{"collection":"folklore-oral-tradition","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_708/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_708","id":"gutenberg_708","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/708","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Children's Literature","Children's stories","Fairy tales","Fantasy literature","Goblins -- Juvenile fiction","Princesses -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"THE PRINCESS AND THE GOBLIN\n\n\nby\n\nGEORGE MACDONALD\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n   1.  Why the Princess Has a Story About Her\n   2.  The Princess Loses Herself\n   3.  The Princess and--We Shall See Who\n   4.  What the Nurse Thought of It\n   5.  The Princess Lets Well Alone\n   6.  The Little Miner\n   7.  The Mines\n   8.  The Goblins\n   9.  The Hall of the Goblin Palace\n  10.  The Princess's King-Papa\n  11.  The Old Lady's Bedroom\n  12.  A Short Chapter About Curdie\n  13.  The Cobs' Creatures\n  14.  That Night Week\n  15.  Woven and then Spun\n  16.  The Ring\n  17.  Springtime\n  18.  Curdie's Clue\n  19.  Goblin Counsels\n  20.  Irene's Clue\n  21.  The Escape\n  22.  The Old Lady and Curdie\n  23.  Curdie and His Mother\n  24.  Irene Behaves Like a Princess\n  25.  Curdie Comes to Grief\n  26.  The Goblin-Miners\n  27.  The Goblins in the King's House\n  28.  Curdie's Guide\n  29.  Masonwork\n  30.  The King and the Kiss\n  31.  The Subterranean Waters\n  32.  The Last Chapter\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 1\n\nWhy the Princess Has a Story About Her\n\n\nThere was once a little princess whose father was king over a great\ncountry full of mountains and valleys.  His palace was built upon one\nof the mountains, and was very grand and beautiful.  The princess,\nwhose name was Irene, was born there, but she was sent soon after her\nbirth, because her mother was not very strong, to be brought up by\ncountry people in a large house, half castle, half farmhouse, on the\nside of another mountain, about half-way between its base and its peak.\n\nThe princess was a sweet little creature, and at the time my story\nbegins was about eight years old, I think, but she got older very fast.\nHer face was fair and pretty, with eyes like two bits of night sky,\neach with a star dissolved in the blue.  Those eyes you would have\nthought must have known they came from there, so often were they turned\nup in that direction.  The ceiling of her nursery was blue, with stars\nin it, as like the sky as they could make it. But I doubt if ever she\nsaw the real sky with the stars in it, for a reason which I had better\nmention at once.\n\nThese mountains were full of hollow places underneath; huge caverns,\nand winding ways, some with water running through them, and some\nshining with all colours of the rainbow when a light was taken in.\nThere would not have been much known about them, had there not been\nmines there, great deep pits, with long galleries and passages running\noff from them, which had been dug to get at the ore of which the\nmountains were full.  In the course of digging, the miners came upon\nmany of these natural caverns.  A few of them had far-off openings out\non the side of a mountain, or into a ravine.\n\nNow in these subterranean caverns lived a strange race of beings,\ncalled by some gnomes, by some kobolds, by some goblins.  There was a\nlegend current in the country that at one time they lived above ground,\nand were very like other people.  But for some reason or other,\nconcerning which there were different legendary theories, the king had\nlaid what they thought too severe taxes upon them, or had required\nobservances of them they did not like, or had begun to treat them with\nmore severity, in some way or other, and impose stricter laws; and the\nconsequence was that they had all disappeared from the face of the\ncountry.  According to the legend, however, instead of going to some\nother country, they had all taken refuge in the subterranean caverns,\nwhence they never came out but at night, and then seldom showed\nthemselves in any numbers, and never to many people at once.  It was\nonly in the least frequented and most difficult parts of the mountains\nthat they were said to gather even at night in the open air.  Those who\nhad caught sight of any of them said that they had greatly altered in\nthe course of generations; and no wonder, seeing they lived away from\nthe sun, in cold and wet and dark places.  They were now, not\nordinarily ugly, but either absolutely hideous, or ludicrously\ngrotesque both in face and form.  There was no invention, they said, of\nthe most lawless imagination expressed by pen or pencil, that could\nsurpass the extravagance of their appearance.  But I suspect those who\nsaid so had mistaken some of their animal companions for the goblins\nthemselves--of which more by and by.  The goblins themselves were not\nso far removed from the human as such a description would imply.  And\nas they grew misshapen in body they had grown in knowledge and\ncleverness, and now were able to do things no mortal could see the\npossibility of.  But as they grew in cunning, they grew in mischief,\nand their great delight was in every way they could think of to annoy\nthe people who lived in the open-air storey above them.  They had\nenough of affection left for each other to preserve them from being\nabsolutely cruel for cruelty's sake to those that came in their way;\nbut still they so heartily cherished the ancestral grudge against those\nwho occupied their former possessions and especially against the\ndescendants of the king who had caused their expulsion, that they\nsought every opportunity of tormenting them in ways that were as odd as\ntheir inventors; and although dwarfed and misshapen, they had strength\nequal to their cunning.  In the process of time they had got a king and\na government of their own, whose chief business, beyond their own\nsimple affairs, was to devise trouble for their neighbours.  It will\nnow be pretty evident why the little princess had never seen the sky at\nnight.  