heard. One of the court was now addressing the multitude.What he heard him say was to the following effect: 'Hence it appearsthat two plans have been for some time together working in the stronghead of His Majesty for the deliverance of his people. Regardless ofthe fact that we were the first possessors of the regions they nowinhabit; regardless equally of the fact that we abandoned that regionfrom the loftiest motives; regardless also of the self-evident factthat we excel them so far in mental ability as they excel us instature, they look upon us as a degraded race and make a mockery of allour finer feelings. But, the time has almost arrived when—thanks toHis Majesty's inventive genius—it will be in our power to take athorough revenge upon them once for all, in respect of their unfriendlybehaviour.'

'May it please Your Majesty—' cried a voice close by the door, whichCurdie recognized as that of the goblin he had followed.

'Who is he that interrupts the Chancellor?' cried another from near thethrone.

'Glump,' answered several voices.

'He is our trusty subject,' said the king himself, in a slow andstately voice: 'let him come forward and speak.'

A lane was parted through the crowd, and Glump, having ascended theplatform and bowed to the king, spoke as follows:

'Sire, I would have held my peace, had I not known that I only knew hownear was the moment, to which the Chancellor had just referred.

In all probability, before another day is past, the enemy will havebroken through into my house—the partition between being even now notmore than a foot in thickness.'

'Not quite so much,' thought Curdie to himself.

'This very evening I have had to remove my household effects; thereforethe sooner we are ready to carry out the plan, for the execution ofwhich His Majesty has been making such magnificent preparations, thebetter. I may just add, that within the last few days I have perceiveda small outbreak in my dining-room, which, combined with observationsupon the course of the river escaping where the evil men enter, hasconvinced me that close to the spot must be a deep gulf in its channel.This discovery will, I trust, add considerably to the otherwise immenseforces at His Majesty's disposal.'

He ceased, and the king graciously acknowledged his speech with a bendof his head; whereupon Glump, after a bow to His Majesty, slid downamongst the rest of the undistinguished multitude. Then the Chancellorrose and resumed.

'The information which the worthy Glump has given us,' he said, 'mighthave been of considerable import at the present moment, but for thatother design already referred to, which naturally takes precedence.His Majesty, unwilling to proceed to extremities, and well aware thatsuch measures sooner or later result in violent reactions, hasexcogitated a more fundamental and comprehensive measure, of which Ineed say no more. Should His Majesty be successful—as who dares todoubt?—then a peace, all to the advantage of the goblin kingdom, willbe established for a generation at least, rendered absolutely secure bythe pledge which His Royal Highness the prince will have and hold forthe good behaviour of her relatives. Should His Majesty fail—whichwho shall dare even to imagine in his most secret thoughts?—then willbe the time for carrying out with rigour the design to which Glumpreferred, and for which our preparations are even now all butcompleted. The failure of the former will render the latterimperative.'

Curdie, perceiving that the assembly was drawing to a close and thatthere was little chance of either plan being more fully discovered, nowthought it prudent to make his escape before the goblins began todisperse, and slipped quietly away.

There was not much danger of meeting any goblins, for all the men atleast were left behind him in the palace; but there was considerabledanger of his taking a wrong turning, for he had now no light, and hadtherefore to depend upon his memory and his hands. After he had leftbehind him the glow that issued from the door of Glump's new abode, hewas utterly without guide, so far as his eyes were concerned.

He was most anxious to get back through the hole before the goblinsshould return to fetch the remains of their furniture. It was not thathe was in the least afraid of them, but, as it was of the utmostimportance that he should thoroughly discover what the plans they werecherishing were, he must not occasion the slightest suspicion that theywere watched by a miner.

He hurried on, feeling his way along the walls of rock. Had he notbeen very courageous, he must have been very anxious, for he could notbut know that if he lost his way it would be the most difficult thingin the world to find it again. Morning would bring no light into theseregions; and towards him least of all, who was known as a specialrhymester and persecutor, could goblins be expected to exercisecourtesy. Well might he wish that he had brought his lamp andtinder-box with him, of which he had not thought when he crept soeagerly after the goblins! He wished it all the more when, after awhile, he found his way blocked up, and could get no farther. It wasof no use to turn back, for he had not the least idea where he hadbegun to go wrong. Mechanically, however, he kept feeling about thewalls that hemmed him in. His hand came upon a place where a tinystream of water was running down the face of the rock. 'What a stupidI am!' he said to himself. 'I am actually at the end of my journey!And there are the goblins coming back to fetch their things!' he added,as the red glimmer of their torches appeared at the end of the longavenue that led up to the cave. In a moment he had thrown himself onthe floor, and wriggled backwards through the hole. The floor on theother side was several feet lower, which made it easier to get back.It was all he could do to lift the largest stone he had taken out ofthe hole, but he did manage to shove it in again. He sat down on theore-heap and thought.

He was pretty sure that the latter plan of the goblins was to inundatethe mine by breaking outlets for the water accumulated in the naturalreservoirs of the mountain, as well as running through portions of it.While the part hollowed by the miners remained shut off from thatinhabited by the goblins, they had had no opportunity of injuring themthus; but now that a passage was broken through, and the goblins' partproved the higher in the mountain, it was clear to Curdie that the minecould be destroyed in an hour. Water was always the chief danger towhich the miners were exposed. They met with a little choke-dampsometimes, but never with the explosive firedamp so common incoal-mines. Hence they were careful as soon as they saw any appearanceof water. As the result of his reflections while the goblins were busyin their old home, it seemed to Curdie that it would be best to buildup the whole of this gang, filling it with stone, and clay or lie, sothat there should be no smallest channel for the water to get into.There was not, however, any immediate danger, for the execution of thegoblins' plan was contingent upon the failure of that unknown designwhich was to take precedence of it; and he was most anxious to keep thedoor of communication open, that he might if possible discover what theformer plan was. At the same time they could not resume theirintermitted labours for the inundation without his finding it out; whenby putting all hands to the work, the one existing outlet might in asingle night be rendered impenetrable to any weight of water; for byfilling the gang entirely up, their embankment would be buttressed bythe sides of the mountain itself.

As soon as he found that the goblins had again retired, he lighted hislamp, and proceeded to fill the hole he had made with such stones as hecould withdraw when he pleased. He then thought it better, as he mighthave occasion to be up a good many nights after this, to go home andhave some sleep.

How pleasant the night air felt upon the outside of the mountain afterwhat he had gone through in the inside of it! He hurried up the hillwithout meeting a single goblin on the way, and called and tapped atthe window until he woke his father, who soon rose and let him in. Hetold him the whole story; and, just as he had expected, his fatherthought it best to work that lode no farther, but at the same time topretend occasionally to be at work there still in order that thegoblins might have no suspicions. Both father and son then went to bedand slept soundly until the morning.

CHAPTER 10

The Princess's King-Papa

The weather continued fine for weeks, and the little princess went outevery day. So long a period of fine weather had indeed never beenknown upon that mountain. The only uncomfortable thing was that hernurse was so nervous and particular about being in before the sun wasdown that often she would take to her heels when nothing worse than afleecy cloud crossing the sun threw a shadow on the hillside; and manyan evening they were home a full hour before the sunlight had left theweather-cock on the stables. If it had not been for such odd behaviourIrene would by this time have almost forgotten the goblins. She neverforgot Curdie, but him she remembered for his own sake, and indeedwould have remembered him if only because a princess never forgets herdebts until they are paid.

One splendid sunshiny day, about an hour after noon, Irene, who wasplaying on a lawn in the garden, heard the distant blast of a bugle.She jumped up with a cry of joy, for she knew by that particular blastthat her father was on his way to see her. This part of the garden layon the slope of the hill and allowed a full view of the country below.So she shaded her eyes with her hand and looked far away to catch thefirst glimpse of shining armour. In a few moments a little troop cameglittering round the shoulder of a hill. Spears and helmets weresparkling and gleaming, banners were flying, horses prancing, and againcame the bugle-blast which was to her like the voice of her fathercalling across the distance: 'Irene, I'm coming.'

On and on they came until she could clearly distinguish the king. Herode a white horse and was taller than any of the men with him. He worea narrow circle of gold set with jewels around his helmet, and as hecame still nearer Irene could discern the flashing of the stones in thesun. It was a long time since he had been to see her, and her littleheart beat faster and faster as the shining troop approached, for sheloved her king-papa very dearly and was nowhere so happy as in hisarms. When they reached a certain point, after which she could seethem no more from the garden, she ran to the gate, and there stood tillup they came, clanging and stamping, with one more bright bugle-blastwhich said: 'Irene, I am come.'

By this time the people of the house were all gathered at the gate, butIrene stood alone in front of them. When the horsemen pulled up sheran to the side of the white horse and held up her arms. The kingstopped and took her hands. In an instant she was on the saddle andclasped in his great strong arms.

I wish I could describe the king so that you could see him in yourmind. He had gentle, blue eyes, but a nose that made him look like aneagle. A long dark beard, streaked with silvery lines, flowed from hismouth almost to his waist, and as Irene sat on the saddle and hid herglad face upon his bosom it mingled with the golden hair which hermother had given her, and the two together were like a cloud withstreaks of the sun woven through it. After he had held her to hisheart for a minute he spoke to his white horse, and the great beautifulcreature, which had been prancing so proudly a little while before,walked as gently as a lady—for he knew he had a little lady on hisback—through the gate and up to the door of the house. Then the kingset her on the ground and, dismounting, took her hand and walked withher into the great hall, which was hardly ever entered except when hecame to see his little princess. There he sat down, with two of hiscounsellors who had accompanied him, to have some refreshment, andIrene sat on his right hand and drank her milk out of a wooden bowlcuriously carved.

After the king had eaten and drunk he turned to the princess and said,stroking her hair:

'Now, my child, what shall we do next?'

This was the question he almost always put to her first after theirmeal together; and Irene had been waiting for it with some impatience,for now, she thought, she should be able to settle a question whichconstantly perplexed her.

'I should like you to take me to see my great old grandmother.'

The king looked grave And said:

'What does my little daughter mean?'

'I mean the Queen Irene that lives up in the tower—the very old lady,you know, with the long hair of silver.'

The king only gazed at his little princess with a look which she couldnot understand.

'She's got her crown in her bedroom,' she went on; 'but I've not beenin there yet. You know she's there, don't you?'

'No,' said the king, very quietly.

'Then it must all be a dream,' said Irene. 'I half thought it was; butI couldn't be sure. Now I am sure of it. Besides, I couldn't find herthe next time I went up.'

At that moment a snow-white pigeon flew in at an open window andsettled upon Irene's head. She broke into a merry laugh, cowered alittle, and put up her hands to her head, saying:

'Dear dovey, don't peck me. You'll pull out my hair with your longclaws if you don't mind.'

The king stretched out his hand to take the pigeon, but it spread itswings and flew again through the open window, when its Whiteness madeone flash in the sun and vanished. The king laid his hand on hisprincess's head, held it back a little, gazed in her face, smiled halfa smile, and sighed half a sigh.

'Come, my child; we'll have a walk in the garden together,' he said.

'You won't come up and see my huge, great, beautiful grandmother, then,king-papa?' said the princess.

'Not this time,' said the king very gently. 'She has not invited me,you know, and great old ladies like her do not choose to be visitedwithout leave asked and given.'

The garden was a very lovely place. Being upon a Mountainside therewere parts in it where the rocks came through in great masses, and allimmediately about them remained quite wild. Tufts of heather grew uponthem, and other hardy mountain plants and flowers, while near themwould be lovely roses and lilies and all pleasant garden flowers. Thismingling of the wild mountain with the civilized garden was veryquaint, and it was impossible for any number of gardeners to make sucha garden look formal and stiff.

Against one of these rocks was a garden seat, shadowed from theafternoon sun by the overhanging of the rock itself. There was alittle winding path up to the top of the rock, and on top another seat;but they sat on the seat at its foot because the sun was hot; and therethey talked together of many things. At length the king said:

'You were out late one evening, Irene.'

'Yes, papa. It was my fault; and Lootie was very sorry.'

'I must talk to Lootie about it,' said the king.

'Don't speak loud to her, please, papa,' said Irene. 'She's been soafraid of being late ever since! Indeed she has not been naughty. Itwas only a mistake for once.'

'Once might be too often,' murmured the king to himself, as he strokedhis child's head.

I can't tell you how he had come to know. I am sure Curdie had nottold him. Someone about the palace must have seen them, after all.

He sat for a good while thinking. There was no sound to be heardexcept that of a little stream which ran merrily out of an opening inthe rock by where they sat, and sped away down the hill through thegarden. Then he rose and, leaving Irene where she was, went into thehouse and sent for Lootie, with whom he had a talk that made her cry.

When in the evening he rode away upon his great white horse, he leftsix of his attendants behind him, with orders that three of them shouldwatch outside the house every night, walking round and round it fromsunset to sunrise. It was clear he was not quite comfortable about theprincess.

CHAPTER 11

The Old Lady's Bedroom

Nothing more happened worth telling for some time. The autumn came andwent by. There were no more flowers in the garden. The wind blewstrong, and howled among the rocks. The rain fell, and drenched thefew yellow and red leaves that could not get off the bare branches.Again and again there would be a glorious morning followed by a pouringafternoon, and sometimes, for a week together, there would be rain,nothing but rain, all day, and then the most lovely cloudless night,with the sky all out in full-blown stars—not one missing. But theprincess could not see much of them, for she went to bed early. Thewinter drew on, and she found things growing dreary. When it was toostormy to go out, and she had got tired of her toys, Lootie would takeher about the house, sometimes to the housekeeper's room, where thehousekeeper, who was a good, kind old woman, made much ofher—sometimes to the servants' hall or the kitchen, where she was notprincess merely, but absolute queen, and ran a great risk of beingspoiled. Sometimes she would run off herself to the room where themen-at-arms whom the king had left sat, and they showed her their armsand accoutrements and did what they could to amuse her. Still at timesshe found it very dreary, and often and often wished that her hugegreat grandmother had not been a dream.

One morning the nurse left her with the housekeeper for a while. Toamuse her she turned out the contents of an old cabinet upon the table.The little princess found her treasures, queer ancient ornaments, andmany things the use of which she could not imagine, far moreinteresting than her own toys, and sat playing with them for two hoursor more. But, at length, in handling a curious old-fashioned brooch,she ran the pin of it into her thumb, and gave a little scream with thesharpness of the pain, but would have thought little more of it had notthe pain increased and her thumb begun to swell. This alarmed thehousekeeper greatly. The nurse was fetched; the doctor was sent for;her hand was poulticed, and long before her usual time she was put tobed. The pain still continued, and although she fell asleep anddreamed a good many dreams, there was the pain always in every dream.At last it woke her up.

The moon was shining brightly into the room. The poultice had fallenoff her hand and it was burning hot. She fancied if she could hold itinto the moonlight that would cool it. So she got out of bed, withoutwaking the nurse who lay at the other end of the room, and went to thewindow. When she looked out she saw one of the men-at-arms walking inthe garden with the moonlight glancing on his armour. She was justgoing to tap on the window and call him, for she wanted to tell him allabout it, when she bethought herself that that might wake Lootie, andshe would put her into her bed again. So she resolved to go to thewindow of another room, and call him from there. It was so much nicerto have somebody to talk to than to lie awake in bed with the burningpain in her hand. She opened the door very gently and went through thenursery, which did not look into the garden, to go to the other window.But when she came to the foot of the old staircase there was the moonshining down from some window high up, and making the worm-eaten oaklook very strange and delicate and lovely. In a moment she was puttingher little feet one after the other in the silvery path up the stair,looking behind as she went, to see the shadow they made in the middleof the silver. Some little girls would have been afraid to findthemselves thus alone in the middle of the night, but Irene was aprincess.

As she went slowly up the stair, not quite sure that she was notdreaming, suddenly a great longing woke up in her heart to try oncemore whether she could not find the old lady with the silvery hair. 'Ifshe is a dream,' she said to herself, 'then I am the likelier to findher, if I am dreaming.'

So up and up she went, stair after stair, until she came to the manyrooms—all just as she had seen them before. Through passage afterpassage she softly sped, comforting herself that if she should lose herway it would not matter much, because when she woke she would findherself in her own bed with Lootie not far off. But, as if she hadknown every step of the way, she walked straight to the door at thefoot of the narrow stair that led to the tower.

'What if I should realreality-really find my beautiful old grandmotherup there!' she said to herself as she crept up the steep steps.

When she reached the top she stood a moment listening in the dark, forthere was no moon there. Yes! it was! it was the hum of thespinning-wheel! What a diligent grandmother to work both day andnight! She tapped gently at the door.

'Come in, Irene,' said the sweet voice.

The princess opened the door and entered. There was the moonlightstreaming in at the window, and in the middle of the moonlight sat theold lady in her black dress with the white lace, and her silvery hairmingling with the moonlight, so that you could not have told which waswhich. 'Come in, Irene,' she said again. 'Can you tell me what I amspinning?'

'She speaks,' thought Irene, 'just as if she had seen me five minutesago, or yesterday at the farthest. —No,' she answered; 'I don't knowwhat you are spinning. Please, I thought you were a dream. Whycouldn't I find you before, great-great-grandmother?'

'That you are hardly old enough to understand. But you would havefound me sooner if you hadn't come to think I was a dream. I will giveyou one reason though why you couldn't find me. I didn't want you tofind me.'

'Why, please?'

'Because I did not want Lootie to know I was here.'

'But you told me to tell Lootie.'

'Yes. But I knew Lootie would not believe you. If she were to see mesitting spinning here, she wouldn't believe me, either.'

'Why?'

'Because she couldn't. She would rub her eyes, and go away and say shefelt queer, and forget half of it and more, and then say it had beenall a dream.'

'Just like me,' said Irene, feeling very much ashamed of herself.

'Yes, a good deal like you, but not just like you; for you've comeagain; and Lootie wouldn't have come again. She would have said, No,no—she had had enough of such nonsense.'

'Is it naughty of Lootie, then?'

'It would be naughty of you. I've never done anything for Lootie.'

'And you did wash my face and hands for me,' said Irene, beginning tocry.

The old lady smiled a sweet smile and said:

'I'm not vexed with you, my child—nor with Lootie either. But I don'twant you to say anything more to Lootie about me. If she should askyou, you must just be silent. But I do not think she will ask you.'

All the time they talked the old lady kept on spinning.

'You haven't told me yet what I am spinning,' she said.

'Because I don't know. It's very pretty stuff.'

It was indeed very pretty stuff. There was a good bunch of it on thedistaff attached to the spinning-wheel, and in the moonlight it shonelike—what shall I say it was like? It was not white enough forsilver—yes, it was like silver, but shone grey rather than white, andglittered only a little. And the thread the old lady drew out from itwas so fine that Irene could hardly see it. 'I am spinning this foryou, my child.'

'For me! What am I to do with it, please?'

'I will tell you by and by. But first I will tell you what it is. Itis spider-web—of a particular kind. My pigeons bring it me from overthe great sea. There is only one forest where the spiders live whomake this particular kind—the finest and strongest of any. I havenearly finished my present job. What is on the rock now will beenough. I have a week's work there yet, though,' she added, looking atthe bunch.

'Do you work all day and all night, too,great-great-great-great-grandmother?' said the princess, thinking to bevery polite with so many greats.

'I am not quite so great as all that,' she answered, smiling almostmerrily. 'If you call me grandmother, that will do. No, I don't workevery night—only moonlit nights, and then no longer than the moonshines upon my wheel. I shan't work much longer tonight.'

'And what will you do next, grandmother?'

'Go to bed. Would you like to see my bedroom?'

'Yes, that I should.'

'Then I think I won't work any longer tonight. I shall be in goodtime.'

The old lady rose, and left her wheel standing just as it was. You seethere was no good in putting it away, for where there was not anyfurniture there was no danger of being untidy.

Then she took Irene by the hand, but it was her bad hand and Irene gavea little cry of pain. 'My child!' said her grandmother, 'what is thematter?'

Irene held her hand into the moonlight, that the old lady might see it,and told her all about it, at which she looked grave. But she onlysaid: 'Give me your other hand'; and, having led her out upon thelittle dark landing, opened the door on the opposite side of it. Whatwas Irene's surprise to see the loveliest room she had ever seen in herlife! It was large and lofty, and dome-shaped. From the centre hung alamp as round as a ball, shining as if with the brightest moonlight,which made everything visible in the room, though not so clearly thatthe princess could tell what many of the things were. A large oval bedstood in the middle, with a coverlid of rose colour, and velvetcurtains all round it of a lovely pale blue. The walls were alsoblue—spangled all over with what looked like stars of silver.

The old lady left her and, going to a strange-looking cabinet, openedit and took out a curious silver casket. Then she sat down on a lowchair and, calling Irene, made her kneel before her while she looked ather hand. Having examined it, she opened the casket, and took from ita little ointment. The sweetest odour filled the room—like that ofroses and lilies—as she rubbed the ointment gently all over the hotswollen hand. Her touch was so pleasant and cool that it seemed todrive away the pain and heat wherever it came.

'Oh, grandmother! it is so nice!' said Irene. 'Thank you; thank you.'

Then the old lady went to a chest of drawers, and took out a largehandkerchief of gossamer-like cambric, which she tied round her hand.

'I don't think I can let you go away tonight,' she said. 'Would youlike to sleep with me?'

'Oh, yes, yes, dear grandmother,' said Irene, and would have clappedher hands, forgetting that she could not.

'You won't be afraid, then, to go to bed with such an old woman?'

'No. You are so beautiful, grandmother.'

'But I am very old.'

'And I suppose I am very young. You won't mind sleeping with such avery young woman, grandmother?'

'You sweet little pertness!' said the old lady, and drew her towardsher, and kissed her on the forehead and the cheek and the mouth. Thenshe got a large silver basin, and having poured some water into it madeIrene sit on the chair, and washed her feet. This done, she was readyfor bed. And oh, what a delicious bed it was into which hergrandmother laid her! She hardly could have told she was lying uponanything: she felt nothing but the softness.

The old lady having undressed herself lay down beside her.

'Why don't you put out your moon?' asked the princess.

'That never goes out, night or day,' she answered. 'In the darkestnight, if any of my pigeons are out on a message, they always see mymoon and know where to fly to.'

'But if somebody besides the pigeons were to see it—somebody about thehouse, I mean—they would come to look what it was and find you.'

'The better for them, then,' said the old lady. 'But it does nothappen above five times in a hundred years that anyone does see it.

The greater part of those who do take it for a meteor, wink their eyes,and forget it again. Besides, nobody could find the room except Ipleased. Besides, again—I will tell you a secret—if that light wereto go out you would fancy yourself lying in a bare garret, on a heap ofold straw, and would not see one of the pleasant things round about youall the time.'

'I hope it will never go out,' said the princess.

'I hope not. But it is time we both went to sleep. Shall I take youin my arms?'

The little princess nestled close up to the old lady, who took her inboth her arms and held her close to her bosom.

'Oh, dear! this is so nice!' said the princess. 'I didn't knowanything in the world could be so comfortable. I should like to liehere for ever.'

'You may if you will,' said the old lady. 'But I must put you to onetrial-not a very hard one, I hope. This night week you must come backto me. If you don't, I do not know when you may find me again, and youwill soon want me very much.'

'Oh! please, don't let me forget.'

'You shall not forget. The only question is whether you will believe Iam anywhere—whether you will believe I am anything but a dream. Youmay be sure I will do all I can to help you to come. But it will restwith yourself, after all. On the night of next Friday, you must cometo me. Mind now.'

'I will try,' said the princess.

'Then good night,' said the old lady, and kissed the forehead which layin her bosom.

In a moment more the little princess was dreaming in the midst of theloveliest dreams—of summer seas and moonlight and mossy springs andgreat murmuring trees, and beds of wild flowers with such odours as shehad never smelled before. But, after all, no dream could be morelovely than what she had left behind when she fell asleep.

In the morning she found herself in her own bed. There was nohandkerchief or anything else on her hand, only a sweet odour lingeredabout it. The swelling had all gone down; the prick of the brooch hadvanished—in fact, her hand was perfectly well.

CHAPTER 12

A Short Chapter About Curdie

Curdie spent many nights in the mine. His father and he had taken Mrs.Peterson into the secret, for they knew mother could hold her tongue,which was more than could be said of all the miners' wives.

But Curdie did not tell her that every night he spent in the mine, partof it went in earning a new red petticoat for her.

Mrs. Peterson was such a nice good mother! All mothers are nice andgood more or less, but Mrs. Peterson was nice and good all more and noless. She made and kept a little heaven in that poor cottage on thehigh hillside for her husband and son to go home to out of the low andrather dreary earth in which they worked. I doubt if the princess wasvery much happier even in the arms of her huge great-grandmother thanPeter and Curdie were in the arms of Mrs. Peterson. True, her handswere hard and chapped and large, but it was with work for them; andtherefore, in the sight of the angels, her hands were so much the morebeautiful. And if Curdie worked hard to get her a petticoat, sheworked hard every day to get him comforts which he would have missedmuch more than she would a new petticoat even in winter. Not that sheand Curdie ever thought of how much they worked for each other: thatwould have spoiled everything.

When left alone in the mine Curdie always worked on for an hour or twoat first, following the lode which, according to Glump, would lead atlast into the deserted habitation. After that, he would set out on areconnoitring expedition. In order to manage this, or rather thereturn from it, better than the first time, he had bought a huge ballof fine string, having learned the trick from Hop-o'-my-Thumb, whosehistory his mother had often told him. Not that Hop-o'-my-Thumb hadever used a ball of string—I should be sorry to be supposed so far outin my classics—but the principle was the same as that of the pebbles.The end of this string he fastened to his pickaxe, which figured no badanchor, and then, with the ball in his hand, unrolling it as he went,set out in the dark through the natural gangs of the goblins'territory. The first night or two he came upon nothing worthremembering; saw only a little of the home-life of the cobs in thevarious caves they called houses; failed in coming upon anything tocast light upon the foregoing design which kept the inundation for thepresent in the background. But at length, I think on the third orfourth night, he found, partly guided by the noise of their implements,a company of evidently the best sappers and miners amongst them, hardat work. What were they about? It could not well be the inundation,seeing that had in the meantime been postponed to something else. Thenwhat was it? He lurked and watched, every now and then in the greatestrisk of being detected, but without success. He had again and again toretreat in haste, a proceeding rendered the more difficult that he hadto gather up his string as he returned upon its course. It was notthat he was afraid of the goblins, but that he was afraid of theirfinding out that they were watched, which might have prevented thediscovery at which he aimed. Sometimes his haste had to be such that,when he reached home towards morning, his string, for lack of time towind it up as he 'dodged the cobs', would be in what seemed mosthopeless entanglement; but after a good sleep, though a short one, healways found his mother had got it right again. There it was, wound ina most respectable ball, ready for use the moment he should want it!

'I can't think how you do it, mother,' he would say.

'I follow the thread,' she would answer—'just as you do in the mine.'She never had more to say about it; but the less clever she was withher words, the more clever she was with her hands; and the less hismother said, the more Curdie believed she had to say. But still he hadmade no discovery as to what the goblin miners were about.

CHAPTER 13

The Cobs' Creatures

About this time the gentlemen whom the king had left behind him towatch over the princess had each occasion to doubt the testimony of hisown eyes, for more than strange were the objects to which they wouldbear witness. They were of one sort—creatures—but so grotesque andmisshapen as to be more like a child's drawings upon his slate thananything natural. They saw them only at night, while on guard aboutthe house. The testimony of the man who first reported having seen oneof them was that, as he was walking slowly round the house, while yetin the shadow, he caught sight of a creature standing on its hind legsin the moonlight, with its forefeet upon a window-ledge, staring in atthe window. Its body might have been that of a dog or wolf, hethought, but he declared on his honour that its head was twice the sizeit ought to have been for the size of its body, and as round as a ball,while the face, which it turned upon him as it fled, was more like onecarved by a boy upon the turnip inside which he is going to put acandle than anything else he could think of. It rushed into thegarden. He sent an arrow after it, and thought he must have struck it;for it gave an unearthly howl, and he could not find his arrow any morethan the beast, although he searched all about the place where itvanished. They laughed at him until he was driven to hold his tongue,and said he must have taken too long a pull at the ale-jug.

But before two nights were over he had one to side with him, for he,too, had seen something strange, only quite different from thatreported by the other. The description the second man gave of thecreature he had seen was yet more grotesque and unlikely. They wereboth laughed at by the rest; but night after night another came over totheir side, until at last there was only one left to laugh at all hiscompanions. Two nights more passed, and he saw nothing; but on thethird he came rushing from the garden to the other two before thehouse, in such an agitation that they declared—for it was their turnnow—that the band of his helmet was cracking under his chin with therising of his hair inside it. Running with him into that part of thegarden which I have already described, they saw a score of creatures,to not one of which they could give a name, and not one of which waslike another, hideous and ludicrous at once, gambolling on the lawn inthe moonlight. The supernatural or rather subnatural ugliness of theirfaces, the length of legs and necks in some, the apparent absence ofboth or either in others, made the spectators, although in one consentas to what they saw, yet doubtful, as I have said, of the evidence oftheir own eyes—and ears as well; for the noises they made, althoughnot loud, were as uncouth and varied as their forms, and could bedescribed neither as grunts nor squeaks nor roars nor howls nor barksnor yells nor screams nor croaks nor hisses nor mews nor shrieks, butonly as something like all of them mingled in one horrible dissonance.Keeping in the shade, the watchers had a few moments to recoverthemselves before the hideous assembly suspected their presence; butall at once, as if by common consent, they scampered off in thedirection of a great rock, and vanished before the men had come tothemselves sufficiently to think of following them.

My readers will suspect what these were; but I will now give them fullinformation concerning them. They were, of course, household animalsbelonging to the goblins, whose ancestors had taken their ancestorsmany centuries before from the upper regions of light into the lowerregions of darkness. The original stocks of these horrible creatureswere very much the same as the animals now seen about farms and homesin the country, with the exception of a few of them, which had beenwild creatures, such as foxes, and indeed wolves and small bears, whichthe goblins, from their proclivity towards the animal creation, hadcaught when cubs and tamed. But in the course of time all hadundergone even greater changes than had passed upon their owners. Theyhad altered—that is, their descendants had altered—into suchcreatures as I have not attempted to describe except in the vaguestmanner—the various parts of their bodies assuming, in an apparentlyarbitrary and self-willed manner, the most abnormal developments.Indeed, so little did any distinct type predominate in some of thebewildering results, that you could only have guessed at any knownanimal as the original, and even then, what likeness remained would bemore one of general expression than of definable conformation. Butwhat increased the gruesomeness tenfold was that, from constantdomestic, or indeed rather family association with the goblins, theircountenances had grown in grotesque resemblance to the human.

No one understands animals who does not see that every one of them,even amongst the fishes, it may be with a dimness and vaguenessinfinitely remote, yet shadows the human: in the case of these thehuman resemblance had greatly increased: while their owners had sunktowards them, they had risen towards their owners. But the conditionsof subterranean life being equally unnatural for both, while thegoblins were worse, the creatures had not improved by theapproximation, and its result would have appeared far more ludicrousthan consoling to the warmest lover of animal nature. I shall nowexplain how it was that just then these animals began to showthemselves about the king's country house.

The goblins, as Curdie had discovered, were mining on—at work both dayand night, in divisions, urging the scheme after which he lay in wait.In the course of their tunnelling they had broken into the channel of asmall stream, but the break being in the top of it, no water hadescaped to interfere with their work. Some of the creatures, hoveringas they often did about their masters, had found the hole, and had,with the curiosity which had grown to a passion from the restraints oftheir unnatural circumstances, proceeded to explore the channel. Thestream was the same which ran out by the seat on which Irene and herking-papa had sat as I have told, and the goblin creatures found itjolly fun to get out for a romp on a smooth lawn such as they had neverseen in all their poor miserable lives. But although they had partakenenough of the nature of their owners to delight in annoying andalarming any of the people whom they met on the mountain, they were, ofcourse, incapable of designs of their own, or of intentionallyfurthering those of their masters.

For several nights after the men-at-arms were at length of one mind asto the fact of the visits of some horrible creatures, whether bodily orspectral they could not yet say, they watched with special attentionthat part of the garden where they had last seen them. Perhaps indeedthey gave in consequence too little attention to the house. But thecreatures were too cunning to be easily caught; nor were the watchersquick-eyed enough to descry the head, or the keen eyes in it, which,from the opening whence the stream issued, would watch them in turn,ready, the moment they should leave the lawn, to report the place clear.

CHAPTER 14

That Night Week

During the whole of the week Irene had been thinking every other momentof her promise to the old lady, although even now she could not feelquite sure that she had not been dreaming. Could it really be that anold lady lived up in the top of the house, with pigeons and aspinning-wheel, and a lamp that never went out? She was, however, nonethe less determined, on the coming Friday, to ascend the three stairs,walk through the passages with the many doors, and try to find thetower in which she had either seen or dreamed her grandmother.

Her nurse could not help wondering what had come to the child—shewould sit so thoughtfully silent, and even in the midst of a game withher would so suddenly fall into a dreamy mood. But Irene took care tobetray nothing, whatever efforts Lootie might make to get at herthoughts. And Lootie had to say to herself: 'What an odd child sheis!' and give it up.

At length the longed-for Friday arrived, and lest Lootie should bemoved to watch her, Irene endeavoured to keep herself as quiet aspossible. In the afternoon she asked for her doll's house, and went onarranging and rearranging the various rooms and their inhabitants for awhole hour. Then she gave a sigh and threw herself back in her chair.One of the dolls would not sit, and another would not stand, and theywere all very tiresome. Indeed, there was one would not even lie down,which was too bad. But it was now getting dark, and the darker it gotthe more excited Irene became, and the more she felt it necessary to becomposed.

'I see you want your tea, princess,' said the nurse: 'I will go and getit. The room feels close: I will open the window a little. The eveningis mild: it won't hurt you.'

'There's no fear of that, Lootie,' said Irene, wishing she had put offgoing for the tea till it was darker, when she might have made herattempt with every advantage.

I fancy Lootie was longer in returning than she had intended; for whenIrene, who had been lost in thought, looked up, she saw it was nearlydark, and at the same moment caught sight of a pair of eyes, brightwith a green light, glowering at her through the open window. The nextinstant something leaped into the room. It was like a cat, with legsas long as a horse's, Irene said, but its body no bigger and its legsno thicker than those of a cat. She was too frightened to cry out, butnot too frightened to jump from her chair and run from the room.

It is plain enough to every one of my readers what she ought to havedone—and indeed, Irene thought of it herself; but when she came to thefoot of the old stair, just outside the nursery door, she imagined thecreature running up those long ascents after her, and pursuing herthrough the dark passages—which, after all, might lead to no tower!That thought was too much. Her heart failed her, and, turning from thestair, she rushed along to the hall, whence, finding the front dooropen, she darted into the court pursued—at least she thought so—bythe creature. No one happening to see her, on she ran, unable to thinkfor fear, and ready to run anywhere to elude the awful creature withthe stilt-legs. Not daring to look behind her, she rushed straight outof the gate and up the mountain. It was foolish indeed—thus to runfarther and farther from all who could help her, as if she had beenseeking a fit spot for the goblin creature to eat her in his leisure;but that is the way fear serves us: it always sides with the thing weare afraid of.

The princess was soon out of breath with running uphill; but she ranon, for she fancied the horrible creature just behind her, forgettingthat, had it been after her such long legs as those must have overtakenher long ago. At last she could run no longer, and fell, unable evento scream, by the roadside, where she lay for some time half dead withterror. But finding nothing lay hold of her, and her breath beginningto come back, she ventured at length to get half up and peer anxiouslyabout her. It was now so dark she could see nothing. Not a singlestar was out. She could not even tell in what direction the house lay,and between her and home she fancied the dreadful creature lying readyto pounce upon her. She saw now that she ought to have run up thestairs at once. It was well she did not scream; for, although very fewof the goblins had come out for weeks, a stray idler or two might haveheard her. She sat down upon a stone, and nobody but one who had donesomething wrong could have been more miserable. She had quiteforgotten her promise to visit her grandmother. A raindrop fell on herface. She looked up, and for a moment her terror was lost inastonishment. At first she thought the rising moon had left her place,and drawn nigh to see what could be the matter with the little girl,sitting alone, without hat or cloak, on the dark bare mountain; but shesoon saw she was mistaken, for there was no light on the ground at herfeet, and no shadow anywhere. But a great silver globe was hanging inthe air; and as she gazed at the lovely thing, her courage revived. Ifshe were but indoors again, she would fear nothing, not even theterrible creature with the long legs! But how was she to find her wayback? What could that light be? Could it be—? No, it couldn't. Butwhat if it should be—yes—it must be—her great-great-grandmother'slamp, which guided her pigeons home through the darkest night! Shejumped up: she had but to keep that light in view and she must find thehouse. Her heart grew strong. Speedily, yet softly, she walked downthe hill, hoping to pass the watching creature unseen. Dark as it was,there was little danger now of choosing the wrong road. And—which wasmost strange—the light that filled her eyes from the lamp, instead ofblinding them for a moment to the object upon which they next fell,enabled her for a moment to see it, despite the darkness. By lookingat the lamp and then dropping her eyes, she could see the road for ayard or two in front of her, and this saved her from several falls, forthe road was very rough. But all at once, to her dismay, it vanished,and the terror of the beast, which had left her the moment she began toreturn, again laid hold of her heart. The same instant, however, shecaught the light of the windows, and knew exactly where she was. Itwas too dark to run, but she made what haste she could, and reached thegate in safety. She found the house door still open, ran through thehall, and, without even looking into the nursery, bounded straight upthe stair, and the next, and the next; then turning to the right, ranthrough the long avenue of silent rooms, and found her way at once tothe door at the foot of the tower stair.

When first the nurse missed her, she fancied she was playing her atrick, and for some time took no trouble about her; but at last,getting frightened, she had begun to search; and when the princessentered, the whole household was hither and thither over the house,hunting for her. A few seconds after she reached the stair of thetower they had even begun to search the neglected rooms, in which theywould never have thought of looking had they not already searched everyother place they could think of in vain. But by this time she wasknocking at the old lady's door.

CHAPTER 15

Woven and Then Spun

'Come in, Irene,' said the silvery voice of her grandmother.

The princess opened the door and peeped in. But the room was quitedark and there was no sound of the spinning-wheel. She grew frightenedonce more, thinking that, although the room was there, the old ladymight be a dream after all. Every little girl knows how dreadful it isto find a room empty where she thought somebody was; but Irene had tofancy for a moment that the person she came to find was nowhere at all.She remembered, however, that at night she spun only in the moonlight,and concluded that must be why there was no sweet, bee-like humming:the old lady might be somewhere in the darkness. Before she had timeto think another thought, she heard her voice again, saying as before:'Come in, Irene.' From the sound, she understood at once that she wasnot in the room beside her. Perhaps she was in her bedroom. Sheturned across the passage, feeling her way to the other door. When herhand fell on the lock, again the old lady spoke:

'Shut the other door behind you, Irene. I always close the door of myworkroom when I go to my chamber.'

Irene wondered to hear her voice so plainly through the door: havingshut the other, she opened it and went in. Oh, what a lovely haven toreach from the darkness and fear through which she had come! The softlight made her feel as if she were going into the heart of the milkiestpearl; while the blue walls and their silver stars for a momentperplexed her with the fancy that they were in reality the sky whichshe had left outside a minute ago covered with rainclouds.

'I've lighted a fire for you, Irene: you're cold and wet,' said hergrandmother.

Then Irene looked again, and saw that what she had taken for a hugebouquet of red roses on a low stand against the wall was in fact a firewhich burned in the shapes of the loveliest and reddest roses, glowinggorgeously between the heads and wings of two cherubs of shiningsilver. And when she came nearer, she found that the smell of roseswith which the room was filled came from the fire-roses on the hearth.Her grandmother was dressed in the loveliest pale blue velvet, overwhich her hair, no longer white, but of a rich golden colour, streamedlike a cataract, here falling in dull gathered heaps, there rushingaway in smooth shining falls. And ever as she looked, the hair seemedpouring down from her head and vanishing in a golden mist ere itreached the floor. It flowed from under the edge of a circle ofshining silver, set with alternated pearls and opals. On her dress wasno ornament whatever, neither was there a ring on her hand, or anecklace or carcanet about her neck. But her slippers glimmered withthe light of the Milky Way, for they were covered with seed-pearls andopals in one mass. Her face was that of a woman of three-and-twenty.