They were much too afraid of the goblins to let her out of the\nhouse then, even in company with ever so many attendants; and they had\ngood reason, as we shall see by and by.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 2\n\nThe Princess Loses Herself\n\n\nI have said the Princess Irene was about eight years old when my story\nbegins.  And this is how it begins.\n\nOne very wet day, when the mountain was covered with mist which was\nconstantly gathering itself together into raindrops, and pouring down\non the roofs of the great old house, whence it fell in a fringe of\nwater from the eaves all round about it, the princess could not of\ncourse go out.  She got very tired, so tired that even her toys could\nno longer amuse her.  You would wonder at that if I had time to\ndescribe to you one half of the toys she had.  But then, you wouldn't\nhave the toys themselves, and that makes all the difference: you can't\nget tired of a thing before you have it.  It was a picture, though,\nworth seeing--the princess sitting in the nursery with the sky ceiling\nover her head, at a great table covered with her toys.  If the artist\nwould like to draw this, I should advise him not to meddle with the\ntoys.  I am afraid of attempting to describe them, and I think he had\nbetter not try to draw them.  He had better not.  He can do a thousand\nthings I can't, but I don't think he could draw those toys.  No man\ncould better make the princess herself than he could, though--leaning\nwith her back bowed into the back of the chair, her head hanging down,\nand her hands in her lap, very miserable as she would say herself, not\neven knowing what she would like, except it were to go out and get\nthoroughly wet, and catch a particularly nice cold, and have to go to\nbed and take gruel.  The next moment after you see her sitting there,\nher nurse goes out of the room.\n\nEven that is a change, and the princess wakes up a little, and looks\nabout her.  Then she tumbles off her chair and runs out of the door,\nnot the same door the nurse went out of, but one which opened at the\nfoot of a curious old stair of worm-eaten oak, which looked as if never\nanyone had set foot upon it.  She had once before been up six steps,\nand that was sufficient reason, in such a day, for trying to find out\nwhat was at the top of it.\n\nUp and up she ran--such a long way it seemed to her!--until she came to\nthe top of the third flight.  There she found the landing was the end\nof a long passage.  Into this she ran.  It was full of doors on each\nside.  There were so many that she did not care to open any, but ran on\nto the end, where she turned into another passage, also full of doors.\nWhen she had turned twice more, and still saw doors and only doors\nabout her, she began to get frightened.  It was so silent!  And all\nthose doors must hide rooms with nobody in them!  That was dreadful.\nAlso the rain made a great trampling noise on the roof.  She turned and\nstarted at full speed, her little footsteps echoing through the sounds\nof the rain--back for the stairs and her safe nursery.  So she thought,\nbut she had lost herself long ago.  It doesn't follow that she was\nlost, because she had lost herself, though.\n\nShe ran for some distance, turned several times, and then began to be\nafraid.  Very soon she was sure that she had lost the way back. Rooms\neverywhere, and no stair!  Her little heart beat as fast as her little\nfeet ran, and a lump of tears was growing in her throat. But she was\ntoo eager and perhaps too frightened to cry for some time.  At last her\nhope failed her.  Nothing but passages and doors everywhere!  She threw\nherself on the floor, and burst into a wailing cry broken by sobs.\n\nShe did not cry long, however, for she was as brave as could be\nexpected of a princess of her age.  After a good cry, she got up, and\nbrushed the dust from her frock.  Oh, what old dust it was! Then she\nwiped her eyes with her hands, for princesses don't always have their\nhandkerchiefs in their pockets, any more than some other little girls I\nknow of.  Next, like a true princess, she resolved on going wisely to\nwork to find her way back: she would walk through the passages, and\nlook in every direction for the stair. This she did, but without\nsuccess.  She went over the same ground again an again without knowing\nit, for the passages and doors were all alike.  At last, in a corner,\nthrough a half-open door, she did see a stair.  But alas! it went the\nwrong way: instead of going down, it went up.  Frightened as she was,\nhowever, she could not help wishing to see where yet further the stair\ncould lead.  It was very narrow, and so steep that she went on like a\nfour-legged creature on her hands and feet.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 3\n\nThe Princess and--We Shall See Who\n\n\nWhen she came to the top, she found herself in a little square place,\nwith three doors, two opposite each other, and one opposite the top of\nthe stair.  She stood for a moment, without an idea in her little head\nwhat to do next.  But as she stood, she began to hear a curious humming\nsound.  Could it be the rain?  No.  It was much more gentle, and even\nmonotonous than the sound of the rain, which now she scarcely heard.\nThe low sweet humming sound went on, sometimes stopping for a little\nwhile and then beginning again.  It was more like the hum of a very\nhappy bee that had found a rich well of honey in some globular flower,\nthan anything else I can think of at this moment.  Where could it come\nfrom?  She laid her ear first to one of the doors to hearken if it was\nthere--then to another.  When she laid her ear against the third door,\nthere could be no doubt where it came from: it must be from something\nin that room.  What could it be?  She was rather afraid, but her\ncuriosity was stronger than her fear, and she opened the door very\ngently and peeped in.  What do you think she saw?  A very old lady who\nsat spinning.\n\nPerhaps you will wonder how the princess could tell that the old lady\nwas an old lady, when I inform you that not only was she beautiful, but\nher skin was smooth and white.  I will tell you more.  