The princess was so bewildered with astonishment and admiration thatshe could hardly thank her, and drew nigh with timidity, feeling dirtyand uncomfortable. The lady was seated on a low chair by the side ofthe fire, with hands outstretched to take her, but the princess hungback with a troubled smile.

'Why, what's the matter?' asked her grandmother. 'You haven't beendoing anything wrong—I know that by your face, though it is rathermiserable. What's the matter, my dear?'

And she still held out her arms.

'Dear grandmother,' said Irene, 'I'm not so sure that I haven't donesomething wrong. I ought to have run up to you at once when thelong-legged cat came in at the window, instead of running out on themountain and making myself such a fright.'

'You were taken by surprise, my child, and you are not so likely to doit again. It is when people do wrong things wilfully that they are themore likely to do them again. Come.'

And still she held out her arms.

'But, grandmother, you're so beautiful and grand with your crown on;and I am so dirty with mud and rain! I should quite spoil yourbeautiful blue dress.'

With a merry little laugh the lady sprung from her chair, more lightlyfar than Irene herself could, caught the child to her bosom, and,kissing the tear-stained face over and over, sat down with her in herlap.

'Oh, grandmother! You'll make yourself such a mess!' cried Irene,clinging to her.

'You darling! do you think I care more for my dress than for my littlegirl? Besides—look here.'

As she spoke she set her down, and Irene saw to her dismay that thelovely dress was covered with the mud of her fall on the mountain road.But the lady stooped to the fire, and taking from it, by the stalk inher fingers, one of the burning roses, passed it once and again and athird time over the front of her dress; and when Irene looked, not asingle stain was to be discovered.

'There!' said her grandmother, 'you won't mind coming to me now?'

But Irene again hung back, eying the flaming rose which the lady heldin her hand.

'You're not afraid of the rose—are you?' she said, about to throw iton the hearth again.

'Oh! don't, please!' cried Irene. 'Won't you hold it to my frock andmy hands and my face? And I'm afraid my feet and my knees want it too.'

'No, answered her grandmother, smiling a little sadly, as she threw therose from her; 'it is too hot for you yet. It would set your frock ina flame. Besides, I don't want to make you clean tonight.

I want your nurse and the rest of the people to see you as you are, foryou will have to tell them how you ran away for fear of the long-leggedcat. I should like to wash you, but they would not believe you then.Do you see that bath behind you?'

The princess looked, and saw a large oval tub of silver, shiningbrilliantly in the light of the wonderful lamp.

'Go and look into it,' said the lady.

Irene went, and came back very silent with her eyes shining.

'What did you see?' asked her grandmother.

'The sky, and the moon and the stars,' she answered. 'It looked as ifthere was no bottom to it.'

The lady smiled a pleased satisfied smile, and was silent also for afew moments. Then she said:

'Any time you want a bath, come to me. I know YOU have a bath everymorning, but sometimes you want one at night, too.'

'Thank you, grandmother; I will—I will indeed,' answered Irene, andwas again silent for some moments thinking. Then she said: 'How wasit, grandmother, that I saw your beautiful lamp—not the light of itonly—but the great round silvery lamp itself, hanging alone in thegreat open air, high up? It was your lamp I saw—wasn't it?'

'Yes, my child—it was my lamp.'

'Then how was it? I don't see a window all round.'

'When I please I can make the lamp shine through the walls—shine sostrong that it melts them away from before the sight, and shows itselfas you saw it. But, as I told you, it is not everybody can see it.'

'How is it that I can, then? I'm sure I don't know.'

'It is a gift born with you. And one day I hope everybody will haveit.'

'But how do you make it shine through the walls?'

'Ah! that you would not understand if I were to try ever so much tomake you—not yet—not yet. But,' added the lady, rising, 'you mustsit in my chair while I get you the present I have been preparing foryou. I told you my spinning was for you. It is finished now, and I amgoing to fetch it. I have been keeping it warm under one of mybrooding pigeons.'

Irene sat down in the low chair, and her grandmother left her, shuttingthe door behind her. The child sat gazing, now at the rose fire, nowat the starry walls, now at the silver light; and a great quietnessgrew in her heart. If all the long-legged cats in the world had comerushing at her then she would not have been afraid of them for amoment. How this was she could not tell—she only knew there was nofear in her, and everything was so right and safe that it could not getin.

She had been gazing at the lovely lamp for some minutes fixedly:turning her eyes, she found the wall had vanished, for she was lookingout on the dark cloudy night. But though she heard the wind blowing,none of it blew upon her. In a moment more the clouds themselvesparted, or rather vanished like the wall, and she looked straight intothe starry herds, flashing gloriously in the dark blue. It was but fora moment. The clouds gathered again and shut out the stars; the wallgathered again and shut out the clouds; and there stood the lady besideher with the loveliest smile on her face, and a shimmering ball in herhand, about the size of a pigeon's egg.

'There, Irene; there is my work for you!' she said, holding out theball to the princess.

She took it in her hand, and looked at it all over. It sparkled alittle, and shone here and there, but not much. It was of a sort ofgrey-whiteness, something like spun glass.

'Is this all your spinning, grandmother?' she asked.

'All since you came to the house. There is more there than you think.'

'How pretty it is! What am I to do with it, please?'

'That I will now explain to you,' answered the lady, turning from herand going to her cabinet. She came back with a small ring in her hand.Then she took the ball from Irene's, and did something with thering—Irene could not tell what.

'Give me your hand,' she said. Irene held up her right hand.

'Yes, that is the hand I want,' said the lady, and put the ring on theforefinger of it.

'What a beautiful ring!' said Irene. 'What is the stone called?'

'It is a fire-opal.'

'Please, am I to keep it?'

'Always.'

'Oh, thank you, grandmother! It's prettier than anything Iever saw, except those—of all colours-in your—Please, is that yourcrown?'

'Yes, it is my crown. The stone in your ring is of the same sort—onlynot so good. It has only red, but mine have all colours, you see.'

'Yes, grandmother. I will take such care of it! But—' she added,hesitating.

'But what?' asked her grandmother.

'What am I to say when Lootie asks me where I got it?'

'You will ask her where you got it,' answered the lady smiling.

'I don't see how I can do that.'

'You will, though.'

'Of course I will, if you say so. But, you know, I can't pretend notto know.'

'Of course not. But don't trouble yourself about it. You will seewhen the time comes.'

So saying, the lady turned, and threw the little ball into the rosefire.

'Oh, grandmother!' exclaimed Irene; 'I thought you had spun it for me.'

'So I did, my child. And you've got it.'

'No; it's burnt in the fire!'

The lady put her hand in the fire, brought out the ball, glimmering asbefore, and held it towards her. Irene stretched out her hand to takeit, but the lady turned and, going to her cabinet, opened a drawer, andlaid the ball in it.

'Have I done anything to vex you, grandmother?' said Irene pitifully.

'No, my darling. But you must understand that no one ever givesanything to another properly and really without keeping it. That ballis yours.'

'Oh! I'm not to take it with me! You are going to keep it for me!'

'You are to take it with you. I've fastened the end of it to the ringon your finger.'

Irene looked at the ring.

'I can't see it there, grandmother,' she said.

'Feel—a little way from the ring—towards the cabinet,' said the lady.

'Oh! I do feel it!' exclaimed the princess. 'But I can't see it,' sheadded, looking close to her outstretched hand.

'No. The thread is too fine for you to see it. You can only feel it.Now you can fancy how much spinning that took, although it does seemsuch a little ball.'

'But what use can I make of it, if it lies in your cabinet?'

'That is what I will explain to you. It would be of no use to you—itwouldn't be yours at all if it did not lie in my cabinet. Now listen.If ever you find yourself in any danger—such, for example, as you werein this same evening—you must take off your ring and put it under thepillow of your bed. Then you must lay your finger, the same that worethe ring, upon the thread, and follow the thread wherever it leads you.'

'Oh, how delightful! It will lead me to you, grandmother, I know!'

'Yes. But, remember, it may seem to you a very roundabout way indeed,and you must not doubt the thread. Of one thing you may be sure, thatwhile you hold it, I hold it too.'

'It is very wonderful!' said Irene thoughtfully. Then suddenlybecoming aware, she jumped up, crying:

'Oh, grandmother! here have I been sitting all this time in your chair,and you standing! I beg your pardon.'

The lady laid her hand on her shoulder, and said:

'Sit down again, Irene. Nothing pleases me better than to see anyonesit in my chair. I am only too glad to stand so long as anyone willsit in it.'

'How kind of you!' said the princess, and sat down again.

'It makes me happy,' said the lady.

'But,' said Irene, still puzzled, 'won't the thread get in somebody'sway and be broken, if the one end is fast to my ring, and the otherlaid in your cabinet?'

'You will find all that arrange itself. I am afraid it is time for youto go.'

'Mightn't I stay and sleep with you tonight, grandmother?'

'No, not tonight. If I had meant you to stay tonight, I should have given you abath; but you know everybody in the house is miserable about you, andit would be cruel to keep them so all night. You must go downstairs.'

'I'm so glad, grandmother, you didn't say "Go home," for this is myhome. Mayn't I call this my home?'

'You may, my child. And I trust you will always think it your home.Now come. I must take you back without anyone seeing you.'

'Please, I want to ask you one question more,' said Irene. 'Is itbecause you have your crown on that you look so young?'

'No, child,' answered her grandmother; 'it is because I felt so youngthis evening that I put my crown on. And I thought you would like tosee your old grandmother in her best.'

'Why do you call yourself old? You're not old, grandmother.'

'I am very old indeed. It is so silly of people—I don't mean you, foryou are such a tiny, and couldn't know better—but it is so silly ofpeople to fancy that old age means crookedness and witheredness andfeebleness and sticks and spectacles and rheumatism and forgetfulness!It is so silly! Old age has nothing whatever to do with all that. Theright old age means strength and beauty and mirth and courage and cleareyes and strong painless limbs. I am older than you are able to think,and—'

'And look at you, grandmother!' cried Irene, jumping up and flingingher arms about her neck. 'I won't be so silly again, I promise you.At least—I'm rather afraid to promise—but if I am, I promise to besorry for it—I do. I wish I were as old as you, grandmother. I don'tthink you are ever afraid of anything.'

'Not for long, at least, my child. Perhaps by the time I am twothousand years of age, I shall, indeed, never be afraid of anything.But I confess I have sometimes been afraid about my children—sometimesabout you, Irene.'

'Oh, I'm so sorry, grandmother! Tonight, I suppose, you mean.'

'Yes—a little tonight; but a good deal when you had all but made upyour mind that I was a dream, and no real great-great-grandmother. Youmust not suppose I am blaming you for that. I dare say you could nothelp it.'

'I don't know, grandmother,' said the princess, beginning to cry. 'Ican't always do myself as I should like. And I don't always try. I'mvery sorry anyhow.'

The lady stooped, lifted her in her arms, and sat down with her in herchair, holding her close to her bosom. In a few minutes the princesshad sobbed herself to sleep. How long she slept I do not know. Whenshe came to herself she was sitting in her own high chair at thenursery table, with her doll's house before her.

CHAPTER 16

The Ring

The same moment her nurse came into the room, sobbing. When she sawher sitting there she started back with a loud cry of amazement andjoy. Then running to her, she caught her in her arms and covered herwith kisses.

'My precious darling princess! where have you been? What has happenedto you? We've all been crying our eyes out, and searching the housefrom top to bottom for you.'

'Not quite from the top,' thought Irene to herself; and she might haveadded, 'not quite to the bottom', perhaps, if she had known all. Butthe one she would not, and the other she could not say. 'Oh, Lootie!I've had such a dreadful adventure!' she replied, and told her allabout the cat with the long legs, and how she ran out upon themountain, and came back again. But she said nothing of her grandmotheror her lamp.

'And there we've been searching for you all over the house for morethan an hour and a half!' exclaimed the nurse. 'But that's no matter,now we've got you! Only, princess, I must say,' she added, her moodchanging, 'what you ought to have done was to call for your own Lootieto come and help you, instead of running out of the house, and up themountain, in that wild, I must say, foolish fashion.'

'Well, Lootie,' said Irene quietly, 'perhaps if you had a big cat, alllegs, running at you, you might not exactly know what was the wisestthing to do at the moment.'

'I wouldn't run up the mountain, anyhow,' returned Lootie.

'Not if you had time to think about it. But when those creatures cameat you that night on the mountain, you were so frightened yourself thatyou lost your way home.'

This put a stop to Lootie's reproaches. She had been on the point ofsaying that the long-legged cat must have been a twilight fancy of theprincess's, but the memory of the horrors of that night, and of thetalking-to which the king had given her in consequence, prevented herfrom saying what after all she did not half believe—having a strongsuspicion that the cat was a goblin; for she knew nothing of thedifference between the goblins and their creatures: she counted themall just goblins.

Without another word she went and got some fresh tea and bread andbutter for the princess. Before she returned, the whole household,headed by the housekeeper, burst into the nursery to exult over theirdarling. The gentlemen-at-arms followed, and were ready enough tobelieve all she told them about the long-legged cat. Indeed, thoughwise enough to say nothing about it, they remembered, with no littlehorror, just such a creature amongst those they had surprised at theirgambols upon the princess's lawn.

In their own hearts they blamed themselves for not having kept betterwatch. And their captain gave orders that from this night the frontdoor and all the windows on the ground floor should be lockedimmediately the sun set, and opened after upon no pretence whatever.The men-at-arms redoubled their vigilance, and for some time there wasno further cause of alarm.

When the princess woke the next morning, her nurse was bending overher. 'How your ring does glow this morning, princess!—just like afiery rose!' she said.

'Does it, Lootie?' returned Irene. 'Who gave me the ring, Lootie? Iknow I've had it a long time, but where did I get it? I don'tremember.'

'I think it must have been your mother gave it you, princess; butreally, for as long as you have worn it, I don't remember that ever Iheard,' answered her nurse.

'I will ask my king-papa the next time he comes,' said Irene.

CHAPTER 17

Springtime

The spring so dear to all creatures, young and old, came at last, andbefore the first few days of it had gone, the king rode through itsbudding valleys to see his little daughter. He had been in a distantpart of his dominions all the winter, for he was not in the habit ofstopping in one great city, or of visiting only his favourite countryhouses, but he moved from place to place, that all his people mightknow him. Wherever he journeyed, he kept a constant look-out for theablest and best men to put into office; and wherever he found himselfmistaken, and those he had appointed incapable or unjust, he removedthem at once. Hence you see it was his care of the people that kepthim from seeing his princess so often as he would have liked. You maywonder why he did not take her about with him; but there were severalreasons against his doing so, and I suspect her great-great-grandmotherhad had a principal hand in preventing it. Once more Irene heard thebugle-blast, and once more she was at the gate to meet her father as herode up on his great white horse.

After they had been alone for a little while, she thought of what shehad resolved to ask him.

'Please, king-papa,' she said, 'Will you tell me where I got thispretty ring? I can't remember.'

The king looked at it. A strange beautiful smile spread like sunshineover his face, and an answering smile, but at the same time aquestioning one, spread like moonlight over Irene's. 'It was yourqueen-mamma's once,' he said.

'And why isn't it hers now?' asked Irene.

'She does not want it now,' said the king, looking grave.

'Why doesn't she want it now?'

'Because she's gone where all those rings are made.'

'And when shall I see her?' asked the princess.

'Not for some time yet,' answered the king, and the tears came into hiseyes.

Irene did not remember her mother and did not know why her fatherlooked so, and why the tears came in his eyes; but she put her armsround his neck and kissed him, and asked no more questions.

The king was much disturbed on hearing the report of thegentlemen-at-arms concerning the creatures they had seen; and I presumewould have taken Irene with him that very day, but for what thepresence of the ring on her finger assured him of. About an hourbefore he left, Irene saw him go up the old stair; and he did not comedown again till they were just ready to start; and she thought withherself that he had been up to see the old lady. When he went away heleft other six gentlemen behind him, that there might be six of themalways on guard.

And now, in the lovely spring weather, Irene was out on the mountainthe greater part of the day. In the warmer hollows there were lovelyprimroses, and not so many that she ever got tired of them. As oftenas she saw a new one opening an eye of light in the blind earth, shewould clap her hands with gladness, and unlike some children I know,instead of pulling it, would touch it as tenderly as if it had been anew baby, and, having made its acquaintance, would leave it as happy asshe found it. She treated the plants on which they grew like birds'nests; every fresh flower was like a new little bird to her. She wouldpay visits to all the flower-nests she knew, remembering each byitself. She would go down on her hands and knees beside one and say:'Good morning! Are you all smelling very sweet this morning?Good-bye!' and then she would go to another nest, and say the same. Itwas a favourite amusement with her. There were many flowers up anddown, and she loved them all, but the primroses were her favourites.

'They're not too shy, and they're not a bit forward,' she would say toLootie.

There were goats too about, over the mountain, and when the little kidscame she was as pleased with them as with the flowers. The goatsbelonged to the miners mostly-a few of them to Curdie's mother; butthere were a good many wild ones that seemed to belong to nobody.These the goblins counted theirs, and it was upon them partly that theylived. They set snares and dug pits for them; and did not scruple totake what tame ones happened to be caught; but they did not try tosteal them in any other manner, because they were afraid of the dogsthe hill-people kept to watch them, for the knowing dogs always triedto bite their feet. But the goblins had a kind of sheep of theirown—very queer creatures, which they drove out to feed at night, andthe other goblin creatures were wise enough to keep good watch overthem, for they knew they should have their bones by and by.

CHAPTER 18

Curdie's Clue

Curdie was as watchful as ever, but was almost getting tired of his illsuccess. Every other night or so he followed the goblins about, asthey went on digging and boring, and getting as near them as he could,watched them from behind stones and rocks; but as yet he seemed nonearer finding out what they had in view. As at first, he always kepthold of the end of his string, while his pickaxe, left just outside thehole by which he entered the goblins' country from the mine, continuedto serve as an anchor and hold fast the other end. The goblins,hearing no more noise in that quarter, had ceased to apprehend animmediate invasion, and kept no watch.

One night, after dodging about and listening till he was nearly fallingasleep with weariness, he began to roll up his ball, for he hadresolved to go home to bed. It was not long, however, before he beganto feel bewildered. One after another he passed goblin houses, caves,that is, occupied by goblin families, and at length was sure they weremany more than he had passed as he came. He had to use great cautionto pass unseen—they lay so close together. Could his string have ledhim wrong? He still followed winding it, and still it led him intomore thickly populated quarters, until he became quite uneasy, andindeed apprehensive; for although he was not afraid of the cobs, he wasafraid of not finding his way out. But what could he do? It was of nouse to sit down and wait for the morning—the morning made nodifference here. It was dark, and always dark; and if his stringfailed him he was helpless. He might even arrive within a yard of themine and never know it. Seeing he could do nothing better he would atleast find where the end of his string was, and, if possible, how ithad come to play him such a trick. He knew by the size of the ballthat he was getting pretty near the last of it, when he began to feel atugging and pulling at it. What could it mean? Turning a sharpcorner, he thought he heard strange sounds. These grew, as he went on,to a scuffling and growling and squeaking; and the noise increased,until, turning a second sharp corner, he found himself in the midst ofit, and the same moment tumbled over a wallowing mass, which he knewmust be a knot of the cobs' creatures. Before he could recover hisfeet, he had caught some great scratches on his face and several severebites on his legs and arms. But as he scrambled to get up, his handfell upon his pickaxe, and before the horrid beasts could do him anyserious harm, he was laying about with it right and left in the dark.The hideous cries which followed gave him the satisfaction of knowingthat he had punished some of them pretty smartly for their rudeness,and by their scampering and their retreating howls, he perceived thathe had routed them. He stood for a little, weighing his battle-axe inhis hand as if it had been the most precious lump of metal—but indeedno lump of gold itself could have been so precious at the time as thatcommon tool—then untied the end of the string from it, put the ball inhis pocket, and still stood thinking. It was clear that the cobs'creatures had found his axe, had between them carried it off, and hadso led him he knew not where. But for all his thinking he could nottell what he ought to do, until suddenly he became aware of a glimmerof light in the distance. Without a moment's hesitation he set out forit, as fast as the unknown and rugged way would permit. Yet againturning a corner, led by the dim light, he spied something quite new inhis experience of the underground regions—a small irregular shape ofsomething shining. Going up to it, he found it was a piece of mica, orMuscovy glass, called sheep-silver in Scotland, and the light flickeredas if from a fire behind it. After trying in vain for some time todiscover an entrance to the place where it was burning, he came atlength to a small chamber in which an opening, high in the wall,revealed a glow beyond. To this opening he managed to scramble up, andthen he saw a strange sight.

Below sat a little group of goblins around a fire, the smoke of whichvanished in the darkness far aloft. The sides of the cave were full ofshining minerals like those of the palace hall; and the company wasevidently of a superior order, for every one wore stones about head, orarms, or waist, shining dull gorgeous colours in the light of the fire.Nor had Curdie looked long before he recognized the king himself, andfound that he had made his way into the inner apartment of the royalfamily. He had never had such a good chance of hearing something. Hecrept through the hole as softly as he could, scrambled a good way downthe wall towards them without attracting attention, and then sat downand listened. The king, evidently the queen, and probably the crownprince and the Prime Minister were talking together. He was sure ofthe queen by her shoes, for as she warmed her feet at the fire, he sawthem quite plainly.

'That will be fun!' said the one he took for the crown prince. It wasthe first whole sentence he heard.

'I don't see why you should think it such a grand affair!' said hisstepmother, tossing her head backward.

'You must remember, my spouse,' interposed His Majesty, as if makingexcuse for his son, 'he has got the same blood in him. His mother—'

'Don't talk to me of his mother! You positively encourage hisunnatural fancies. Whatever belongs to that mother ought to be cut outof him.'

'You forget yourself, my dear!' said the king.

'I don't,' said the queen, 'nor you either. If you expect me toapprove of such coarse tastes, you will find yourself mistaken. Idon't wear shoes for nothing.'

'You must acknowledge, however,' the king said, with a little groan,'that this at least is no whim of Harelip's, but a matter of Statepolicy. You are well aware that his gratification comes purely fromthe pleasure of sacrificing himself to the public good.

Does it not, Harelip?'

'Yes, father; of course it does. Only it will be nice to make her cry.I'll have the skin taken off between her toes, and tie them up tillthey grow together. Then her feet will be like other people's, andthere will be no occasion for her to wear shoes.'

'Do you mean to insinuate I've got toes, you unnatural wretch?' criedthe queen; and she moved angrily towards Harelip. The councillor,however, who was betwixt them, leaned forward so as to prevent hertouching him, but only as if to address the prince.

'Your Royal Highness,' he said, 'possibly requires to be reminded thatyou have got three toes yourself—one on one foot, two on the other.'

'Ha! ha! ha!' shouted the queen triumphantly.

The councillor, encouraged by this mark of favour, went on.

'It seems to me, Your Royal Highness, it would greatly endear you toyour future people, proving to them that you are not the less one ofthemselves that you had the misfortune to be born of a sun-mother, ifyou were to command upon yourself the comparatively slight operationwhich, in a more extended form, you so wisely meditate with regard toyour future princess.'

'Ha! ha! ha!' laughed the queen louder than before, and the king andthe minister joined in the laugh. Harelip growled, and for a fewmoments the others continued to express their enjoyment of hisdiscomfiture.

The queen was the only one Curdie could see with any distinctness. Shesat sideways to him, and the light of the fire shone full upon herface. He could not consider her handsome. Her nose was certainlybroader at the end than its extreme length, and her eyes, instead ofbeing horizontal, were set up like two perpendicular eggs, one on thebroad, the other on the small end. Her mouth was no bigger than asmall buttonhole until she laughed, when it stretched from ear toear—only, to be sure, her ears were very nearly in the middle of hercheeks.

Anxious to hear everything they might say, Curdie ventured to slidedown a smooth part of the rock just under him, to a projection below,upon which he thought to rest. But whether he was not careful enough,or the projection gave way, down he came with a rush on the floor ofthe cavern, bringing with him a great rumbling shower of stones.

The goblins jumped from their seats in more anger than consternation,for they had never yet seen anything to be afraid of in the palace.But when they saw Curdie with his pick in his hand their rage wasmingled with fear, for they took him for the first of an invasion ofminers. The king notwithstanding drew himself up to his full height offour feet, spread himself to his full breadth of three and a half, forhe was the handsomest and squarest of all the goblins, and strutting upto Curdie, planted himself with outspread feet before him, and saidwith dignity:

'Pray what right have you in my palace?'

'The right of necessity, Your Majesty,' answered Curdie. 'I lost myway and did not know where I was wandering to.'

'How did you get in?'

'By a hole in the mountain.'

'But you are a miner! Look at your pickaxe!'

Curdie did look at it, answering:

'I came upon it lying on the ground a little way from here. I tumbledover some wild beasts who were playing with it. Look, Your Majesty.'And Curdie showed him how he was scratched and bitten.

The king was pleased to find him behave more politely than he hadexpected from what his people had told him concerning the miners, forhe attributed it to the power of his own presence; but he did nottherefore feel friendly to the intruder.

'You will oblige me by walking out of my dominions at once,' he said,well knowing what a mockery lay in the words.

'With pleasure, if Your Majesty will give me a guide,' said Curdie.

'I will give you a thousand,' said the king with a scoffing air ofmagnificent liberality.

'One will be quite sufficient,' said Curdie.

But the king uttered a strange shout, half halloo, half roar, and inrushed goblins till the cave was swarming. He said something to thefirst of them which Curdie could not hear, and it was passed from oneto another till in a moment the farthest in the crowd had evidentlyheard and understood it. They began to gather about him in a way hedid not relish, and he retreated towards the wall. They pressed uponhim.

'Stand back,' said Curdie, grasping his pickaxe tighter by his knee.

They only grinned and pressed closer. Curdie bethought himself andbegan to rhyme.

'Ten, twenty, thirty—
You're all so very dirty!
Twenty, thirty, forty—
You're all so thick and snorty!
'Thirty, forty, fifty—
You're all so puff-and-snifty!
Forty, fifty, sixty—
Beast and man so mixty!

'Fifty, sixty, seventy—
Mixty, maxty, leaventy!
Sixty, seventy, eighty—
All your cheeks so slaty!

'Seventy, eighty, ninety,
All your hands so flinty!
Eighty, ninety, hundred,
Altogether dundred!'

The goblins fell back a little when he began, and made horriblegrimaces all through the rhyme, as if eating something so disagreeablethat it set their teeth on edge and gave them the creeps; but whetherit was that the rhyming words were most of them no words at all, for, anew rhyme being considered the more efficacious, Curdie had made it onthe spur of the moment, or whether it was that the presence of the kingand queen gave them courage, I cannot tell; but the moment the rhymewas over they crowded on him again, and out shot a hundred long arms,with a multitude of thick nailless fingers at the ends of them, to layhold upon him. Then Curdie heaved up his axe. But being as gentle ascourageous and not wishing to kill any of them, he turned the end whichwas square and blunt like a hammer, and with that came down a greatblow on the head of the goblin nearest him. Hard as the heads of allgoblins are, he thought he must feel that. And so he did, no doubt;but he only gave a horrible cry, and sprung at Curdie's throat.Curdie, however, drew back in time, and just at that critical momentremembered the vulnerable part of the goblin body. He made a suddenrush at the king and stamped with all his might on His Majesty's feet.The king gave a most unkingly howl and almost fell into the fire.Curdie then rushed into the crowd, stamping right and left. Thegoblins drew back, howling on every side as he approached, but theywere so crowded that few of those he attacked could escape his tread;and the shrieking and roaring that filled the cave would have appalledCurdie but for the good hope it gave him. They were tumbling over eachother in heaps in their eagerness to rush from the cave, when a newassailant suddenly faced him—the queen, with flaming eyes and expandednostrils, her hair standing half up from her head, rushed at him. Shetrusted in her shoes: they were of granite—hollowed like Frenchsabots. Curdie would have endured much rather than hurt a woman, evenif she was a goblin; but here was an affair of life and death:forgetting her shoes, he made a great stamp on one of her feet. Butshe instantly returned it with very different effect, causing himfrightful pain, and almost disabling him. His only chance with herwould have been to attack the granite shoes with his pickaxe, butbefore he could think of that she had caught him up in her arms and wasrushing with him across the cave. She dashed him into a hole in thewall, with a force that almost stunned him. But although he could notmove, he was not too far gone to hear her great cry, and the rush ofmultitudes of soft feet, followed by the sounds of something heaved upagainst the rock; after which came a multitudinous patter of stonesfalling near him. The last had not ceased when he grew very faint, forhis head had been badly cut, and at last insensible.

When he came to himself there was perfect silence about him, and utterdarkness, but for the merest glimmer in one tiny spot. He crawled toit, and found that they had heaved a slab against the mouth of thehole, past the edge of which a poor little gleam found its way from thefire. He could not move it a hairbreadth, for they had piled a greatheap of stones against it. He crawled back to where he had been lying,in the faint hope of finding his pickaxe. But after a vain search hewas at last compelled to acknowledge himself in an evil plight. He satdown and tried to think, but soon fell fast asleep.

CHAPTER 19

Goblin Counsels

He must have slept a long time, for when he awoke he felt wonderfullyrestored—indeed almost well—and very hungry. There were voices inthe outer cave.

Once more, then, it was night; for the goblins slept during the day andwent about their affairs during the night.

In the universal and constant darkness of their dwelling they had noreason to prefer the one arrangement to the other; but from aversion tothe sun-people they chose to be busy when there was least chance oftheir being met either by the miners below, when they were burrowing,or by the people of the mountain above, when they were feeding theirsheep or catching their goats. And indeed it was only when the sun wasaway that the outside of the mountain was sufficiently like their owndismal regions to be endurable to their mole eyes, so thoroughly hadthey become unaccustomed to any light beyond that of their own firesand torches.

Curdie listened, and soon found that they were talking of himself.

'How long will it take?' asked Harelip.

'Not many days, I should think,' answered the king. 'They are poorfeeble creatures, those sun-people, and want to be always eating. Wecan go a week at a time without food, and be all the better for it; butI've been told they eat two or three times every day! Can you believeit? They must be quite hollow inside—not at all like us, nine-tenthsof whose bulk is solid flesh and bone. Yes—I judge a week ofstarvation will do for him.'

'If I may be allowed a word,' interposed the queen,—'and I think Iought to have some voice in the matter—'

'The wretch is entirely at your disposal, my spouse,' interrupted theking. 'He is your property. You caught him yourself. We should neverhave done it.'

The queen laughed. She seemed in far better humour than the nightbefore.

'I was about to say,' she resumed, 'that it does seem a pity to wasteso much fresh meat.'

'What are you thinking of, my love?' said the king. 'The very notionof starving him implies that we are not going to give him any meat,either salt or fresh.'

'I'm not such a stupid as that comes to,' returned Her Majesty. 'What Imean is that by the time he is starved there will hardly be a pickingupon his bones.'

The king gave a great laugh.

'Well, my spouse, you may have him when you like,' he said. 'I don'tfancy him for my part. I am pretty sure he is tough eating.'

'That would be to honour instead of punish his insolence,' returned thequeen. 'But why should our poor creatures be deprived of so muchnourishment? Our little dogs and cats and pigs and small bears wouldenjoy him very much.'

'You are the best of housekeepers, my lovely queen!' said her husband.'Let it be so by all means. Let us have our people in, and get him outand kill him at once. He deserves it. The mischief he might havebrought upon us, now that he had penetrated so far as our most retiredcitadel, is incalculable. Or rather let us tie him hand and foot, andhave the pleasure of seeing him torn to pieces by full torchlight inthe great hall.'

'Better and better!' cried the queen and the prince together, both ofthem clapping their hands. And the prince made an ugly noise with hishare-lip, just as if he had intended to be one at the feast.

'But,' added the queen, bethinking herself, 'he is so troublesome. Forpoor creatures as they are, there is something about those sun-peoplethat is very troublesome. I cannot imagine how it is that with suchsuperior strength and skill and understanding as ours, we permit themto exist at all. Why do we not destroy them entirely, and use theircattle and grazing lands at our pleasure? Of course we don't want tolive in their horrid country! It is far too glaring for our quieterand more refined tastes. But we might use it as a sort of outhouse,you know. Even our creatures' eyes might get used to it, and if theydid grow blind that would be of no consequence, provided they grew fatas well. But we might even keep their great cows and other creatures,and then we should have a few more luxuries, such as cream and cheese,which at present we only taste occasionally, when our brave men havesucceeded in carrying some off from their farms.'

'It is worth thinking of,' said the king; 'and I don't know why youshould be the first to suggest it, except that you have a positivegenius for conquest. But still, as you say, there is something verytroublesome about them; and it would be better, as I understand you tosuggest, that we should starve him for a day or two first, so that hemay be a little less frisky when we take him out.'

'Once there was a goblin
Living in a hole;
Busy he was cobblin'
A shoe without a sole.

'By came a birdie:
"Goblin, what do you do?"
"Cobble at a sturdie
Upper leather shoe."

'"What's the good o' that, Sir?"
Said the little bird.
"Why it's very Pat, Sir—
Plain without a word.

'"Where 'tis all a hole, Sir,
Never can be holes:
Why should their shoes have soles, Sir,
When they've got no souls?"'

'What's that horrible noise?' cried the queen, shuddering frompot-metal head to granite shoes.

'I declare,' said the king with solemn indignation, 'it's thesun-creature in the hole!'

'Stop that disgusting noise!' cried the crown prince valiantly, gettingup and standing in front of the heap of stones, with his face towardsCurdie's prison. 'Do now, or I'll break your head.'

'Break away,' shouted Curdie, and began singing again:

'Once there was a goblin,
Living in a hole—'

'I really cannot bear it,' said the queen. 'If I could only get at hishorrid toes with my slippers again!'

'I think we had better go to bed,' said the king.

'It's not time to go to bed,' said the queen.

'I would if I was you,' said Curdie.

'Impertinent wretch!' said the queen, with the utmost scorn in hervoice.

'An impossible if,' said His Majesty with dignity.

'Quite,' returned Curdie, and began singing again:

'Go to bed,
Goblin, do.
Help the queen
Take off her shoe.

'If you do,
It will disclose
A horrid set
Of sprouting toes.'

'What a lie!' roared the queen in a rage.

'By the way, that reminds me,' said the king, 'that for as long as wehave been married, I have never seen your feet, queen. I think youmight take off your shoes when you go to bed! They positively hurt mesometimes.'

'I will do as I like,' retorted the queen sulkily.

'You ought to do as your own hubby wishes you,' said the king.

'I will not,' said the queen.

'Then I insist upon it,' said the king.

Apparently His Majesty approached the queen for the purpose offollowing the advice given by Curdie, for the latter heard a scuffle,and then a great roar from the king.

'Will you be quiet, then?' said the queen wickedly.

'Yes, yes, queen. I only meant to coax you.'

'Hands off!' cried the queen triumphantly. 'I'm going to bed. You maycome when you like. But as long as I am queen I will sleep in myshoes. It is my royal privilege. Harelip, go to bed.'

'I'm going,' said Harelip sleepily.

'So am I,' said the king.

'Come along, then,' said the queen; 'and mind you are good, or I'll—'

'Oh, no, no, no!' screamed the king in the most supplicating of tones.

Curdie heard only a muttered reply in the distance; and then the cavewas quite still.

They had left the fire burning, and the light came through brighterthan before. Curdie thought it was time to try again if anything couldbe done. But he found he could not get even a finger through the chinkbetween the slab and the rock. He gave a great rush with his shoulderagainst the slab, but it yielded no more than if it had been part ofthe rock. All he could do was to sit down and think again.

By and by he came to the resolution to pretend to be dying, in the hopethey might take him out before his strength was too much exhausted tolet him have a chance. Then, for the creatures, if he could but findhis axe again, he would have no fear of them; and if it were not forthe queen's horrid shoes, he would have no fear at all.

Meantime, until they should come again at night, there was nothing forhim to do but forge new rhymes, now his only weapons. He had nointention of using them at present, of course; but it was well to havea stock, for he might live to want them, and the manufacture of themwould help to while away the time.

CHAPTER 20

Irene's Clue

That same morning early, the princess woke in a terrible fright. Therewas a hideous noise in her room—creatures snarling and hissing androcketing about as if they were fighting. The moment she came toherself, she remembered something she had never thought of again—whather grandmother told her to do when she was frightened. Sheimmediately took off her ring and put it under her pillow. As she didso she fancied she felt a finger and thumb take it gently from underher palm. 'It must be my grandmother!' she said to herself, and thethought gave her such courage that she stopped to put on her daintylittle slippers before running from the room. While doing this shecaught sight of a long cloak of sky-blue, thrown over the back of achair by the bedside. She had never seen it before but it wasevidently waiting for her. She put it on, and then, feeling with theforefinger of her right hand, soon found her grandmother's thread,which she proceeded at once to follow, expecting it would lead herstraight up the old stair. When she reached the door she found it wentdown and ran along the floor, so that she had almost to crawl in orderto keep a hold of it. Then, to her surprise, and somewhat to herdismay, she found that instead of leading her towards the stair itturned in quite the opposite direction. It led her through certainnarrow passages towards the kitchen, turning aside ere she reached it,and guiding her to a door which communicated with a small back yard.Some of the maids were already up, and this door was standing open.Across the yard the thread still ran along the ground, until it broughther to a door in the wall which opened upon the mountainside. When shehad passed through, the thread rose to about half her height, and shecould hold it with ease as she walked. It led her straight up themountain.

The cause of her alarm was less frightful than she supposed. Thecook's great black cat, pursued by the housekeeper's terrier, hadbounced against her bedroom door, which had not been properly fastened,and the two had burst into the room together and commenced a battleroyal. How the nurse came to sleep through it was a mystery, but Isuspect the old lady had something to do with it.

It was a clear warm morning. The wind blew deliciously over theMountainside. Here and there she saw a late primrose but she did notstop to call upon them. The sky was mottled with small clouds.

The sun was not yet up, but some of their fluffy edges had caught hislight, and hung out orange and gold-coloured fringes upon the air. Thedew lay in round drops upon the leaves, and hung like tiny diamondear-rings from the blades of grass about her path.

'How lovely that bit of gossamer is!' thought the princess, looking ata long undulating line that shone at some distance from her up thehill. It was not the time for gossamers though; and Irene soondiscovered that it was her own thread she saw shining on before her inthe light of the morning. It was leading her she knew not whither; butshe had never in her life been out before sunrise, and everything wasso fresh and cool and lively and full of something coming, that shefelt too happy to be afraid of anything.

After leading her up a good distance, the thread turned to the left,and down the path upon which she and Lootie had met Curdie. But shenever thought of that, for now in the morning light, with its faroutlook over the country, no path could have been more open and airyand cheerful. She could see the road almost to the horizon, alongwhich she had so often watched her king-papa and his troop comeshining, with the bugle-blast cleaving the air before them; and it waslike a companion to her. Down and down the path went, then up, andthen down and then up again, getting rugged and more rugged as it went;and still along the path went the silvery thread, and still along thethread went Irene's little rosy-tipped forefinger. By and by she cameto a little stream that jabbered and prattled down the hill, and up theside of the stream went both path and thread. And still the path grewrougher and steeper, and the mountain grew wilder, till Irene began tothink she was going a very long way from home; and when she turned tolook back she saw that the level country had vanished and the roughbare mountain had closed in about her. But still on went the thread,and on went the princess. Everything around her was getting brighterand brighter as the sun came nearer; till at length his first rays allat once alighted on the top of a rock before her, like some goldencreature fresh from the sky. Then she saw that the little stream ranout of a hole in that rock, that the path did not go past the rock, andthat the thread was leading her straight up to it. A shudder ranthrough her from head to foot when she found that the thread wasactually taking her into the hole out of which the stream ran. It ranout babbling joyously, but she had to go in.

She did not hesitate. Right into the hole she went, which was highenough to let her walk without stooping. For a little way there was abrown glimmer, but at the first turn it all but ceased, and before shehad gone many paces she was in total darkness. Then she began to befrightened indeed. Every moment she kept feeling the thread backwardsand forwards, and as she went farther and farther into the darkness ofthe great hollow mountain, she kept thinking more and more about hergrandmother, and all that she had said to her, and how kind she hadbeen, and how beautiful she was, and all about her lovely room, and thefire of roses, and the great lamp that sent its light through stonewalls. And she became more and more sure that the thread could nothave gone there of itself, and that her grandmother must have sent it.But it tried her dreadfully when the path went down very steep, andespecially when she came to places where she had to go down roughstairs, and even sometimes a ladder. Through one narrow passage afteranother, over lumps of rock and sand and clay, the thread guided her,until she came to a small hole through which she had to creep. Findingno change on the other side, 'Shall I ever get back?' she thought, overand over again, wondering at herself that she was not ten times morefrightened, and often feeling as if she were only walking in the storyof a dream. Sometimes she heard the noise of water, a dull gurglinginside the rock. By and by she heard the sounds of blows, which camenearer and nearer; but again they grew duller, and almost died away.In a hundred directions she turned, obedient to the guiding thread.