Her hair was\ncombed back from her forehead and face, and hung loose far down and all\nover her back.  That is not much like an old lady--is it?  Ah! but it\nwas white almost as snow.  And although her face was so smooth, her\neyes looked so wise that you could not have helped seeing she must be\nold.  The princess, though she could not have told you why, did think\nher very old indeed--quite fifty, she said to herself.  But she was\nrather older than that, as you shall hear.\n\nWhile the princess stared bewildered, with her head just inside the\ndoor, the old lady lifted hers, and said, in a sweet, but old and\nrather shaky voice, which mingled very pleasantly with the continued\nhum of her wheel:\n\n'Come in, my dear; come in.  I am glad to see you.'\n\nThat the princess was a real princess you might see now quite plainly;\nfor she didn't hang on to the handle of the door, and stare without\nmoving, as I have known some do who ought to have been princesses but\nwere only rather vulgar little girls.  She did as she was told, stepped\ninside the door at once, and shut it gently behind her.\n\n'Come to me, my dear,' said the old lady.\n\nAnd again the princess did as she was told.  She approached the old\nlady--rather slowly, I confess--but did not stop until she stood by her\nside, and looked up in her face with her blue eyes and the two melted\nstars in them.\n\n'Why, what have you been doing with your eyes, child?' asked the old\nlady.\n\n'Crying,' answered the princess.\n\n'Why, child?'\n\n'Because I couldn't find my way down again.'\n\n'But you could find your way up.'\n\n'Not at first--not for a long time.'\n\n'But your face is streaked like the back of a zebra.  Hadn't you a\nhandkerchief to wipe your eyes with?'\n\n'No.'\n\n'Then why didn't you come to me to wipe them for you?'\n\n'Please, I didn't know you were here.  I will next time.'\n\n'There's a good child!' said the old lady.\n\nThen she stopped her wheel, and rose, and, going out of the room,\nreturned with a little silver basin and a soft white towel, with which\nshe washed and wiped the bright little face.  And the princess thought\nher hands were so smooth and nice!\n\nWhen she carried away the basin and towel, the little princess wondered\nto see how straight and tall she was, for, although she was so old, she\ndidn't stoop a bit.  She was dressed in black velvet with thick white\nheavy-looking lace about it; and on the black dress her hair shone like\nsilver.  There was hardly any more furniture in the room than there\nmight have been in that of the poorest old woman who made her bread by\nher spinning.  There was no carpet on the floor--no table\nanywhere--nothing but the spinning-wheel and the chair beside it.  When\nshe came back, she sat down and without a word began her spinning once\nmore, while Irene, who had never seen a spinning-wheel, stood by her\nside and looked on.  When the old lady had got her thread fairly going\nagain, she said to the princess, but without looking at her:\n\n'Do you know my name, child?'\n\n'No, I don't know it,' answered the princess.\n\n'My name is Irene.'\n\n'That's my name!' cried the princess.\n\n'I know that.  I let you have mine.  I haven't got your name. You've\ngot mine.'\n\n'How can that be?' asked the princess, bewildered.  'I've always had my\nname.'\n\n'Your papa, the king, asked me if I had any objection to your having\nit; and, of course, I hadn't.  I let you have it with pleasure.'\n\n'It was very kind of you to give me your name--and such a pretty one,'\nsaid the princess.\n\n'Oh, not so very kind!' said the old lady.  'A name is one of those\nthings one can give away and keep all the same.  I have a good many\nsuch things.  Wouldn't you like to know who I am, child?'\n\n'Yes, that I should--very much.'\n\n'I'm your great-great-grandmother,' said the lady.\n\n'What's that?' asked the princess.\n\n'I'm your father's mother's father's mother.'\n\n'Oh, dear! I can't understand that,' said the princess.\n\n'I dare say not.  I didn't expect you would.  But that's no reason why\nI shouldn't say it.'\n\n'Oh, no!' answered the princess.\n\n'I will explain it all to you when you are older,' the lady went on.\n'But you will be able to understand this much now: I came here to take\ncare of you.'\n\n'Is it long since you came?  Was it yesterday?  Or was it today,\nbecause it was so wet that I couldn't get out?'\n\n'I've been here ever since you came yourself.'\n\n'What a long time!' said the princess.  'I don't remember it at all.'\n\n'No.  I suppose not.'\n\n'But I never saw you before.'\n\n'No.  But you shall see me again.'\n\n'Do you live in this room always?'\n\n'I don't sleep in it.  I sleep on the opposite side of the landing. I\nsit here most of the day.'\n\n'I shouldn't like it.  My nursery is much prettier.  You must be a\nqueen too, if you are my great big grand-mother.'\n\n'Yes, I am a queen.'\n\n'Where is your crown, then?' 'In my bedroom.'\n\n'I should like to see it.'\n\n'You shall some day--not today.'\n\n'I wonder why nursie never told me.'\n\n'Nursie doesn't know.  She never saw me.'\n\n'But somebody knows that you are in the house?'\n\n'No; nobody.'\n\n'How do you get your dinner, then?'\n\n'I keep poultry--of a sort.'\n\n'Where do you keep them?'\n\n'I will show you.'\n\n'And who makes the chicken broth for you?'\n\n'I never kill any of MY chickens.'\n\n'Then I can't understand.'\n\n'What did you have for breakfast this morning?' asked the lady.\n\n'Oh! I had bread and milk, and an egg--I dare say you eat their eggs.'\n\n'Yes, that's it.  I eat their eggs.'\n\n'Is that what makes your hair so white?'\n\n'No, my dear.  It's old age.  I am very old.'\n\n'I thought so.  Are you fifty?'\n\n'Yes--more than that.'\n\n'Are you a hundred?'\n\n'Yes--more than that.  I am too old for you to guess.  Come and see my\nchickens.'\n\nAgain she stopped her spinning.  She rose, took the princess by the\nhand, led her out of the room, and opened the door opposite the stair.\nThe princess expected to see a lot of hens and chickens, but instead of\nthat, she saw the blue sky first, and then the roofs of the house, with\na multitude of the loveliest pigeons, mostly white, but of all colours,\nwalking about, making bows to each other, and talking a language she\ncould not understand.  