At last she spied a dull red shine, and came up to the mica window, andthence away and round about, and right, into a cavern, where glowed thered embers of a fire. Here the thread began to rise. It rose as highas her head and higher still. What should she do if she lost her hold?She was pulling it down: She might break it! She could see it far up,glowing as red as her fire-opal in the light of the embers.

But presently she came to a huge heap of stones, piled in a slopeagainst the wall of the cavern. On these she climbed, and soonrecovered the level of the thread only however to find, the nextmoment, that it vanished through the heap of stones, and left herstanding on it, with her face to the solid rock. For one terriblemoment she felt as if her grandmother had forsaken her. The threadwhich the spiders had spun far over the seas, which her grandmother hadsat in the moonlight and spun again for her, which she had tempered inthe rose-fire and tied to her opal ring, had left her—had gone whereshe could no longer follow it—had brought her into a horrible cavern,and there left her! She was forsaken indeed!

'When shall I wake?' she said to herself in an agony, but the samemoment knew that it was no dream. She threw herself upon the heap, andbegan to cry. It was well she did not know what creatures, one of themwith stone shoes on her feet, were lying in the next cave. But neitherdid she know who was on the other side of the slab.

At length the thought struck her that at least she could follow thethread backwards, and thus get out of the mountain, and home. She roseat once, and found the thread. But the instant she tried to feel itbackwards, it vanished from her touch. Forwards, it led her hand up tothe heap of stones—backwards it seemed nowhere. Neither could she seeit as before in the light of the fire. She burst into a wailing cry,and again threw herself down on the stones.

CHAPTER 21

The Escape

As the princess lay and sobbed she kept feeling the threadmechanically, following it with her finger many times up to the stonesin which it disappeared. By and by she began, still mechanically, topoke her finger in after it between the stones as far as she could.All at once it came into her head that she might remove some of thestones and see where the thread went next. Almost laughing at herselffor never having thought of this before, she jumped to her feet. Herfear vanished; once more she was certain her grandmother's thread couldnot have brought her there just to leave her there; and she began tothrow away the stones from the top as fast as she could, sometimes twoor three at a handful, sometimes taking both hands to lift one. Afterclearing them away a little, she found that the thread turned and wentstraight downwards. Hence, as the heap sloped a good deal, growing ofcourse wider towards its base, she had to throw away a multitude ofstones to follow the thread. But this was not all, for she soon foundthat the thread, after going straight down for a little way, turnedfirst sideways in one direction, then sideways in another, and thenshot, at various angles, hither and thither inside the heap, so thatshe began to be afraid that to clear the thread she must remove thewhole huge gathering. She was dismayed at the very idea, but, losingno time, set to work with a will; and with aching back, and bleedingfingers and hands, she worked on, sustained by the pleasure of seeingthe heap slowly diminish and begin to show itself on the opposite sideof the fire. Another thing which helped to keep up her courage wasthat, as often as she uncovered a turn of the thread, instead of lyingloose upon the stone, it tightened up; this made her sure that hergrandmother was at the end of it somewhere.

She had got about half-way down when she started, and nearly fell withfright. Close to her ears as it seemed, a voice broke out singing:

'Jabber, bother, smash!
You'll have it all in a crash.
Jabber, smash, bother!
You'll have the worst of the pother.
Smash, bother, jabber!—'

Here Curdie stopped, either because he could not find a rhyme to'jabber', or because he remembered what he had forgotten when he wokeup at the sound of Irene's labours, that his plan was to make thegoblins think he was getting weak. But he had uttered enough to letIrene know who he was.

'It's Curdie!' she cried joyfully.

'Hush! hush!' came Curdie's voice again from somewhere. 'Speak softly.'

'Why, you were singing loud!' said Irene.

'Yes. But they know I am here, and they don't know you are. Who areyou?'

'I'm Irene,' answered the princess. 'I know who you are quite well.You're Curdie.'

'Why, how ever did you come here, Irene?'

'My great-great-grandmother sent me; and I think I've found out why.You can't get out, I suppose?'

'No, I can't. What are you doing?'

'Clearing away a huge heap of stones.'

'There's a princess!' exclaimed Curdie, in a tone of delight, but stillspeaking in little more than a whisper. 'I can't think how you gothere, though.'

'My grandmother sent me after her thread.'

'I don't know what you mean,' said Curdie; 'but so you're there, itdoesn't much matter.'

'Oh, yes, it does!' returned Irene. 'I should never have been here butfor her.'

'You can tell me all about it when we get out, then. There's no timeto lose now,' said Curdie.

And Irene went to work, as fresh as when she began.

'There's such a lot of stones!' she said. 'It will take me a long timeto get them all away.'

'How far on have you got?' asked Curdie.

'I've got about the half away, but the other half is ever so muchbigger.'

'I don't think you will have to move the lower half. Do you see a slablaid up against the wall?'

Irene looked, and felt about with her hands, and soon perceived theoutlines of the slab.

'Yes,' she answered, 'I do.'

'Then, I think,' rejoined Curdie, 'when you have cleared the slab abouthalf-way down, or a bit more, I shall be able to push it over.'

'I must follow my thread,' returned Irene, 'whatever I do.'

'What do you mean?' exclaimed Curdie.

'You will see when you get out,' answered the princess, and went on harder than ever.

But she was soon satisfied that what Curdie wanted done and what thethread wanted done were one and the same thing. For she not only sawthat by following the turns of the thread she had been clearing theface of the slab, but that, a little more than half-way down, thethread went through the chink between the slab and the wall into theplace where Curdie was confined, so that she could not follow it anyfarther until the slab was out of her way. As soon as she found this,she said in a right joyous whisper:

'Now, Curdie, I think if you were to give a great push, the slab wouldtumble over.'

'Stand quite clear of it, then,' said Curdie, 'and let me know when youare ready.'

Irene got off the heap, and stood on one side of it. 'Now, Curdie!'she cried.

Curdie gave a great rush with his shoulder against it. Out tumbled theslab on the heap, and out crept Curdie over the top of it.

'You've saved my life, Irene!' he whispered.

'Oh, Curdie! I'm so glad! Let's get out of this horrid place as fastas we can.'

'That's easier said than done,' returned he.

'Oh, no, it's quite easy,' said Irene. 'We have only to follow mythread. I am sure that it's going to take us out now.'

She had already begun to follow it over the fallen slab into the hole,while Curdie was searching the floor of the cavern for his pickaxe.

'Here it is!' he cried. 'No, it is not,' he added, in a disappointedtone. 'What can it be, then? I declare it's a torch. That is jolly!It's better almost than my pickaxe. Much better if it weren't forthose stone shoes!' he went on, as he lighted the torch by blowing thelast embers of the expiring fire.

When he looked up, with the lighted torch casting a glare into thegreat darkness of the huge cavern, he caught sight of Irenedisappearing in the hole out of which he had himself just come.

'Where are you going there?' he cried. 'That's not the way out. That'swhere I couldn't get out.'

'I know that,' whispered Irene. 'But this is the way my thread goes,and I must follow it.'

'What nonsense the child talks!' said Curdie to himself. 'I mustfollow her, though, and see that she comes to no harm. She will soonfind she can't get out that way, and then she will come with me.'

So he crept over the slab once more into the hole with his torch in hishand. But when he looked about in it, he could see her nowhere. Andnow he discovered that although the hole was narrow, it was much longerthan he had supposed; for in one direction the roof came down very low,and the hole went off in a narrow passage, of which he could not seethe end. The princess must have crept in there. He got on his kneesand one hand, holding the torch with the other, and crept after her.The hole twisted about, in some parts so low that he could hardly getthrough, in others so high that he could not see the roof, buteverywhere it was narrow—far too narrow for a goblin to get through,and so I presume they never thought that Curdie might. He wasbeginning to feel very uncomfortable lest something should havebefallen the princess, when he heard her voice almost close to his ear,whispering:

'Aren't you coming, Curdie?'

And when he turned the next corner there she stood waiting for him.

'I knew you couldn't go wrong in that narrow hole, but now you mustkeep by me, for here is a great wide place,' she said.

'I can't understand it,' said Curdie, half to himself, half to Irene.

'Never mind,' she returned. 'Wait till we get out.'

Curdie, utterly astonished that she had already got so far, and by apath he had known nothing of, thought it better to let her do as shepleased. 'At all events,' he said again to himself, 'I know nothingabout the way, miner as I am; and she seems to think she does knowsomething about it, though how she should passes my comprehension. Soshe's just as likely to find her way as I am, and as she insists ontaking the lead, I must follow. We can't be much worse off than weare, anyhow.' Reasoning thus, he followed her a few steps, and cameout in another great cavern, across which Irene walked in a straightline, as confidently as if she knew every step of the way. Curdie wenton after her, flashing his torch about, and trying to see something ofwhat lay around them. Suddenly he started back a pace as the light fellupon something close by which Irene was passing. It was a platform ofrock raised a few feet from the floor and covered with sheepskins, uponwhich lay two horrible figures asleep, at once recognized by Curdie asthe king and queen of the goblins. He lowered his torch instantly lestthe light should awake them. As he did so it flashed upon his pickaxe,lying by the side of the queen, whose hand lay close by the handle ofit.

'Stop one moment,' he whispered. 'Hold my torch, and don't let thelight on their faces.'

Irene shuddered when she saw the frightful creatures, whom she hadpassed without observing them, but she did as he requested, and turningher back, held the torch low in front of her. Curdie drew his pickaxecarefully away, and as he did so spied one of her feet, projecting fromunder the skins. The great clumsy granite shoe, exposed thus to hishand, was a temptation not to be resisted. He laid hold of it, and,with cautious efforts, drew it off. The moment he succeeded, he saw tohis astonishment that what he had sung in ignorance, to annoy thequeen, was actually true: she had six horrible toes. Overjoyed at hissuccess, and seeing by the huge bump in the sheepskins where the otherfoot was, he proceeded to lift them gently, for, if he could onlysucceed in carrying away the other shoe as well, he would be no moreafraid of the goblins than of so many flies. But as he pulled at thesecond shoe the queen gave a growl and sat up in bed. The same instantthe king awoke also and sat up beside her.

'Run, Irene!' cried Curdie, for though he was not now in the leastafraid for himself, he was for the princess.

Irene looked once round, saw the fearful creatures awake, and like thewise princess she was, dashed the torch on the ground and extinguishedit, crying out:

'Here, Curdie, take my hand.'

He darted to her side, forgetting neither the queen's shoe nor hispickaxe, and caught hold of her hand, as she sped fearlessly where herthread guided her. They heard the queen give a great bellow; but theyhad a good start, for it would be some time before they could gettorches lighted to pursue them. Just as they thought they saw a gleambehind them, the thread brought them to a very narrow opening, throughwhich Irene crept easily, and Curdie with difficulty.

'Now,' said Curdie; 'I think we shall be safe.'

'Of course we shall,' returned Irene.

'Why do you think so?' asked Curdie.

'Because my grandmother is taking care of us.'

'That's all nonsense,' said Curdie. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'Then if you don't know what I mean, what right have you to call itnonsense?' asked the princess, a little offended.

'I beg your pardon, Irene,' said Curdie; 'I did not mean to vex you.'

'Of course not,' returned the princess. 'But why do you think we shallbe safe?'

'Because the king and queen are far too stout to get through that hole.'

'There might be ways round,' said the princess.

'To be sure there might: we are not out of it yet,' acknowledged Curdie.

'But what do you mean by the king and queen?' asked the princess. 'Ishould never call such creatures as those a king and a queen.'

'Their own people do, though,' answered Curdie.

The princess asked more questions, and Curdie, as they walked leisurelyalong, gave her a full account, not only of the character and habits ofthe goblins, so far as he knew them, but of his own adventures withthem, beginning from the very night after that in which he had met herand Lootie upon the mountain. When he had finished, he begged Irene totell him how it was that she had come to his rescue. So Irene too hadto tell a long story, which she did in rather a roundabout manner,interrupted by many questions concerning things she had not explained.But her tale, as he did not believe more than half of it, lefteverything as unaccountable to him as before, and he was nearly as muchperplexed as to what he must think of the princess. He could notbelieve that she was deliberately telling stories, and the onlyconclusion he could come to was that Lootie had been playing the childtricks, inventing no end of lies to frighten her for her own purposes.

'But how ever did Lootie come to let you go into the mountainsalone?' he asked.

'Lootie knows nothing about it. I left her fast asleep—at least Ithink so. I hope my grandmother won't let her get into trouble, for itwasn't her fault at all, as my grandmother very well knows.'

'But how did you find your way to me?' persisted Curdie.

'I told you already,' answered Irene; 'by keeping my finger upon mygrandmother's thread, as I am doing now.'

'You don't mean you've got the thread there?'

'Of course I do. I have told you so ten times already. I havehardly—except when I was removing the stones—taken my finger off it.There!' she added, guiding Curdie's hand to the thread, 'you feel ityourself—don't you?'

'I feel nothing at all,' replied Curdie.

'Then what can be the matter with your finger? I feel it perfectly. To be sure it is very thin,and in the sunlight looks just like the thread of a spider, thoughthere are many of them twisted together to make it—but for all that Ican't think why you shouldn't feel it as well as I do.'

Curdie was too polite to say he did not believe there was any threadthere at all. What he did say was:

'Well, I can make nothing of it.'

'I can, though, and you must be glad of that, for it will do for bothof us.'

'We're not out yet,' said Curdie.

'We soon shall be,' returned Irene confidently. And now the threadwent downwards, and led Irene's hand to a hole in the floor of thecavern, whence came a sound of running water which they had beenhearing for some time.

'It goes into the ground now, Curdie,' she said, stopping.

He had been listening to another sound, which his practised ear hadcaught long ago, and which also had been growing louder. It was thenoise the goblin-miners made at their work, and they seemed to be at nogreat distance now. Irene heard it the moment she stopped.

'What is that noise?' she asked. 'Do you know, Curdie?'

'Yes. It is the goblins digging and burrowing,' he answered.

'And you don't know what they do it for?'

'No; I haven't the least idea. Would you like to see them?' he asked,wishing to have another try after their secret.

'If my thread took me there, I shouldn't much mind; but I don't want tosee them, and I can't leave my thread. It leads me down into the hole,and we had better go at once.'

'Very well. Shall I go in first?' said Curdie.

'No; better not. You can't feel the thread,' she answered, steppingdown through a narrow break in the floor of the cavern. 'Oh!' shecried, 'I am in the water. It is running strong—but it is not deep,and there is just room to walk. Make haste, Curdie.'

He tried, but the hole was too small for him to get in.

'Go on a little bit,' he said, shouldering his pickaxe. In a few momentshe had cleared a larger opening and followed her. They went on, downand down with the running water, Curdie getting more and more afraid itwas leading them to some terrible gulf in the heart of the mountain.In one or two places he had to break away the rock to make room beforeeven Irene could get through—at least without hurting herself. But atlength they spied a glimmer of light, and in a minute more they werealmost blinded by the full sunlight, into which they emerged. It wassome little time before the princess could see well enough to discoverthat they stood in her own garden, close by the seat on which she andher king-papa had sat that afternoon. They had come out by the channelof the little stream. She danced and clapped her hands with delight.

'Now, Curdie!' she cried, 'won't you believe what I told you about mygrandmother and her thread?'

For she had felt all the time that Curdie was not believing what shetold him.

'There!—don't you see it shining on before us?' she added.

'I don't see anything,' persisted Curdie.

'Then you must believe without seeing,' said the princess; 'for youcan't deny it has brought us out of the mountain.'

'I can't deny we are out of the mountain, and I should be veryungrateful indeed to deny that you had brought me out of it.'

'I couldn't have done it but for the thread,' persisted Irene.

'That's the part I don't understand.'

'Well, come along, and Lootie will get you something to eat. I am sureyou must want it very much.'

'Indeed I do. But my father and mother will be so anxious about me, Imust make haste—first up the mountain to tell my mother, and then downinto the mine again to let my father know.'

'Very well, Curdie; but you can't get out without coming this way, andI will take you through the house, for that is nearest.'

They met no one by the way, for, indeed, as before, the people werehere and there and everywhere searching for the princess. When theygot in Irene found that the thread, as she had half expected, went upthe old staircase, and a new thought struck her. She turned to Curdieand said:

'My grandmother wants me. Do come up with me and see her. Then youwill know that I have been telling you the truth. Do come—to pleaseme, Curdie. I can't bear you should think what I say is not true.'

'I never doubted you believed what you said,' returned Curdie. 'I onlythought you had some fancy in your head that was not correct.'

'But do come, dear Curdie.'

The little miner could not withstand this appeal, and though he feltshy in what seemed to him a huge grand house, he yielded, and followedher up the stair.

CHAPTER 22

The Old Lady and Curdie

Up the stair then they went, and the next and the next, and through thelong rows of empty rooms, and up the little tower stair, Irene growinghappier and happier as she ascended. There was no answer when sheknocked at length at the door of the workroom, nor could she hear anysound of the spinning-wheel, and once more her heart sank within her,but only for one moment, as she turned and knocked at the other door.

'Come in,' answered the sweet voice of her grandmother, and Ireneopened the door and entered, followed by Curdie.

'You darling!' cried the lady, who was seated by a fire of red rosesmingled with white. 'I've been waiting for you, and indeed getting alittle anxious about you, and beginning to think whether I had notbetter go and fetch you myself.'

As she spoke she took the little princess in her arms and placed herupon her lap. She was dressed in white now, and looking if possiblemore lovely than ever.

'I've brought Curdie, grandmother. He wouldn't believe what I told himand so I've brought him.'

'Yes—I see him. He is a good boy, Curdie, and a brave boy. Aren't youglad you've got him out?'

'Yes, grandmother. But it wasn't very good of him not to believe mewhen I was telling him the truth.'

'People must believe what they can, and those who believe more must notbe hard upon those who believe less. I doubt if you would havebelieved it all yourself if you hadn't seen some of it.'

'Ah! yes, grandmother, I dare say. I'm sure you are right. But he'llbelieve now.'

'I don't know that,' replied her grandmother.

'Won't you, Curdie?' said Irene, looking round at him as she asked thequestion. He was standing in the middle of the floor, staring, andlooking strangely bewildered. This she thought came of hisastonishment at the beauty of the lady.

'Make a bow to my grandmother, Curdie,' she said.

'I don't see any grandmother,' answered Curdie rather gruffly.

'Don't see my grandmother, when I'm sitting in her lap?' exclaimed theprincess.

'No, I don't,' reiterated Curdie, in an offended tone.

'Don't you see the lovely fire of roses—white ones amongst them thistime?' asked Irene, almost as bewildered as he.

'No, I don't,' answered Curdie, almost sulkily.

'Nor the blue bed? Nor the rose-coloured counterpane?—Nor thebeautiful light, like the moon, hanging from the roof?'

'You're making game of me, Your Royal Highness; and after what we havecome through together this day, I don't think it is kind of you,' saidCurdie, feeling very much hurt.

'Then what do you see?' asked Irene, who perceived at once that for hernot to believe him was at least as bad as for him not to believe her.

'I see a big, bare, garret-room—like the one in mother's cottage, onlybig enough to take the cottage itself in, and leave a good margin allround,' answered Curdie.

'And what more do you see?'

'I see a tub, and a heap of musty straw, and a withered apple, and aray of sunlight coming through a hole in the middle of the roof andshining on your head, and making all the place look a curious duskybrown. I think you had better drop it, princess, and go down to thenursery, like a good girl.'

'But don't you hear my grandmother talking to me?' asked Irene, almostcrying.

'No. I hear the cooing of a lot of pigeons. If you won't come down, Iwill go without you. I think that will be better anyhow, for I'm surenobody who met us would believe a word we said to them. They wouldthink we made it all up. I don't expect anybody but my own father andmother to believe me. They know I wouldn't tell a story.'

'And yet you won't believe me, Curdie?' expostulated the princess, nowfairly crying with vexation and sorrow at the gulf between her andCurdie.

'No. I can't, and I can't help it,' said Curdie, turning to leave theroom.

'What SHALL I do, grandmother?' sobbed the princess, turning her faceround upon the lady's bosom, and shaking with suppressed sobs.

'You must give him time,' said her grandmother; 'and you must becontent not to be believed for a while. It is very hard to bear; but Ihave had to bear it, and shall have to bear it many a time yet. I willtake care of what Curdie thinks of you in the end. You must let him gonow.'

'You're not coming, are you?' asked Curdie.

'No, Curdie; my grandmother says I must let you go. Turn to the rightwhen you get to the bottom of all the stairs, and that will take you tothe hall where the great door is.'

'Oh! I don't doubt I can find my way—without you, princess, or yourold grannie's thread either,' said Curdie quite rudely.

'Oh, Curdie! Curdie!'

'I wish I had gone home at once. I'm very much obliged to you, Irene,for getting me out of that hole, but I wish you hadn't made a fool ofme afterwards.'

He said this as he opened the door, which he left open, and, withoutanother word, went down the stair. Irene listened with dismay to hisdeparting footsteps. Then turning again to the lady:

'What does it all mean, grandmother?' she sobbed, and burst into freshtears.

'It means, my love, that I did not mean to show myself. Curdie is notyet able to believe some things. Seeing is not believing—it is onlyseeing. You remember I told you that if Lootie were to see me, shewould rub her eyes, forget the half she saw, and call the other halfnonsense.'

'Yes; but I should have thought Curdie—'

'You are right. Curdie is much farther on than Lootie, and you willsee what will come of it. But in the meantime you must be content, Isay, to be misunderstood for a while. We are all very anxious to beunderstood, and it is very hard not to be. But there is one thing muchmore necessary.'

'What is that, grandmother?'

'To understand other people.'

'Yes, grandmother. I must be fair—for if I'm not fair to otherpeople, I'm not worth being understood myself. I see. So as Curdiecan't help it, I will not be vexed with him, but just wait.'

'There's my own dear child,' said her grandmother, and pressed herclose to her bosom.

'Why weren't you in your workroom when we came up, grandmother?' askedIrene, after a few moments' silence.

'If I had been there, Curdie would have seen me well enough. But whyshould I be there rather than in this beautiful room?'

'I thought you would be spinning.'

'I've nobody to spin for just at present. I never spin without knowingfor whom I am spinning.'

'That reminds me—there is one thing that puzzles me,' said theprincess: 'how are you to get the thread out of the mountain again?Surely you won't have to make another for me? That would be such atrouble!'

The lady set her down and rose and went to the fire. Putting in herhand, she drew it out again and held up the shining ball between herfinger and thumb.

'I've got it now, you see,' she said, coming back to the princess, 'allready for you when you want it.'

Going to her cabinet, she laid it in the same drawer as before.

'And here is your ring,' she added, taking it from the little finger ofher left hand and putting it on the forefinger of Irene's right hand.

'Oh, thank you, grandmother! I feel so safe now!'

'You are very tired, my child,' the lady went on. 'Your hands are hurtwith the stones, and I have counted nine bruises on you. Just lookwhat you are like.'

And she held up to her a little mirror which she had brought from thecabinet. The princess burst into a merry laugh at the sight. She wasso draggled with the stream and dirty with creeping through narrowplaces, that if she had seen the reflection without knowing it was areflection, she would have taken herself for some gipsy child whoseface was washed and hair combed about once in a month. The lady laughedtoo, and lifting her again upon her knee, took off her cloak andnight-gown. Then she carried her to the side of the room. Irenewondered what she was going to do with her, but asked noquestions—only starting a little when she found that she was going tolay her in the large silver bath; for as she looked into it, again shesaw no bottom, but the stars shining miles away, as it seemed, in agreat blue gulf. Her hands closed involuntarily on the beautiful armsthat held her, and that was all.

The lady pressed her once more to her bosom, saying:

'Do not be afraid, my child.'

'No, grandmother,' answered the princess, with a little gasp; and thenext instant she sank in the clear cool water.

When she opened her eyes, she saw nothing but a strange lovely blueover and beneath and all about her. The lady, and the beautiful room,had vanished from her sight, and she seemed utterly alone. But insteadof being afraid, she felt more than happy—perfectly blissful. Andfrom somewhere came the voice of the lady, singing a strange sweetsong, of which she could distinguish every word; but of the sense shehad only a feeling—no understanding. Nor could she remember a singleline after it was gone. It vanished, like the poetry in a dream, asfast as it came. In after years, however, she would sometimes fancythat snatches of melody suddenly rising in her brain must be littlephrases and fragments of the air of that song; and the very fancy wouldmake her happier, and abler to do her duty.

How long she lay in the water she did not know. It seemed a longtime—not from weariness but from pleasure. But at last she felt thebeautiful hands lay hold of her, and through the gurgling water she waslifted out into the lovely room. The lady carried her to the fire, andsat down with her in her lap, and dried her tenderly with the softesttowel. It was so different from Lootie's drying. When the lady haddone, she stooped to the fire, and drew from it her night-gown, aswhite as snow.

'How delicious!' exclaimed the princess. 'It smells of all the rosesin the world, I think.'

When she stood up on the floor she felt as if she had been made overagain. Every bruise and all weariness were gone, and her hands weresoft and whole as ever.

'Now I am going to put you to bed for a good sleep,' said hergrandmother.

'But what will Lootie be thinking? And what am I to say to her whenshe asks me where I have been?'

'Don't trouble yourself about it. You will find it all come right,'said her grandmother, and laid her into the blue bed, under the rosycounterpane.

'There is just one thing more,' said Irene. 'I am a little anxiousabout Curdie. As I brought him into the house, I ought to have seenhim safe on his way home.'

'I took care of all that,' answered the lady. 'I told you to let himgo, and therefore I was bound to look after him. Nobody saw him, andhe is now eating a good dinner in his mother's cottage far up in themountain.'

'Then I will go to sleep,' said Irene, and in a few minutes she wasfast asleep.

CHAPTER 23

Curdie and His Mother

Curdie went up the mountain neither whistling nor singing, for he wasvexed with Irene for taking him in, as he called it; and he was vexedwith himself for having spoken to her so angrily. His mother gave acry of joy when she saw him, and at once set about getting himsomething to eat, asking him questions all the time, which he did notanswer so cheerfully as usual. When his meal was ready, she left himto eat it, and hurried to the mine to let his father know he was safe.When she came back, she found him fast asleep upon her bed; nor did hewake until his father came home in the evening.

'Now, Curdie,' his mother said, as they sat at supper, 'tell us thewhole story from beginning to end, just as it all happened.'

Curdie obeyed, and told everything to the point where they came outupon the lawn in the garden of the king's house.

'And what happened after that?' asked his mother. 'You haven't told usall. You ought to be very happy at having got away from those demons,and instead of that I never saw you so gloomy. There must be somethingmore. Besides, you do not speak of that lovely child as I should liketo hear you. She saved your life at the risk of her own, and yetsomehow you don't seem to think much of it.'

'She talked such nonsense,' answered Curdie, 'and told me a pack ofthings that weren't a bit true; and I can't get over it.'

'What were they?' asked his father. 'Your mother may be able to throwsome light upon them.'

Then Curdie made a clean breast of it, and told them everything.

They all sat silent for some time, pondering the strange tale. At lastCurdie's mother spoke.

'You confess, my boy,' she said, 'there is something about the wholeaffair you do not understand?'

'Yes, of course, mother,' he answered. 'I cannot understand how achild knowing nothing about the mountain, or even that I was shut up init, should come all that way alone, straight to where I was; and then,after getting me out of the hole, lead me out of the mountain too,where I should not have known a step of the way if it had been as lightas in the open air.'

'Then you have no right to say what she told you was not true. She didtake you out, and she must have had something to guide her: why not athread as well as a rope, or anything else? There is something youcannot explain, and her explanation may be the right one.'

'It's no explanation at all, mother; and I can't believe it.'

'That may be only because you do not understand it. If you did, youwould probably find it was an explanation, and believe it thoroughly.I don't blame you for not being able to believe it, but I do blame youfor fancying such a child would try to deceive you. Why should she?Depend upon it, she told you all she knew. Until you had found a betterway of accounting for it all, you might at least have been more sparingof your judgement.'

'That is what something inside me has been saying all the time,' saidCurdie, hanging down his head. 'But what do you make of thegrandmother? That is what I can't get over. To take me up to an oldgarret, and try to persuade me against the sight of my own eyes that itwas a beautiful room, with blue walls and silver stars, and no end ofthings in it, when there was nothing there but an old tub and awithered apple and a heap of straw and a sunbeam! It was too bad! Shemight have had some old woman there at least to pass for her preciousgrandmother!'

'Didn't she speak as if she saw those other things herself, Curdie?'

'Yes. That's what bothers me. You would have thought she really meantand believed that she saw every one of the things she talked about.And not one of them there! It was too bad, I say.'

'Perhaps some people can see things other people can't see, Curdie,'said his mother very gravely. 'I think I will tell you something I sawmyself once—only perhaps you won't believe me either!'

'Oh, mother, mother!' cried Curdie, bursting into tears; 'I don'tdeserve that, surely!'

'But what I am going to tell you is very strange,' persisted hismother; 'and if having heard it you were to say I must have beendreaming, I don't know that I should have any right to be vexed withyou, though I know at least that I was not asleep.'

'Do tell me, mother. Perhaps it will help me to think better of theprincess.'

'That's why I am tempted to tell you,' replied his mother. 'But first,I may as well mention that, according to old whispers, there issomething more than common about the king's family; and the queen wasof the same blood, for they were cousins of some degree. There werestrange stories told concerning them—all good stories—but strange,very strange. What they were I cannot tell, for I only remember thefaces of my grandmother and my mother as they talked together aboutthem. There was wonder and awe—not fear—in their eyes, and theywhispered, and never spoke aloud. But what I saw myself was this: Yourfather was going to work in the mine one night, and I had been downwith his supper. It was soon after we were married, and not very longbefore you were born. He came with me to the mouth of the mine, andleft me to go home alone, for I knew the way almost as well as thefloor of our own cottage. It was pretty dark, and in some parts of theroad where the rocks overhung nearly quite dark. But I got alongperfectly well, never thinking of being afraid, until I reached a spotyou know well enough, Curdie, where the path has to make a sharp turnout of the way of a great rock on the left-hand side. When I gotthere, I was suddenly surrounded by about half a dozen of the cobs, thefirst I had ever seen, although I had heard tell of them often enough.One of them blocked up the path, and they all began tormenting andteasing me in a way it makes me shudder to think of even now.'

'If I had only been with you!' cried father and son in a breath.

The mother gave a funny little smile, and went on.

'They had some of their horrible creatures with them too, and I mustconfess I was dreadfully frightened. They had torn my clothes verymuch, and I was afraid they were going to tear myself to pieces, whensuddenly a great white soft light shone upon me. I looked up. A broadray, like a shining road, came down from a large globe of silverylight, not very high up, indeed not quite so high as the horizon—so itcould not have been a new star or another moon or anything of thatsort. The cobs dropped persecuting me, and looked dazed, and I thoughtthey were going to run away, but presently they began again. The samemoment, however, down the path from the globe of light came a bird,shining like silver in the sun. It gave a few rapid flaps first, andthen, with its wings straight out, shot, sliding down the slope of thelight. It looked to me just like a white pigeon. But whatever it was,when the cobs caught sight of it coming straight down upon them, theytook to their heels and scampered away across the mountain, leaving mesafe, only much frightened. As soon as it had sent them off, the birdwent gliding again up the light, and the moment it reached the globethe light disappeared, just as if a shutter had been closed over awindow, and I saw it no more. But I had no more trouble with the cobsthat night or ever after.'

'How strange!' exclaimed Curdie.

'Yes, it was strange; but I can't help believing it, whether you do ornot,' said his mother.

'It's exactly as your mother told it to me the very next morning,' saidhis father.

'You don't think I'm doubting my own mother?' cried Curdie.

'There are other people in the world quite as well worth believing as your ownmother,' said his mother. 'I don't know that she's so much the fitterto be believed that she happens to be your mother, Mr. Curdie. Thereare mothers far more likely to tell lies than the little girl I sawtalking to the primroses a few weeks ago. If she were to lie I shouldbegin to doubt my own word.'

'But princesses have told lies as well as other people,' said Curdie.

'Yes, but not princesses like that child. She's a good girl, I amcertain, and that's more than being a princess. Depend upon it youwill have to be sorry for behaving so to her, Curdie. You ought atleast to have held your tongue.'

'I am sorry now,' answered Curdie.

'You ought to go and tell her so, then.'

'I don't see how I could manage that. They wouldn't let a miner boylike me have a word with her alone; and I couldn't tell her before thatnurse of hers. She'd be asking ever so many questions, and I don'tknow how many the little princess would like me to answer. She told methat Lootie didn't know anything about her coming to get me out of themountain. I am certain she would have prevented her somehow if she hadknown it. But I may have a chance before long, and meantime I must tryto do something for her. I think, father, I have got on the track atlast.'

'Have you, indeed, my boy?' said Peter. 'I am sure you deserve somesuccess; you have worked very hard for it. What have you found out?'

'It's difficult, you know, father, inside the mountain, especially inthe dark, and not knowing what turns you have taken, to tell the lie ofthings outside.'

'Impossible, my boy, without a chart, or at least a compass,' returnedhis father.

'Well, I think I have nearly discovered in what direction the cobs aremining. If I am right, I know something else that I can put to it, andthen one and one will make three.'

'They very often do, Curdie, as we miners ought to be very well aware.Now tell us, my boy, what the two things are, and see whether we canguess at the same third as you.'

'I don't see what that has to do with the princess,' interposed hismother.

'I will soon let you see that, mother. Perhaps you may think mefoolish, but until I am sure there, is nothing in my present fancy, Iam more determined than ever to go on with my observations. Just as wecame to the channel by which we got out, I heard the miners at worksomewhere near—I think down below us. Now since I began to watchthem, they have mined a good half-mile, in a straight line; and so faras I am aware, they are working in no other part of the mountain. ButI never could tell in what direction they were going. When we came outin the king's garden, however, I thought at once whether it waspossible they were working towards the king's house; and what I want todo tonight is to make sure whether they are or not. I will take alight with me—'

'Oh, Curdie,' cried his mother, 'then they will see you.'

'I'm no more afraid of them now than I was before,' rejoined Curdie,'now that I've got this precious shoe. They can't make another such ina hurry, and one bare foot will do for my purpose. Woman as she may be,I won't spare her next time. But I shall be careful with my light, forI don't want them to see me. I won't stick it in my hat.'

'Go on, then, and tell us what you mean to do.'

'I mean to take a bit of paper with me and a pencil, and go in at themouth of the stream by which we came out. I shall mark on the paper asnear as I can the angle of every turning I take until I find the cobsat work, and so get a good idea in what direction they are going. Ifit should prove to be nearly parallel with the stream, I shall know itis towards the king's house they are working.'

'And what if you should? How much wiser will you be then?'

'Wait a minute, mother dear. I told you that when I came upon theroyal family in the cave, they were talking of their prince—Harelip,they called him—marrying a sun-woman—that means one of us—one withtoes to her feet. Now in the speech one of them made that night attheir great gathering, of which I heard only a part, he said that peacewould be secured for a generation at least by the pledge the princewould hold for the good behaviour of her relatives: that's what hesaid, and he must have meant the sun-woman the prince was to marry. Iam quite sure the king is much too proud to wish his son to marry anybut a princess, and much too knowing to fancy that his having a peasantwoman for a wife would be of any great advantage to them.'

'I see what you are driving at now,' said his mother.

'But,' said his father, 'our king would dig the mountain to the plainbefore he would have his princess the wife of a cob, if he were tentimes a prince.'

'Yes; but they think so much of themselves!' said his mother. 'Smallcreatures always do. The bantam is the proudest cock in my littleyard.'

'And I fancy,' said Curdie, 'if they once got her, they would tell theking they would kill her except he consented to the marriage.'

'They might say so,' said his father, 'but they wouldn't kill her; theywould keep her alive for the sake of the hold it gave them over ourking. Whatever he did to them, they would threaten to do the same tothe princess.'

'And they are bad enough to torment her just for their own amusement—Iknow that,' said his mother.

'Anyhow, I will keep a watch on them, and see what they are up to,'said Curdie. 'It's too horrible to think of. I daren't let myself doit. But they shan't have her—at least if I can help it. So, motherdear—my clue is all right—will you get me a bit of paper and a penciland a lump of pease pudding, and I will set out at once. I saw a placewhere I can climb over the wall of the garden quite easily.'

'You must mind and keep out of the way of the men on the watch,' saidhis mother.

'That I will. I don't want them to know anything about it. They wouldspoil it all. The cobs would only try some other plan—they are suchobstinate creatures! I shall take good care, mother. They won't killand eat me either, if they should come upon me. So you needn't mindthem.'

His mother got him what he had asked for, and Curdie set out. Closebeside the door by which the princess left the garden for the mountainstood a great rock, and by climbing it Curdie got over the wall. Hetied his clue to a stone just inside the channel of the stream, andtook his pickaxe with him. He had not gone far before he encountered ahorrid creature coming towards the mouth. The spot was too narrow fortwo of almost any size or shape, and besides Curdie had no wish to letthe creature pass. Not being able to use his pickaxe, however, he hada severe struggle with him, and it was only after receiving many bites,some of them bad, that he succeeded in killing him with hispocket-knife. Having dragged him out, he made haste to get in againbefore another should stop up the way.

I need not follow him farther in this night's adventures. He returnedto his breakfast, satisfied that the goblins were mining in thedirection of the palace—on so low a level that their intention must,he thought, be to burrow under the walls of the king's house, and riseup inside it—in order, he fully believed, to lay hands on the littleprincess, and carry her off for a wife to their horrid Harelip.

CHAPTER 24

Irene Behaves Like a Princess

When the princess awoke from the sweetest of sleeps, she found hernurse bending over her, the housekeeper looking over the nurse'sshoulder, and the laundry-maid looking over the housekeeper's. The roomwas full of women-servants; and the gentlemen-at-arms, with a longcolumn of servants behind them, were peeping, or trying to peep in atthe door of the nursery.

'Are those horrid creatures gone?' asked the princess, rememberingfirst what had terrified her in the morning.

'You naughty, naughty little princess!' cried Lootie.

Her face was very pale, with red streaks in it, and she looked as ifshe were going to shake her; but Irene said nothing—only waited tohear what should come next.

'How could you get under the clothes like that, and make us all fancyyou were lost! And keep it up all day too! You are the most obstinatechild! It's anything but fun to us, I can tell you!'

It was the only way the nurse could account for her disappearance.

'I didn't do that, Lootie,' said Irene, very quietly.

'Don't tell stories!' cried her nurse quite rudely.

'I shall tell you nothing at all,' said Irene.

'That's just as bad,' said the nurse.

'Just as bad to say nothing at all as to tell stories?' exclaimed theprincess. 'I will ask my papa about that. He won't say so. And Idon't think he will like you to say so.'

'Tell me directly what you mean by it!' screamed the nurse, half wildwith anger at the princess and fright at the possible consequences toherself.

'When I tell you the truth, Lootie,' said the princess, who somehow didnot feel at all angry, 'you say to me "Don't tell stories": it seems Imust tell stories before you will believe me.'

'You are very rude, princess,' said the nurse.

'You are so rude, Lootie, that I will not speak to you again till youare sorry. Why should I, when I know you will not believe me?'returned the princess. For she did know perfectly well that if shewere to tell Lootie what she had been about, the more she went on totell her, the less would she believe her.

'You are the most provoking child!' cried her nurse. 'You deserve tobe well punished for your wicked behaviour.'

'Please, Mrs Housekeeper,' said the princess, 'will you take me to yourroom, and keep me till my king-papa comes? I will ask him to come assoon as he can.'

Every one stared at these words. Up to this moment they had allregarded her as little more than a baby.

But the housekeeper was afraid of the nurse, and sought to patchmatters up, saying:

'I am sure, princess, nursie did not mean to be rude to you.'

'I do not think my papa would wish me to have a nurse who spoke to meas Lootie does. If she thinks I tell lies, she had better either sayso to my papa, or go away. Sir Walter, will you take charge of me?'

'With the greatest of pleasure, princess,' answered the captain of thegentlemen-at-arms, walking with his great stride into the room.