She clapped her hands with delight, and up rose\nsuch a flapping of wings that she in her turn was startled.\n\n'You've frightened my poultry,' said the old lady, smiling.\n\n'And they've frightened me,' said the princess, smiling too.  'But what\nvery nice poultry!  Are the eggs nice?'\n\n'Yes, very nice.' 'What a small egg-spoon you must have!  Wouldn't it\nbe better to keep hens, and get bigger eggs?'\n\n'How should I feed them, though?'\n\n'I see,' said the princess.  'The pigeons feed themselves.  They've got\nwings.'\n\n'Just so.  If they couldn't fly, I couldn't eat their eggs.'\n\n'But how do you get at the eggs?  Where are their nests?'\n\nThe lady took hold of a little loop of string in the wall at the side\nof the door and, lifting a shutter, showed a great many pigeon-holes\nwith nests, some with young ones and some with eggs in them.  The birds\ncame in at the other side, and she took out the eggs on this side.  She\nclosed it again quickly, lest the young ones should be frightened.\n\n'Oh, what a nice way!' cried the princess.  'Will you give me an egg to\neat?  I'm rather hungry.'\n\n'I will some day, but now you must go back, or nursie will be miserable\nabout you.  I dare say she's looking for you everywhere.'\n\n'Except here,' answered the princess.  'Oh, how surprised she will be\nwhen I tell her about my great big grand-grand-mother!'\n\n'Yes, that she will!' said the old lady with a curious smile. 'Mind you\ntell her all about it exactly.'\n\n'That I will.  Please will you take me back to her?'\n\n'I can't go all the way, but I will take you to the top of the stair,\nand then you must run down quite fast into your own room.'\n\nThe little princess put her hand in the old lady's, who, looking this\nway and that, brought her to the top of the first stair, and thence to\nthe bottom of the second, and did not leave her till she saw her\nhalf-way down the third.  When she heard the cry of her nurse's\npleasure at finding her, she turned and walked up the stairs again,\nvery fast indeed for such a very great grandmother, and sat down to her\nspinning with another strange smile on her sweet old face.\n\nAbout this spinning of hers I will tell you more another time.\n\nGuess what she was spinning.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 4\n\nWhat the Nurse Thought of It\n\n\n'Why, where can you have been, princess?' asked the nurse, taking her\nin her arms.  'It's very unkind of you to hide away so long. I began to\nbe afraid--'  Here she checked herself.\n\n'What were you afraid of, nursie?' asked the princess.\n\n'Never mind,' she answered.  'Perhaps I will tell you another day. Now\ntell me where you have been.'\n\n'I've been up a long way to see my very great, huge, old grandmother,'\nsaid the princess.\n\n'What do you mean by that?' asked the nurse, who thought she was making\nfun.\n\n'I mean that I've been a long way up and up to see my GREAT\ngrandmother.  Ah, nursie, you don't know what a beautiful mother of\ngrandmothers I've got upstairs.  She is such an old lady, with such\nlovely white hair--as white as my silver cup.  Now, when I think of it,\nI think her hair must be silver.'\n\n'What nonsense you are talking, princess!' said the nurse.\n\n'I'm not talking nonsense,' returned Irene, rather offended.  'I will\ntell you all about her.  She's much taller than you, and much prettier.'\n\n'Oh, I dare say!' remarked the nurse.\n\n'And she lives upon pigeons' eggs.'\n\n'Most likely,' said the nurse.\n\n'And she sits in an empty room, spin-spinning all day long.'\n\n'Not a doubt of it,' said the nurse.\n\n'And she keeps her crown in her bedroom.'\n\n'Of course--quite the proper place to keep her crown in.  She wears it\nin bed, I'll be bound.'\n\n'She didn't say that.  And I don't think she does.  That wouldn't be\ncomfortable--would it?  I don't think my papa wears his crown for a\nnight-cap.  Does he, nursie?'\n\n'I never asked him.  I dare say he does.'\n\n'And she's been there ever since I came here--ever so many years.'\n\n'Anybody could have told you that,' said the nurse, who did not believe\na word Irene was saying.\n\n'Why didn't you tell me, then?'\n\n'There was no necessity.  You could make it all up for yourself.'\n\n'You don't believe me, then!' exclaimed the princess, astonished and\nangry, as she well might be.\n\n'Did you expect me to believe you, princess?' asked the nurse coldly.\n'I know princesses are in the habit of telling make-believes, but you\nare the first I ever heard of who expected to have them believed,' she\nadded, seeing that the child was strangely in earnest.\n\nThe princess burst into tears.\n\n'Well, I must say,' remarked the nurse, now thoroughly vexed with her\nfor crying, 'it is not at all becoming in a princess to tell stories\nand expect to be believed just because she is a princess.'\n\n'But it's quite true, I tell you.'\n\n'You've dreamt it, then, child.'\n\n'No, I didn't dream it.  I went upstairs, and I lost myself, and if I\nhadn't found the beautiful lady, I should never have found myself.'\n\n'Oh, I dare say!'\n\n'Well, you just come up with me, and see if I'm not telling the truth.'\n\n'Indeed I have other work to do.  It's your dinnertime, and I won't\nhave any more such nonsense.'\n\nThe princess wiped her eyes, and her face grew so hot that they were\nsoon quite dry.  She sat down to her dinner, but ate next to nothing.\nNot to be believed does not at all agree with princesses: for a real\nprincess cannot tell a lie.  So all the afternoon she did not speak a\nword.  Only when the nurse spoke to her, she answered her, for a real\nprincess is never rude--even when she does well to be offended.\n\nOf course the nurse was not comfortable in her mind--not that she\nsuspected the least truth in Irene's story, but that she loved her\ndearly, and was vexed with herself for having been cross to her. She\nthought her crossness was the cause of the princess's unhappiness, and\nhad no idea that she was really and deeply hurt at not being believed.\nBut, as it became more and more plain during the evening in her every\nmotion and look, that, although she tried to amuse herself with her\ntoys, her heart was too vexed and troubled to enjoy them, her nurse's\ndiscomfort grew and grew.  