The crowd of servants made eager way for him, and he bowed low beforethe little princess's bed. 'I shall send my servant at once, on thefastest horse in the stable, to tell your king-papa that Your RoyalHighness desires his presence. When you have chosen one of theseunder-servants to wait upon you, I shall order the room to be cleared.'

'Thank you very much, Sir Walter,' said the princess, and her eyeglanced towards a rosy-cheeked girl who had lately come to the house asa scullery-maid.

But when Lootie saw the eyes of her dear princess going in search ofanother instead of her, she fell upon her knees by the bedside, andburst into a great cry of distress.

'I think, Sir Walter,' said the princess, 'I will keep Lootie. But Iput myself under your care; and you need not trouble my king-papa untilI speak to you again. Will you all please to go away? I am quite safeand well, and I did not hide myself for the sake either of amusingmyself, or of troubling my people. Lootie, will you please to dressme.'

CHAPTER 25

Curdie Comes to Grief

Everything was for some time quiet above ground. The king was stillaway in a distant part of his dominions. The men-at-arms kept watchingabout the house. They had been considerably astonished by finding atthe foot of the rock in the garden the hideous body of the goblincreature killed by Curdie; but they came to the conclusion that it hadbeen slain in the mines, and had crept out there to die; and except anoccasional glimpse of a live one they saw nothing to cause alarm.Curdie kept watching in the mountain, and the goblins kept burrowingdeeper into the earth. As long as they went deeper there was, Curdiejudged, no immediate danger.

To Irene the summer was as full of pleasure as ever, and for a longtime, although she often thought of her grandmother during the day, andoften dreamed about her at night, she did not see her. The kids andthe flowers were as much her delight as ever, and she made as muchfriendship with the miners' children she met on the mountain as Lootiewould permit; but Lootie had very foolish notions concerning thedignity of a princess, not understanding that the truest princess isjust the one who loves all her brothers and sisters best, and who ismost able to do them good by being humble towards them. At the sametime she was considerably altered for the better in her behaviour tothe princess. She could not help seeing that she was no longer a merechild, but wiser than her age would account for. She kept foolishlywhispering to the servants, however—sometimes that the princess wasnot right in her mind, sometimes that she was too good to live, andother nonsense of the same sort.

All this time Curdie had to be sorry, without a chance of confessing,that he had behaved so unkindly to the princess. This perhaps made himthe more diligent in his endeavours to serve her. His mother and heoften talked on the subject, and she comforted him, and told him shewas sure he would some day have the opportunity he so much desired.

Here I should like to remark, for the sake of princes and princesses ingeneral, that it is a low and contemptible thing to refuse to confess afault, or even an error. If a true princess has done wrong, she isalways uneasy until she has had an opportunity of throwing thewrongness away from her by saying: 'I did it; and I wish I had not; andI am sorry for having done it.' So you see there is some ground forsupposing that Curdie was not a miner only, but a prince as well. Manysuch instances have been known in the world's history.

At length, however, he began to see signs of a change in theproceedings of the goblin excavators: they were going no deeper, buthad commenced running on a level; and he watched them, therefore, moreclosely than ever. All at once, one night, coming to a slope of veryhard rock, they began to ascend along the inclined plane of itssurface. Having reached its top, they went again on a level for anight or two, after which they began to ascend once more, and kept onat a pretty steep angle. At length Curdie judged it time to transferhis observation to another quarter, and the next night he did not go tothe mine at all; but, leaving his pickaxe and clue at home, and takingonly his usual lumps of bread and pease pudding, went down the mountainto the king's house. He climbed over the wall, and remained in thegarden the whole night, creeping on hands and knees from one spot tothe other, and lying at full length with his ear to the ground,listening. But he heard nothing except the tread of the men-at-arms asthey marched about, whose observation, as the night was cloudy andthere was no moon, he had little difficulty in avoiding. For severalfollowing nights he continued to haunt the garden and listen, but withno success.

At length, early one evening, whether it was that he had got carelessof his own safety, or that the growing moon had become strong enough toexpose him, his watching came to a sudden end. He was creeping frombehind the rock where the stream ran out, for he had been listening allround it in the hope it might convey to his ear some indication of thewhereabouts of the goblin miners, when just as he came into themoonlight on the lawn, a whizz in his ear and a blow upon his legstartled him. He instantly squatted in the hope of eluding furthernotice. But when he heard the sound of running feet, he jumped up totake the chance of escape by flight. He fell, however, with a keenshoot of pain, for the bolt of a crossbow had wounded his leg, and theblood was now streaming from it. He was instantly laid hold of by twoor three of the men-at-arms. It was useless to struggle, and hesubmitted in silence.

'It's a boy!' cried several of them together, in a tone of amazement.'I thought it was one of those demons. What are you about here?'

'Going to have a little rough usage, apparently,' said Curdie,laughing, as the men shook him.

'Impertinence will do you no good. You have no business here in theking's grounds, and if you don't give a true account of yourself, youshall fare as a thief.'

'Why, what else could he be?' said one.

'He might have been after a lost kid, you know,' suggested another.

'I see no good in trying to excuse him. He has no business here,anyhow.'

'Let me go away, then, if you please,' said Curdie.

'But we don't please—not except you give a good account of yourself.'

'I don't feel quite sure whether I can trust you,' said Curdie.

'We are the king's own men-at-arms,' said the captain courteously, forhe was taken with Curdie's appearance and courage.

'Well, I will tell you all about it—if you will promise to listen tome and not do anything rash.'

'I call that cool!' said one of the party, laughing. 'He will tell uswhat mischief he was about, if we promise to do as pleases him.'

'I was about no mischief,' said Curdie.

But ere he could say more he turned faint, and fell senseless on thegrass. Then first they discovered that the bolt they had shot, takinghim for one of the goblin creatures, had wounded him.

They carried him into the house and laid him down in the hall. Thereport spread that they had caught a robber, and the servants crowdedin to see the villain. Amongst the rest came the nurse. The moment shesaw him she exclaimed with indignation:

'I declare it's the same young rascal of a miner that was rude to meand the princess on the mountain. He actually wanted to kiss theprincess. I took good care of that—the wretch! And he was prowlingabout, was he? Just like his impudence!' The princess being fastasleep, she could misrepresent at her pleasure.

When he heard this, the captain, although he had considerable doubt ofits truth, resolved to keep Curdie a prisoner until they could searchinto the affair. So, after they had brought him round a little, andattended to his wound, which was rather a bad one, they laid him, stillexhausted from the loss of blood, upon a mattress in a disusedroom—one of those already so often mentioned—and locked the door, andleft him. He passed a troubled night, and in the morning they foundhim talking wildly. In the evening he came to himself, but felt veryweak, and his leg was exceedingly painful. Wondering where he was, andseeing one of the men-at-arms in the room, he began to question him andsoon recalled the events of the preceding night. As he was himselfunable to watch any more, he told the soldier all he knew about thegoblins, and begged him to tell his companions, and stir them up towatch with tenfold vigilance; but whether it was that he did not talkquite coherently, or that the whole thing appeared incredible,certainly the man concluded that Curdie was only raving still, andtried to coax him into holding his tongue. This, of course, annoyedCurdie dreadfully, who now felt in his turn what it was not to bebelieved, and the consequence was that his fever returned, and by thetime when, at his persistent entreaties, the captain was called, therecould be no doubt that he was raving. They did for him what theycould, and promised everything he wanted, but with no intention offulfilment. At last he went to sleep, and when at length his sleepgrew profound and peaceful, they left him, locked the door again, andwithdrew, intending to revisit him early in the morning.

CHAPTER 26

The Goblin-Miners

That same night several of the servants were having a chat togetherbefore going to bed.

'What can that noise be?' said one of the housemaids, who had beenlistening for a moment or two.

'I've heard it the last two nights,' said the cook. 'If there were anyabout the place, I should have taken it for rats, but my Tom keeps themfar enough.'

'I've heard, though,' said the scullery-maid, 'that rats move about ingreat companies sometimes. There may be an army of them invading us.I've heard the noises yesterday and today too.'

'It'll be grand fun, then, for my Tom and Mrs Housekeeper's Bob,' saidthe cook. 'They'll be friends for once in their lives, and fight onthe same side. I'll engage Tom and Bob together will put to flight anynumber of rats.'

'It seems to me,' said the nurse, 'that the noises are much too loudfor that. I have heard them all day, and my princess has asked meseveral times what they could be. Sometimes they sound like distantthunder, and sometimes like the noises you hear in the mountain fromthose horrid miners underneath.'

'I shouldn't wonder,' said the cook, 'if it was the miners after all.They may have come on some hole in the mountain through which thenoises reach to us. They are always boring and blasting and breaking,you know.'

As he spoke, there came a great rolling rumble beneath them, and thehouse quivered. They all started up in affright, and rushing to thehall found the gentlemen-at-arms in consternation also. They had sentto wake their captain, who said from their description that it musthave been an earthquake, an occurrence which, although very rare inthat country, had taken place almost within the century; and then wentto bed again, strange to say, and fell fast asleep without oncethinking of Curdie, or associating the noises they had heard with whathe had told them. He had not believed Curdie. If he had, he would atonce have thought of what he had said, and would have takenprecautions. As they heard nothing more, they concluded that SirWalter was right, and that the danger was over for perhaps anotherhundred years. The fact, as discovered afterwards, was that thegoblins had, in working up a second sloping face of stone, arrived at ahuge block which lay under the cellars of the house, within the line ofthe foundations.

It was so round that when they succeeded, after hard work, indislodging it without blasting, it rolled thundering down the slopewith a bounding, jarring roll, which shook the foundations of thehouse. The goblins were themselves dismayed at the noise, for theyknew, by careful spying and measuring, that they must now be very near,if not under the king's house, and they feared giving an alarm. They,therefore, remained quiet for a while, and when they began to workagain, they no doubt thought themselves very fortunate in coming upon avein of sand which filled a winding fissure in the rock on which thehouse was built. By scooping this away they came out in the king'swine cellar.

No sooner did they find where they were, than they scurried back again,like rats into their holes, and running at full speed to the goblinpalace, announced their success to the king and queen with shouts oftriumph.

In a moment the goblin royal family and the whole goblin people were ontheir way in hot haste to the king's house, each eager to have a sharein the glory of carrying off that same night the Princess Irene.

The queen went stumping along in one shoe of stone and one of skin.

This could not have been pleasant, and my readers may wonder that, withsuch skilful workmen about her, she had not yet replaced the shoecarried off by Curdie. As the king, however, had more than one groundof objection to her stone shoes, he no doubt took advantage of thediscovery of her toes, and threatened to expose her deformity if shehad another made. I presume he insisted on her being content with skinshoes, and allowed her to wear the remaining granite one on the presentoccasion only because she was going out to war.

They soon arrived in the king's wine cellar, and regardless of its hugevessels, of which they did not know the use, proceeded at once, but asquietly as they could, to force the door that led upwards.

CHAPTER 27

The Goblins in the King's House

When Curdie fell asleep he began at once to dream. He thought he wasascending the Mountainside from the mouth of the mine, whistling andsinging 'Ring, dod, bang!' when he came upon a woman and child who hadlost their way; and from that point he went on dreaming everything thathad happened to him since he thus met the princess and Lootie; how hehad watched the goblins, how he had been taken by them, how he had beenrescued by the princess; everything, indeed, until he was wounded,captured, and imprisoned by the men-at-arms. And now he thought he waslying wide awake where they had laid him, when suddenly he heard agreat thundering sound.

'The cobs are coming!' he said. 'They didn't believe a word I toldthem! The cobs'll be carrying off the princess from under their stupidnoses! But they shan't! that they shan't!'

He jumped up, as he thought, and began to dress, but, to his dismay,found that he was still lying in bed.

'Now then, I will!' he said. 'Here goes! I am up now!'

But yet again he found himself snug in bed. Twenty times he tried, andtwenty times he failed; for in fact he was not awake, only dreamingthat he was. At length in an agony of despair, fancying he heard thegoblins all over the house, he gave a great cry. Then there came, ashe thought, a hand upon the lock of his door. It opened, and, lookingup, he saw a lady with white hair, carrying a silver box in her hand,enter the room. She came to his bed, he thought, stroked his head andface with cool, soft hands, took the dressing from his leg, rubbed itwith something that smelt like roses, and then waved her hands over himthree times. At the last wave of her hands everything vanished, hefelt himself sinking into the profoundest slumber, and rememberednothing more until he awoke in earnest.

The setting moon was throwing a feeble light through the casement, andthe house was full of uproar. There was soft heavy multitudinousstamping, a clashing and clanging of weapons, the voices of men and thecries of women, mixed with a hideous bellowing, which soundedvictorious. The cobs were in the house! He sprang from his bed,hurried on some of his clothes, not forgetting his shoes, which werearmed with nails; then spying an old hunting-knife, or short sword,hanging on the wall, he caught it, and rushed down the stairs, guidedby the sounds of strife, which grew louder and louder.

When he reached the ground floor he found the whole place swarming.

All the goblins of the mountain seemed gathered there. He rushedamongst them, shouting:

'One, two,
Hit and hew!
Three, four,
Blast and bore!'

and with every rhyme he came down a great stamp upon a foot, cutting atthe same time their faces—executing, indeed, a sword dance of thewildest description. Away scattered the goblins in everydirection—into closets, up stairs, into chimneys, up on rafters, anddown to the cellars. Curdie went on stamping and slashing and singing,but saw nothing of the people of the house until he came to the greathall, in which, the moment he entered it, arose a great goblin shout.The last of the men-at-arms, the captain himself, was on the floor,buried beneath a wallowing crowd of goblins. For, while each knightwas busy defending himself as well as he could, by stabs in the thickbodies of the goblins, for he had soon found their heads all butinvulnerable, the queen had attacked his legs and feet with herhorrible granite shoe, and he was soon down; but the captain had gothis back to the wall and stood out longer. The goblins would have tornthem all to pieces, but the king had given orders to carry them awayalive, and over each of them, in twelve groups, was standing a knot ofgoblins, while as many as could find room were sitting upon theirprostrate bodies.

Curdie burst in dancing and gyrating and stamping and singing like asmall incarnate whirlwind.

'Where 'tis all a hole, sir,
Never can be holes:
Why should their shoes have soles, sir,
When they've got no souls?

'But she upon her foot, sir,
Has a granite shoe:
The strongest leather boot, sir,
Six would soon be through.'

The queen gave a howl of rage and dismay; and before she recovered herpresence of mind, Curdie, having begun with the group nearest him, hadeleven of the knights on their legs again.

'Stamp on their feet!' he cried as each man rose, and in a few minutesthe hall was nearly empty, the goblins running from it as fast as theycould, howling and shrieking and limping, and cowering every now andthen as they ran to cuddle their wounded feet in their hard hands, orto protect them from the frightful stamp-stamp of the armed men.

And now Curdie approached the group which, in trusting in the queen andher shoe, kept their guard over the prostrate captain. The king sat onthe captain's head, but the queen stood in front, like an infuriatedcat, with her perpendicular eyes gleaming green, and her hair standinghalf up from her horrid head. Her heart was quaking, however, and shekept moving about her skin-shod foot with nervous apprehension. WhenCurdie was within a few paces, she rushed at him, made one tremendousstamp at his opposing foot, which happily he withdrew in time, andcaught him round the waist, to dash him on the marble floor. But justas she caught him, he came down with all the weight of his iron-shodshoe upon her skin-shod foot, and with a hideous howl she dropped him,squatted on the floor, and took her foot in both her hands. Meanwhilethe rest rushed on the king and the bodyguard, sent them flying, andlifted the prostrate captain, who was all but pressed to death. It wassome moments before he recovered breath and consciousness.

'Where's the princess?' cried Curdie, again and again.

No one knew, and off they all rushed in search of her.

Through every room in the house they went, but nowhere was she to befound. Neither was one of the servants to be seen. But Curdie, whohad kept to the lower part of the house, which was now quiet enough,began to hear a confused sound as of a distant hubbub, and set out tofind where it came from. The noise grew as his sharp ears guided himto a stair and so to the wine cellar. It was full of goblins, whom thebutler was supplying with wine as fast as he could draw it.

While the queen and her party had encountered the men-at-arms, Harelipwith another company had gone off to search the house. They capturedevery one they met, and when they could find no more, they hurried awayto carry them safe to the caverns below. But when the butler, who wasamongst them, found that their path lay through the wine cellar, hebethought himself of persuading them to taste the wine, and, as he hadhoped, they no sooner tasted than they wanted more. The routedgoblins, on their way below, joined them, and when Curdie entered theywere all, with outstretched hands, in which were vessels of everydescription from sauce pan to silver cup, pressing around the butler,who sat at the tap of a huge cask, filling and filling. Curdie castone glance around the place before commencing his attack, and saw inthe farthest corner a terrified group of the domestics unwatched, butcowering without courage to attempt their escape. Amongst them was theterror-stricken face of Lootie; but nowhere could he see the princess.Seized with the horrible conviction that Harelip had already carriedher off, he rushed amongst them, unable for wrath to sing any more, butstamping and cutting with greater fury than ever.

'Stamp on their feet; stamp on their feet!' he shouted, and in a momentthe goblins were disappearing through the hole in the floor like ratsand mice.

They could not vanish so fast, however, but that many more goblin feethad to go limping back over the underground ways of the mountain thatmorning.

Presently, however, they were reinforced from above by the king and hisparty, with the redoubtable queen at their head. Finding Curdie againbusy amongst her unfortunate subjects, she rushed at him once more withthe rage of despair, and this time gave him a bad bruise on the foot.Then a regular stamping fight got up between them, Curdie, with thepoint of his hunting-knife, keeping her from clasping her mighty armsabout him, as he watched his opportunity of getting once more a goodstamp at her skin-shod foot. But the queen was more wary as well asmore agile than hitherto.

The rest meantime, finding their adversary thus matched for the moment,paused in their headlong hurry, and turned to the shivering group ofwomen in the corner. As if determined to emulate his father and have asun-woman of some sort to share his future throne, Harelip rushed atthem, caught up Lootie, and sped with her to the hole. She gave agreat shriek, and Curdie heard her, and saw the plight she was in.Gathering all his strength, he gave the queen a sudden cut across theface with his weapon, came down, as she started back, with all hisweight on the proper foot, and sprung to Lootie's rescue. The princehad two defenceless feet, and on both of them Curdie stamped just as hereached the hole. He dropped his burden and rolled shrieking into theearth. Curdie made one stab at him as he disappeared, caught hold ofthe senseless Lootie, and having dragged her back to the corner, theremounted guard over her, preparing once more to encounter the queen.

Her face streaming with blood, and her eyes flashing green lightningthrough it, she came on with her mouth open and her teeth grinning likea tiger's, followed by the king and her bodyguard of the thickestgoblins. But the same moment in rushed the captain and his men, andran at them stamping furiously. They dared not encounter such anonset. Away they scurried, the queen foremost. Of course, the rightthing would have been to take the king and queen prisoners, and holdthem hostages for the princess, but they were so anxious to find herthat no one thought of detaining them until it was too late.

Having thus rescued the servants, they set about searching the houseonce more. None of them could give the least information concerningthe princess. Lootie was almost silly with terror, and, althoughscarcely able to walk would not leave Curdie's side for a singlemoment. Again he allowed the others to search the rest of thehouse—where, except a dismayed goblin lurking here and there, theyfound no one—while he requested Lootie to take him to the princess'sroom. She was as submissive and obedient as if he had been the king.

He found the bedclothes tossed about, and most of them on the floor,while the princess's garments were scattered all over the room, whichwas in the greatest confusion. It was only too evident that thegoblins had been there, and Curdie had no longer any doubt that she hadbeen carried off at the very first of the inroad. With a pang ofdespair he saw how wrong they had been in not securing the king andqueen and prince; but he determined to find and rescue the princess asshe had found and rescued him, or meet the worst fate to which thegoblins could doom him.

CHAPTER 28

Curdie's Guide

Just as the consolation of this resolve dawned upon his mind and he wasturning away for the cellar to follow the goblins into their hole,something touched his hand. It was the slightest touch, and when helooked he could see nothing. Feeling and peering about in the grey ofthe dawn, his fingers came upon a tight thread. He looked again, andnarrowly, but still could see nothing. It flashed upon him that thismust be the princess's thread. Without saying a word, for he knew noone would believe him any more than he had believed the princess, hefollowed the thread with his finger, contrived to give Lootie the slip,and was soon out of the house and on the mountainside—surprised that,if the thread were indeed the grandmother's messenger, it should haveled the princess, as he supposed it must, into the mountain, where shewould be certain to meet the goblins rushing back enraged from theirdefeat. But he hurried on in the hope of overtaking her first. Whenhe arrived, however, at the place where the path turned off for themine, he found that the thread did not turn with it, but went straightup the mountain. Could it be that the thread was leading him home tohis mother's cottage? Could the princess be there? He bounded up themountain like one of its own goats, and before the sun was up thethread had brought him indeed to his mother's door. There it vanishedfrom his fingers, and he could not find it, search as he might.