When bedtime came, she undressed and laid\nher down, but the child, instead of holding up her little mouth to be\nkissed, turned away from her and lay still.  Then nursie's heart gave\nway altogether, and she began to cry.  At the sound of her first sob\nthe princess turned again, and held her face to kiss her as usual.  But\nthe nurse had her handkerchief to her eyes, and did not see the\nmovement.\n\n'Nursie,' said the princess, 'why won't you believe me?'\n\n'Because I can't believe you,' said the nurse, getting angry again.\n\n'Ah! then, you can't help it,' said Irene, 'and I will not be vexed\nwith you any more.  I will give you a kiss and go to sleep.'\n\n'You little angel!' cried the nurse, and caught her out of bed, and\nwalked about the room with her in her arms, kissing and hugging her.\n\n'You will let me take you to see my dear old great big grandmother,\nwon't you?' said the princess, as she laid her down again.\n\n'And you won't say I'm ugly, any more--will you, princess?' 'Nursie, I\nnever said you were ugly.  What can you mean?'\n\n'Well, if you didn't say it, you meant it.'\n\n'Indeed, I never did.'\n\n'You said I wasn't so pretty as that--'\n\n'As my beautiful grandmother--yes, I did say that; and I say it again,\nfor it's quite true.'\n\n'Then I do think you are unkind!' said the nurse, and put her\nhandkerchief to her eyes again.\n\n'Nursie, dear, everybody can't be as beautiful as every other body, you\nknow.  You are very nice-looking, but if you had been as beautiful as\nmy grandmother--'\n\n'Bother your grandmother!' said the nurse.\n\n'Nurse, that's very rude.  You are not fit to be spoken to till you can\nbehave better.'\n\nThe princess turned away once more, and again the nurse was ashamed of\nherself.\n\n'I'm sure I beg your pardon, princess,' she said, though still in an\noffended tone.  But the princess let the tone pass, and heeded only the\nwords.\n\n'You won't say it again, I am sure,' she answered, once more turning\ntowards her nurse.  'I was only going to say that if you had been twice\nas nice-looking as you are, some king or other would have married you,\nand then what would have become of me?'\n\n'You are an angel!' repeated the nurse, again embracing her. 'Now,'\ninsisted Irene, 'you will come and see my grandmother--won't you?'\n\n'I will go with you anywhere you like, my cherub,' she answered; and in\ntwo minutes the weary little princess was fast asleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 5\n\nThe Princess Lets Well Alone\n\n\nWhen she woke the next morning, the first thing she heard was the rain\nstill falling.  Indeed, this day was so like the last that it would\nhave been difficult to tell where was the use of it.  The first thing\nshe thought of, however, was not the rain, but the lady in the tower;\nand the first question that occupied her thoughts was whether she\nshould not ask the nurse to fulfil her promise this very morning, and\ngo with her to find her grandmother as soon as she had had her\nbreakfast.  But she came to the conclusion that perhaps the lady would\nnot be pleased if she took anyone to see her without first asking\nleave; especially as it was pretty evident, seeing she lived on\npigeons' eggs, and cooked them herself, that she did not want the\nhousehold to know she was there.  So the princess resolved to take the\nfirst opportunity of running up alone and asking whether she might\nbring her nurse.  She believed the fact that she could not otherwise\nconvince her she was telling the truth would have much weight with her\ngrandmother.\n\nThe princess and her nurse were the best of friends all dressing-time,\nand the princess in consequence ate an enormous little breakfast.\n\n'I wonder, Lootie'--that was her pet name for her nurse--'what pigeons'\neggs taste like?' she said, as she was eating her egg--not quite a\ncommon one, for they always picked out the pinky ones for her.\n\n'We'll get you a pigeon's egg, and you shall judge for yourself,' said\nthe nurse.\n\n'Oh, no, no!' returned Irene, suddenly reflecting they might disturb\nthe old lady in getting it, and that even if they did not, she would\nhave one less in consequence.\n\n'What a strange creature you are,' said the nurse--'first to want a\nthing and then to refuse it!'\n\nBut she did not say it crossly, and the princess never minded any\nremarks that were not unfriendly.\n\n'Well, you see, Lootie, there are reasons,' she returned, and said no\nmore, for she did not want to bring up the subject of their former\nstrife, lest her nurse should offer to go before she had had her\ngrandmother's permission to bring her.  Of course she could refuse to\ntake her, but then she would believe her less than ever.\n\nNow the nurse, as she said herself afterwards, could not be every\nmoment in the room; and as never before yesterday had the princess\ngiven her the smallest reason for anxiety, it had not yet come into her\nhead to watch her more closely.  So she soon gave her a chance, and,\nthe very first that offered, Irene was off and up the stairs again.\n\nThis day's adventure, however, did not turn out like yesterday's,\nalthough it began like it; and indeed to-day is very seldom like\nyesterday, if people would note the differences--even when it rains.\nThe princess ran through passage after passage, and could not find the\nstair of the tower.  My own suspicion is that she had not gone up high\nenough, and was searching on the second instead of the third floor.\nWhen she turned to go back, she failed equally in her search after the\nstair.  She was lost once more.\n\nSomething made it even worse to bear this time, and it was no wonder\nthat she cried again.  Suddenly it occurred to her that it was after\nhaving cried before that she had found her grandmother's stair.  She\ngot up at once, wiped her eyes, and started upon a fresh quest.\n\nThis time, although she did not find what she hoped, she found what was\nnext best: she did not come on a stair that went up, but she came upon\none that went down.  