The door was on the latch, and he entered. There sat his mother by thefire, and in her arms lay the princess, fast asleep.

'Hush, Curdie!' said his mother. 'Do not wake her. I'm so glad you'recome! I thought the cobs must have got you again!'

With a heart full of delight, Curdie sat down at a corner of thehearth, on a stool opposite his mother's chair, and gazed at theprincess, who slept as peacefully as if she had been in her own bed.All at once she opened her eyes and fixed them on him.

'Oh, Curdie! you're come!' she said quietly. 'I thought you would!'

Curdie rose and stood before her with downcast eyes.

'Irene,' he said, 'I am very sorry I did not believe you.'

'Oh, never mind, Curdie!' answered the princess. 'You couldn't, youknow. You do believe me now, don't you?'

'I can't help it now. I ought to have helped it before.'

'Why can't you help it now?'

'Because, just as I was going into the mountain to look for you, I gothold of your thread, and it brought me here.'

'Then you've come from my house, have you?'

'Yes, I have.'

'I didn't know you were there.'

'I've been there two or three days, I believe.'

'And I never knew it! Then perhaps you can tell me why my grandmotherhas brought me here? I can't think. Something woke me—I didn't knowwhat, but I was frightened, and I felt for the thread, and there itwas! I was more frightened still when it brought me out on themountain, for I thought it was going to take me into it again, and Ilike the outside of it best. I supposed you were in trouble again, andI had to get you out. But it brought me here instead; and, oh, Curdie!your mother has been so kind to me—just like my own grandmother!'

Here Curdie's mother gave the princess a hug, and the princess turnedand gave her a sweet smile, and held up her mouth to kiss her.

'Then you didn't see the cobs?' asked Curdie.

'No; I haven't been into the mountain, I told you, Curdie.'

'But the cobs have been into your house—all over it—and into yourbedroom, making such a row!'

'What did they want there? It was very rude of them.'

'They wanted you—to carry you off into the mountain with them, for awife to their prince Harelip.'

'Oh, how dreadful!' cried the princess, shuddering.

'But you needn't be afraid, you know. Your grandmother takes care ofyou.'

'Ah! you do believe in my grandmother, then? I'm so glad! She made methink you would some day.'

All at once Curdie remembered his dream, and was silent, thinking.

'But how did you come to be in my house, and me not know it?' asked theprincess.

Then Curdie had to explain everything—how he had watched for her sake,how he had been wounded and shut up by the soldiers, how he heard thenoises and could not rise, and how the beautiful old lady had come tohim, and all that followed.

'Poor Curdie! to lie there hurt and ill, and me never to know it!'exclaimed the princess, stroking his rough hand. 'I would have comeand nursed you, if they had told me.'

'I didn't see you were lame,' said his mother.

'Am I, mother? Oh—yes—I suppose I ought to be! I declare I've neverthought of it since I got up to go down amongst the cobs!'

'Let me see the wound,' said his mother.

He pulled down his stocking—when behold, except a great scar, his legwas perfectly sound!

Curdie and his mother gazed in each other's eyes, full of wonder, butIrene called out:

'I thought so, Curdie! I was sure it wasn't a dream. I was sure mygrandmother had been to see you. Don't you smell the roses? It was mygrandmother healed your leg, and sent you to help me.'

'No, Princess Irene,' said Curdie; 'I wasn't good enough to be allowedto help you: I didn't believe you. Your grandmother took care of youwithout me.'

'She sent you to help my people, anyhow. I wish my king-papa wouldcome. I do want so to tell him how good you have been!'

'But,' said the mother, 'we are forgetting how frightened your peoplemust be. You must take the princess home at once, Curdie—or at leastgo and tell them where she is.'

'Yes, mother. Only I'm dreadfully hungry. Do let me have somebreakfast first. They ought to have listened to me, and then theywouldn't have been taken by surprise as they were.'

'That is true, Curdie; but it is not for you to blame them much. Youremember?'

'Yes, mother, I do. Only I must really have something to eat.'

'You shall, my boy—as fast as I can get it,' said his mother, risingand setting the princess on her chair.

But before his breakfast was ready, Curdie jumped up so suddenly as tostartle both his companions.

'Mother, mother!' he cried, 'I was forgetting. You must take theprincess home yourself. I must go and wake my father.'

Without a word of explanation, he rushed to the place where his fatherwas sleeping. Having thoroughly roused him with what he told him hedarted out of the cottage.

CHAPTER 29

Masonwork

He had all at once remembered the resolution of the goblins to carryout their second plan upon the failure of the first. No doubt theywere already busy, and the mine was therefore in the greatest danger ofbeing flooded and rendered useless—not to speak of the lives of theminers.

When he reached the mouth of the mine, after rousing all the minerswithin reach, he found his father and a good many more just entering.They all hurried to the gang by which he had found a way into thegoblin country. There the foresight of Peter had already collected agreat many blocks of stone, with cement, ready for building up the weakplace—well enough known to the goblins. Although there was not roomfor more than two to be actually building at once, they managed, bysetting all the rest to work in preparing the cement and passing thestones, to finish in the course of the day a huge buttress filling thewhole gang, and supported everywhere by the live rock. Before the hourwhen they usually dropped work, they were satisfied the mine was secure.

They had heard goblin hammers and pickaxes busy all the time, and atlength fancied they heard sounds of water they had never heard before.But that was otherwise accounted for when they left the mine, for theystepped out into a tremendous storm which was raging all over themountain. The thunder was bellowing, and the lightning lancing out ofa huge black cloud which lay above it and hung down its edges of thickmist over its sides. The lightning was breaking out of the mountain,too, and flashing up into the cloud. From the state of the brooks, nowswollen into raging torrents, it was evident that the storm had beenstorming all day.

The wind was blowing as if it would blow him off the mountain, but,anxious about his mother and the princess, Curdie darted up through thethick of the tempest. Even if they had not set out before the stormcame on, he did not judge them safe, for in such a storm even theirpoor little house was in danger. Indeed he soon found that but for ahuge rock against which it was built, and which protected it both fromthe blasts and the waters, it must have been swept if it was not blownaway; for the two torrents into which this rock parted the rush ofwater behind it united again in front of the cottage—two roaring anddangerous streams, which his mother and the princess could not possiblyhave passed. It was with great difficulty that he forced his waythrough one of them, and up to the door.

The moment his hand fell on the latch, through all the uproar of windsand waters came the joyous cry of the princess:

'There's Curdie! Curdie! Curdie!'

She was sitting wrapped in blankets on the bed, his mother trying forthe hundredth time to light the fire which had been drowned by the rainthat came down the chimney. The clay floor was one mass of mud, andthe whole place looked wretched. But the faces of the mother and theprincess shone as if their troubles only made them the merrier. Curdieburst out laughing at the sight of them.

'I never had such fun!' said the princess, her eyes twinkling and herpretty teeth shining. 'How nice it must be to live in a cottage on themountain!'

'It all depends on what kind your inside house is,' said the mother.

'I know what you mean,' said Irene. 'That's the kind of thing mygrandmother says.'

By the time Peter returned the storm was nearly over, but the streamswere so fierce and so swollen that it was not only out of the questionfor the princess to go down the mountain, but most dangerous for Petereven or Curdie to make the attempt in the gathering darkness.

'They will be dreadfully frightened about you,' said Peter to theprincess, 'but we cannot help it. We must wait till the morning.'

With Curdie's help, the fire was lighted at last, and the mother setabout making their supper; and after supper they all told the princessstories till she grew sleepy. Then Curdie's mother laid her inCurdie's bed, which was in a tiny little garret-room. As soon as shewas in bed, through a little window low down in the roof she caughtsight of her grandmother's lamp shining far away beneath, and she gazedat the beautiful silvery globe until she fell asleep.

CHAPTER 30

The King and the Kiss

The next morning the sun rose so bright that Irene said the rain hadwashed his face and let the light out clean. The torrents were stillroaring down the side of the mountain, but they were so much smaller asnot to be dangerous in the daylight. After an early breakfast, Peterwent to his work and Curdie and his mother set out to take the princesshome. They had difficulty in getting her dry across the streams, andCurdie had again and again to carry her, but at last they got safe onthe broader part of the road, and walked gently down towards the king'shouse. And what should they see as they turned the last corner but thelast of the king's troop riding through the gate!

'Oh, Curdie!' cried Irene, clapping her hands right joyfully, 'myking-papa is come.'

The moment Curdie heard that, he caught her up in his arms, and set offat full speed, crying:

'Come on, mother dear! The king may break his heart before he knowsthat she is safe.'

Irene clung round his neck and he ran with her like a deer. When heentered the gate into the court, there sat the king on his horse, withall the people of the house about him, weeping and hanging their heads.The king was not weeping, but his face was white as a dead man's, andhe looked as if the life had gone out of him. The men-at-arms he hadbrought with him sat with horror-stricken faces, but eyes flashing withrage, waiting only for the word of the king to do something—they didnot know what, and nobody knew what.

The day before, the men-at-arms belonging to the house, as soon as theywere satisfied the princess had been carried away, rushed after thegoblins into the hole, but found that they had already so skilfullyblockaded the narrowest part, not many feet below the cellar, thatwithout miners and their tools they could do nothing. Not one of themknew where the mouth of the mine lay, and some of those who had set outto find it had been overtaken by the storm and had not even yetreturned. Poor Sir Walter was especially filled with shame, and almosthoped the king would order his head to be cut off, for to think of thatsweet little face down amongst the goblins was unendurable.

When Curdie ran in at the gate with the princess in his arms, they wereall so absorbed in their own misery and awed by the king's presence andgrief, that no one observed his arrival. He went straight up to theking, where he sat on his horse.

'Papa! papa!' the princess cried, stretching out her arms to him; 'hereI am!'

The king started. The colour rushed to his face. He gave aninarticulate cry. Curdie held up the princess, and the king bent downand took her from his arms. As he clasped her to his bosom, the bigtears went dropping down his cheeks and his beard. And such a shoutarose from all the bystanders that the startled horses pranced andcapered, and the armour rang and clattered, and the rocks of themountain echoed back the noises. The princess greeted them all as shenestled in her father's bosom, and the king did not set her down untilshe had told them all the story. But she had more to tell about Curdiethan about herself, and what she did tell about herself none of themcould understand—except the king and Curdie, who stood by the king'sknee stroking the neck of the great white horse. And still as she toldwhat Curdie had done, Sir Walter and others added to what she told,even Lootie joining in the praises of his courage and energy.

Curdie held his peace, looking quietly up in the king's face. And hismother stood on the outskirts of the crowd listening with delight, forher son's deeds were pleasant in her ears, until the princess caughtsight of her.

'And there is his mother, king-papa!' she said. 'See—there. She issuch a nice mother, and has been so kind to me!'

They all parted asunder as the king made a sign to her to come forward.She obeyed, and he gave her his hand, but could not speak.

'And now, king-papa,' the princess went on, 'I must tell you anotherthing. One night long ago Curdie drove the goblins away and broughtLootie and me safe from the mountain. And I promised him a kiss whenwe got home, but Lootie wouldn't let me give it him. I don't want youto scold Lootie, but I want you to tell her that a princess must do asshe promises.'

'Indeed she must, my child—except it be wrong,' said the king. 'There,give Curdie a kiss.'

And as he spoke he held her towards him.

The princess reached down, threw her arms round Curdie's neck, andkissed him on the mouth, saying: 'There, Curdie! There's the kiss Ipromised you!'

Then they all went into the house, and the cook rushed to the kitchenand the servants to their work. Lootie dressed Irene in her shiningestclothes, and the king put off his armour, and put on purple and gold;and a messenger was sent for Peter and all the miners, and there was agreat and a grand feast, which continued long after the princess wasput to bed.

CHAPTER 31

The Subterranean Waters

The king's harper, who always formed a part of his escort, was chantinga ballad which he made as he went on playing on his instrument—aboutthe princess and the goblins, and the prowess of Curdie, when all atonce he ceased, with his eyes on one of the doors of the hall.Thereupon the eyes of the king and his guests turned thitherward also.The next moment, through the open doorway came the princess Irene. Shewent straight up to her father, with her right hand stretched out alittle sideways, and her forefinger, as her father and Curdieunderstood, feeling its way along the invisible thread. The king tookher on his knee, and she said in his ear:

'King-papa, do you hear that noise?'

'I hear nothing,' said the king.

'Listen,' she said, holding up her forefinger.

The king listened, and a great stillness fell upon the company. Eachman, seeing that the king listened, listened also, and the harper satwith his harp between his arms, and his finger silent upon the strings.

'I do hear a noise,' said the king at length—'a noise as of distantthunder. It is coming nearer and nearer. What can it be?'

They all heard it now, and each seemed ready to start to his feet as helistened. Yet all sat perfectly still. The noise came rapidly nearer.

'What can it be?' said the king again.

'I think it must be another storm coming over the mountain,' said SirWalter.

Then Curdie, who at the first word of the king had slipped from hisseat, and laid his ear to the ground, rose up quickly, and approachingthe king said, speaking very fast:

'Please, Your Majesty, I think I know what it is. I have no time toexplain, for that might make it too late for some of us. Will YourMajesty give orders that everybody leave the house as quickly aspossible and get up the mountain?'

The king, who was the wisest man in the kingdom, knew well there was atime when things must be done and questions left till afterwards. Hehad faith in Curdie, and rose instantly, with Irene in his arms.'Every man and woman follow me,' he said, and strode out into thedarkness.

Before he had reached the gate, the noise had grown to a greatthundering roar, and the ground trembled beneath their feet, and beforethe last of them had crossed the court, out after them from the greathall door came a huge rush of turbid water, and almost swept them away.But they got safe out of the gate and up the mountain, while thetorrent went roaring down the road into the valley beneath.

Curdie had left the king and the princess to look after his mother,whom he and his father, one on each side, caught up when the streamovertook them and carried safe and dry.

When the king had got out of the way of the water, a little up themountain, he stood with the princess in his arms, looking back withamazement on the issuing torrent, which glimmered fierce and foamythrough the night. There Curdie rejoined them.

'Now, Curdie,' said the king, 'what does it mean? Is this what youexpected?'

'It is, Your Majesty,' said Curdie; and proceeded to tell him about thesecond scheme of the goblins, who, fancying the miners of moreimportance to the upper world than they were, had resolved, if theyshould fail in carrying off the king's daughter, to flood the mine anddrown the miners. Then he explained what the miners had done toprevent it. The goblins had, in pursuance of their design, let looseall the underground reservoirs and streams, expecting the water to rundown into the mine, which was lower than their part of the mountain,for they had, as they supposed, not knowing of the solid wall closebehind, broken a passage through into it. But the readiest outlet thewater could find had turned out to be the tunnel they had made to theking's house, the possibility of which catastrophe had not occurred tothe young miner until he had laid his ear to the floor of the hall.

What was then to be done? The house appeared in danger of falling, andevery moment the torrent was increasing.

'We must set out at once,' said the king. 'But how to get at thehorses!'

'Shall I see if we can manage that?' said Curdie.

'Do,' said the king.

Curdie gathered the men-at-arms, and took them over the garden wall,and so to the stables. They found their horses in terror; the waterwas rising fast around them, and it was quite time they were got out.But there was no way to get them out, except by riding them through thestream, which was now pouring from the lower windows as well as thedoor. As one horse was quite enough for any man to manage through sucha torrent, Curdie got on the king's white charger and, leading the way,brought them all in safety to the rising ground.

'Look, look, Curdie!' cried Irene, the moment that, having dismounted,he led the horse up to the king.

Curdie did look, and saw, high in the air, somewhere about the top ofthe king's house, a great globe of light shining like the purest silver.

'Oh!' he cried in some consternation, 'that is your grandmother's lamp!We must get her out. I will go and find her. The house may fall, youknow.'

'My grandmother is in no danger,' said Irene, smiling.

'Here, Curdie, take the princess while I get on my horse,' said theking.

Curdie took the princess again, and both turned their eyes to the globeof light. The same moment there shot from it a white bird, which,descending with outstretched wings, made one circle round the king andCurdie and the princess, and then glided up again. The light and thepigeon vanished together.

'Now, Curdie!' said the princess, as he lifted her to her father'sarms, 'you see my grandmother knows all about it, and isn't frightened.I believe she could walk through that water and it wouldn't wet her abit.'

'But, my child,' said the king, 'you will be cold if you haven'tsomething more on. Run, Curdie, my boy, and fetch anything you can layyour hands on, to keep the princess warm. We have a long ride beforeus.'

Curdie was gone in a moment, and soon returned with a great rich fur,and the news that dead goblins were tossing about in the currentthrough the house. They had been caught in their own snare; instead ofthe mine they had flooded their own country, whence they were now sweptup drowned. Irene shuddered, but the king held her close to his bosom.Then he turned to Sir Walter, and said:

'Bring Curdie's father and mother here.'

'I wish,' said the king, when they stood before him, 'to take your sonwith me. He shall enter my bodyguard at once, and wait furtherpromotion.'

Peter and his wife, overcome, only murmured almost inaudible thanks.But Curdie spoke aloud.

'Please, Your Majesty,' he said, 'I cannot leave my father and mother.'

'That's right, Curdie!' cried the princess. 'I wouldn't if I was you.'

The king looked at the princess and then at Curdie with a glow ofsatisfaction on his countenance.

'I too think you are right, Curdie,' he said, 'and I will not ask youagain. But I shall have a chance of doing something for you some time.'

'Your Majesty has already allowed me to serve you,' said Curdie.

'But, Curdie,' said his mother, 'why shouldn't you go with the king?We can get on very well without you.'

'But I can't get on very well without you,' said Curdie. 'The king isvery kind, but I could not be half the use to him that I am to you.Please, Your Majesty, if you wouldn't mind giving my mother a redpetticoat! I should have got her one long ago, but for the goblins.'

'As soon as we get home,' said the king, 'Irene and I will search outthe warmest one to be found, and send it by one of the gentlemen.'

'Yes, that we will, Curdie!' said the princess. 'And next summer we'llcome back and see you wear it, Curdie's mother,' she added. 'Shan't we,king-papa?'

'Yes, my love; I hope so,' said the king.

Then turning to the miners, he said:

'Will you do the best you can for my servants tonight? I hope theywill be able to return to the house tomorrow.'

The miners with one voice promised their hospitality. Then the kingcommanded his servants to mind whatever Curdie should say to them, andafter shaking hands with him and his father and mother, the king andthe princess and all their company rode away down the side of the newstream, which had already devoured half the road, into the starry night.

CHAPTER 32

The Last Chapter

All the rest went up the mountain, and separated in groups to the homesof the miners. Curdie and his father and mother took Lootie with them.And the whole way a light, of which all but Lootie understood theorigin, shone upon their path. But when they looked round they couldsee nothing of the silvery globe.

For days and days the water continued to rush from the doors andwindows of the king's house, and a few goblin bodies were swept outinto the road.

Curdie saw that something must be done. He spoke to his father and therest of the miners, and they at once proceeded to make another outletfor the waters. By setting all hands to the work, tunnelling here andbuilding there, they soon succeeded; and having also made a littletunnel to drain the water away from under the king's house, they weresoon able to get into the wine cellar, where they found a multitude ofdead goblins—among the rest the queen, with the skin-shoe gone, andthe stone one fast to her ankle—for the water had swept away thebarricade, which prevented the men-at-arms from following the goblins,and had greatly widened the passage. They built it securely up, andthen went back to their labours in the mine.

A good many of the goblins with their creatures escaped from theinundation out upon the mountain. But most of them soon left that partof the country, and most of those who remained grew milder incharacter, and indeed became very much like the Scotch brownies. Theirskulls became softer as well as their hearts, and their feet grewharder, and by degrees they became friendly with the inhabitants of themountain and even with the miners. But the latter were merciless toany of the cobs' creatures that came in their way, until at length theyall but disappeared.

The rest of the history of The Princess and Curdie must be kept foranother volume.

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