It was evidently not the stair she had come up,\nyet it was a good deal better than none; so down she went, and was\nsinging merrily before she reached the bottom. There, to her surprise,\nshe found herself in the kitchen.  Although she was not allowed to go\nthere alone, her nurse had often taken her, and she was a great\nfavourite with the servants.  So there was a general rush at her the\nmoment she appeared, for every one wanted to have her; and the report\nof where she was soon reached the nurse's ears.  She came at once to\nfetch her; but she never suspected how she had got there, and the\nprincess kept her own counsel.\n\nHer failure to find the old lady not only disappointed her, but made\nher very thoughtful.  Sometimes she came almost to the nurse's opinion\nthat she had dreamed all about her; but that fancy never lasted very\nlong.  She wondered much whether she should ever see her again, and\nthought it very sad not to have been able to find her when she\nparticularly wanted her.  She resolved to say nothing more to her nurse\non the subject, seeing it was so little in her power to prove her words.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 6\n\nThe Little Miner\n\n\nThe next day the great cloud still hung over the mountain, and the rain\npoured like water from a full sponge.  The princess was very fond of\nbeing out of doors, and she nearly cried when she saw that the weather\nwas no better.  But the mist was not of such a dark dingy grey; there\nwas light in it; and as the hours went on it grew brighter and\nbrighter, until it was almost too brilliant to look at; and late in the\nafternoon the sun broke out so gloriously that Irene clapped her hands,\ncrying:\n\n'See, see, Lootie!  The sun has had his face washed.  Look how bright\nhe is!  Do get my hat, and let us go out for a walk.  Oh, dear! oh,\ndear! how happy I am!'\n\nLootie was very glad to please the princess.  She got her hat and\ncloak, and they set out together for a walk up the mountain; for the\nroad was so hard and steep that the water could not rest upon it, and\nit was always dry enough for walking a few minutes after the rain\nceased.  The clouds were rolling away in broken pieces, like great,\noverwoolly sheep, whose wool the sun had bleached till it was almost\ntoo white for the eyes to bear.  Between them the sky shone with a\ndeeper and purer blue, because of the rain.  The trees on the roadside\nwere hung all over with drops, which sparkled in the sun like jewels.\nThe only things that were no brighter for the rain were the brooks that\nran down the mountain; they had changed from the clearness of crystal\nto a muddy brown; but what they lost in colour they gained in sound--or\nat least in noise, for a brook when it is swollen is not so musical as\nbefore.  But Irene was in raptures with the great brown streams\ntumbling down everywhere; and Lootie shared in her delight, for she too\nhad been confined to the house for three days.\n\nAt length she observed that the sun was getting low, and said it was\ntime to be going back.  She made the remark again and again, but, every\ntime, the princess begged her to go on just a little farther and a\nlittle farther; reminding her that it was much easier to go downhill,\nand saying that when they did turn they would be at home in a moment.\nSo on and on they did go, now to look at a group of ferns over whose\ntops a stream was pouring in a watery arch, now to pick a shining stone\nfrom a rock by the wayside, now to watch the flight of some bird.\nSuddenly the shadow of a great mountain peak came up from behind, and\nshot in front of them.  When the nurse saw it, she started and shook,\nand catching hold of the princess's hand turned and began to run down\nthe hill.\n\n'What's all the haste, nursie?' asked Irene, running alongside of her.\n\n'We must not be out a moment longer.'\n\n'But we can't help being out a good many moments longer.'\n\nIt was too true.  The nurse almost cried.  They were much too far from\nhome.  It was against express orders to be out with the princess one\nmoment after the sun was down; and they were nearly a mile up the\nmountain!  If His Majesty, Irene's papa, were to hear of it, Lootie\nwould certainly be dismissed; and to leave the princess would break her\nheart.  It was no wonder she ran.  But Irene was not in the least\nfrightened, not knowing anything to be frightened at.  She kept on\nchattering as well as she could, but it was not easy.\n\n'Lootie! Lootie! why do you run so fast?  It shakes my teeth when I\ntalk.'\n\n'Then don't talk,' said Lootie.\n\n'But the princess went on talking.  She was always saying: 'Look, look,\nLootie!' but Lootie paid no more heed to anything she said, only ran on.\n\n'Look, look, Lootie!  Don't you see that funny man peeping over the\nrock?'\n\nLootie only ran the faster.  They had to pass the rock, and when they\ncame nearer, the princess saw it was only a lump of the rock itself\nthat she had taken for a man.\n\n'Look, look, Lootie!  There's such a curious creature at the foot of\nthat old tree.  Look at it, Lootie!  It's making faces at us, I do\nthink.'\n\nLootie gave a stifled cry, and ran faster still--so fast that Irene's\nlittle legs could not keep up with her, and she fell with a crash.  It\nwas a hard downhill road, and she had been running very fast--so it was\nno wonder she began to cry.  This put the nurse nearly beside herself;\nbut all she could do was to run on, the moment she got the princess on\nher feet again.\n\n'Who's that laughing at me?' said the princess, trying to keep in her\nsobs, and running too fast for her grazed knees.\n\n'Nobody, child,' said the nurse, almost angrily.\n\nBut that instant there came a burst of coarse tittering from somewhere\nnear, and a hoarse indistinct voice that seemed to say: 'Lies! lies!\nlies!'\n\n'Oh!' cried the nurse with a sigh that was almost a scream, and ran on\nfaster than ever.\n\n'Nursie! Lootie! I can't run any more.  Do let us walk a bit.'\n\n'What am I to do?' said the nurse.  'Here, I will carry you.'\n\nShe caught her up; but found her much too heavy to run with, and had to\nset her down again.  Then she looked wildly about her, gave a great\ncry, and said:\n\n'We've taken the wrong turning somewhere, and I don't know where we\nare.  We are lost, lost!'\n\nThe terror she was in had quite bewildered her.  It was true enough\nthey had lost the way.  They had been running down into a little valley\nin which there was no house to be seen.\n\nNow Irene did not know what good reason there was for her nurse's\nterror, for the servants had all strict orders never to mention the\ngoblins to her, but it was very discomposing to see her nurse in such a\nfright.  Before, however, she had time to grow thoroughly alarmed like\nher, she heard the sound of whistling, and that revived her.  Presently\nshe saw a boy coming up the road from the valley to meet them.  He was\nthe whistler; but before they met his whistling changed to singing.\nAnd this is something like what he sang:\n\n  'Ring! dod! bang!\n  Go the hammers' clang!\n  Hit and turn and bore!\n  Whizz and puff and roar!\n  Thus we rive the rocks,\n  Force the goblin locks.--\n  See the shining ore!\n  One, two, three--\n  Bright as gold can be!\n  Four, five, six--\n  Shovels, mattocks, picks!\n  Seven, eight, nine--\n  Light your lamp at mine.\n  Ten, eleven, twelve--\n  Loosely hold the helve.\n  We're the merry miner-boys,\n  Make the goblins hold their noise.'\n\n\n'I wish YOU would hold your noise,' said the nurse rudely, for the very\nword GOBLIN at such a time and in such a place made her tremble.  It\nwould bring the goblins upon them to a certainty, she thought, to defy\nthem in that way.  But whether the boy heard her or not, he did not\nstop his singing.\n\n\n  'Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen--\n  This is worth the siftin';\n  Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen--\n  There's the match, and lay't in.\n  Nineteen, twenty--\n  Goblins in a plenty.'\n\n\n'Do be quiet,' cried the nurse, in a whispered shriek.  But the boy,\nwho was now close at hand, still went on.\n\n  'Hush! scush! scurry!\n  There you go in a hurry!\n  Gobble! gobble! goblin!\n  There you go a wobblin';\n  Hobble, hobble, hobblin'--\n  Cobble! cobble! cobblin'!\n  Hob-bob-goblin!--\n  Huuuuuh!'\n\n\n'There!' said the boy, as he stood still opposite them.  'There!\nthat'll do for them.  They can't bear singing, and they can't stand\nthat song.  They can't sing themselves, for they have no more voice\nthan a crow; and they don't like other people to sing.'\n\nThe boy was dressed in a miner's dress, with a curious cap on his head.\nHe was a very nice-looking boy, with eyes as dark as the mines in which\nhe worked and as sparkling as the crystals in their rocks.  He was\nabout twelve years old.  His face was almost too pale for beauty, which\ncame of his being so little in the open air and the sunlight--for even\nvegetables grown in the dark are white; but he looked happy, merry\nindeed--perhaps at the thought of having routed the goblins; and his\nbearing as he stood before them had nothing clownish or rude about it.\n\n'I saw them,' he went on, 'as I came up; and I'm very glad I did. I\nknew they were after somebody, but I couldn't see who it was. They\nwon't touch you so long as I'm with you.'\n\n'Why, who are you?' asked the nurse, offended at the freedom with which\nhe spoke to them.\n\n'I'm Peter's son.'\n\n'Who's Peter?'\n\n'Peter the miner.'\n\n'I don't know him.'\n\n'I'm his son, though.'\n\n'And why should the goblins mind you, pray?'\n\n'Because I don't mind them.  I'm used to them.'\n\n'What difference does that make?'\n\n'If you're not afraid of them, they're afraid of you.  I'm not afraid\nof them.  That's all.  But it's all that's wanted--up here, that is.\nIt's a different thing down there.  They won't always mind that song\neven, down there.  And if anyone sings it, they stand grinning at him\nawfully; and if he gets frightened, and misses a word, or says a wrong\none, they--oh! don't they give it him!'\n\n'What do they do to him?' asked Irene, with a trembling voice.\n\n'Don't go frightening the princess,' said the nurse.\n\n'The princess!' repeated the little miner, taking off his curious cap.\n'I beg your pardon; but you oughtn't to be out so late. Everybody knows\nthat's against the law.'\n\n'Yes, indeed it is!' said the nurse, beginning to cry again.  'And I\nshall have to suffer for it.'\n\n'What does that matter?' said the boy.  'It must be your fault.  It is\nthe princess who will suffer for it.  I hope they didn't hear you call\nher the princess.  If they did, they're sure to know her again: they're\nawfully sharp.'\n\n'Lootie! Lootie!' cried the princess.  'Take me home.'\n\n'Don't go on like that,' said the nurse to the boy, almost fiercely.\n'How could I help it?  I lost my way.'\n\n'You shouldn't have been out so late.  You wouldn't have lost your way\nif you hadn't been frightened,' said the boy.  'Come along. I'll soon\nset you right again.  Shall I carry your little Highness?'\n\n'Impertinence!' murmured the nurse, but she did not say it aloud, for\nshe thought if she made him angry he might take his revenge by telling\nsomeone belonging to the house, and then it would be sure to come to\nthe king's ears.  'No, thank you,' said Irene.  'I can walk very well,\nthough I can't run so fast as nursie.  If you will give me one hand,\nLootie will give me another, and then I shall get on famously.'\n\nThey soon had her between them, holding a hand of each.\n\n'Now let's run,' said the nurse.\n\n'No, no!' said the little miner.  'That's the worst thing you can do.\nIf you hadn't run before, you would not have lost your way. And if you\nrun now, they will be after you in a moment.'\n\n'I don't want to run,' said Irene.\n\n'You don't think of me,' said the nurse.\n\n'Yes, I do, Lootie.  The boy says they won't touch us if we don't run.'\n\n'Yes, but if they know at the house that I've kept you out so late I\nshall be turned away, and that would break my heart.'\n\n'Turned away, Lootie!  Who would turn you away?'\n\n'Your papa, child.'\n\n'But I'll tell him it was all my fault.  And you know it was, Lootie.'\n\n'He won't mind that.  I'm sure he won't.'\n\n'Then I'll cry, and go down on my knees to him, and beg him not to take\naway my own dear Lootie.'\n\nThe nurse was comforted at hearing this, and said no more.  They went\non, walking pretty fast, but taking care not to run a step.\n\n'I want to talk to you,' said Irene to the little miner; 'but it's so\nawkward!  I don't know your name.'\n\n'My name's Curdie, little princess.'\n\n'What a funny name! Curdie!  What more?'\n\n'Curdie Peterson.  What's your name, please?'\n\n'Irene.'\n\n'What more?'\n\n'I don't know what more.  What more is my name, Lootie?'\n\n'Princesses haven't got more than one name.  They don't want it.'\n\n'Oh, then, Curdie, you must call me just Irene and no more.'\n\n'No, indeed,' said the nurse indignantly.  'He shall do no such thing.'\n\n'What shall he call me, then, Lootie?'\n\n'Your Royal Highness.'\n\n'My Royal Highness! What's that? No, no, Lootie. I won't be called\nnames. I don't like them. You told me once yourself it's only rude\nchildren that call names; and I'm sure Curdie wouldn't be rude. Curdie,\nmy name's Irene.'\n\n'Well, Irene,' said Curdie, with a glance at the nurse which showed he\nenjoyed teasing her; 'it is very kind of you to let me call you\nanything.  I like your name very much.'\n\nHe expected the nurse to interfere again; but he soon saw that she was\ntoo frightened to speak.  She was staring at something a few yards\nbefore them in the middle of the path, where it narrowed between rocks\nso that only one could pass at a time.\n\n'It is very much kinder of you to go out of your way to take us home,'\nsaid Irene.\n\n'I'm not going out of my way yet,' said Curdie.  'It's on the other\nside of those rocks the path turns off to my father's.'\n\n'You wouldn't think of leaving us till we're safe home, I'm sure,'\ngasped the nurse.\n\n'Of course not,' said Curdie.\n\n'You dear, good, kind Curdie!  I'll give you a kiss when we get home,'\nsaid the princess.\n\nThe nurse gave her a great pull by the hand she held.  But at that\ninstant the something in the middle of the way, which had looked like a\ngreat lump of earth brought down by the rain, began to move. One after\nanother it shot out four long things, like two arms and two legs, but\nit was now too dark to tell what they were.  The nurse began to tremble\nfrom head to foot.  Irene clasped Curdie's hand yet faster, and Curdie\nbegan to sing again:\n\n  'One, two--\n  Hit and hew!\n  Three, four--\n  Blast and bore!\n  Five, six--\n  There's a fix!\n  Seven, eight--\n  Hold it straight!\n  Nine, ten--\n  Hit again!\n  Hurry! scurry!\n  Bother! smother!\n  There's a toad\n  In the road!\n  Smash it!\n  Squash it!\n  Fry it!\n  Dry it!\n  You're another!\n  Up and off!\n  There's enough!--\n  Huuuuuh!'\n\n\nAs he uttered the last words, Curdie let go his hold of his companion,\nand rushed at the thing in the road as if he would trample it under his\nfeet.  It gave a great spring, and ran straight up one of the rocks\nlike a huge spider.  Curdie turned back laughing, and took Irene's hand\nagain.  She grasped his very tight, but said nothing till they had\npassed the rocks.  A few yards more and she found herself on a part of\nthe road she knew, and was able to speak again.\n\n'Do you know, Curdie, I don't quite like your song: it sounds to me\nrather rude,' she said.\n\n'Well, perhaps it is,' answered Curdie.  'I never thought of that; it's\na way we have.  We do it because they don't like it.'\n\n'Who don't like it?'\n\n'The cobs, as we call them.'\n\n'Don't!' said the nurse.\n\n'Why not?' said Curdie.\n\n'I beg you won't.  Please don't.'\n\n'Oh! if you ask me that way, of course, I won't; though I don't a bit\nknow why.  Look! there are the lights of your great house down below.\nYou'll be at home in five minutes now.'\n\nNothing more happened.  They reached home in safety.  Nobody had missed\nthem, or even known they had gone out; and they arrived at the door\nbelonging to their part of the house without anyone seeing them.  The\nnurse was rushing in with a hurried and not over-gracious good night to\nCurdie; but the princess pulled her hand from hers, and was just\nthrowing her arms round Curdie's neck, when she caught her again and\ndragged her away.\n\n'Lootie! Lootie! I promised a kiss,' cried Irene.\n\n'A princess mustn't give kisses.  It's not at all proper,' said Lootie.\n\n'But I promised,' said the princess.\n\n'There's no occasion; he's only a miner-boy.'\n\n'He's a good boy, and a brave boy, and he has been very kind to us.\nLootie! Lootie! I promised.'\n\n'Then you shouldn't have promised.'\n\n'Lootie, I promised him a kiss.'\n\n'Your Royal Highness,' said Lootie, suddenly grown very respectful,\n'must come in directly.'\n\n'Nurse, a princess must not break her word,' said Irene, drawing\nherself up and standing stock-still.\n\nLootie did not know which the king might count the worst--to let the\nprincess be out after sunset, or to let her kiss a miner-boy. She did\nnot know that, being a gentleman, as many kings have been, he would\nhave counted neither of them the worse.  However much he might have\ndisliked his daughter to kiss the miner-boy, he would not have had her\nbreak her word for all the goblins in creation. But, as I say, the\nnurse was not lady enough to understand this, and so she was in a great\ndifficulty, for, if she insisted, someone might hear the princess cry\nand run to see, and then all would come out.  But here Curdie came\nagain to the rescue.\n\n'Never mind, Princess Irene,' he said.  'You mustn't kiss me tonight.\nBut you shan't break your word.  I will come another time.  You may be\nsure I will.'\n\n'Oh, thank you, Curdie!' said the princess, and stopped crying.\n\n'Good night, Irene; good night, Lootie,' said Curdie, and turned and\nwas out of sight in a moment.\n\n'I should like to see him!' muttered the nurse, as she carried the\nprincess to the nursery.\n\n'You will see him,' said Irene.  'You may be sure Curdie will keep his\nword.  He's sure to come again.'\n\n'I should like to see him!' repeated the nurse, and said no more. She\ndid not want to open a new cause of strife with the princess by saying\nmore plainly what she meant.  Glad enough that she had succeeded both\nin getting home unseen, and in keeping the princess from kissing the\nminer's boy, she resolved to watch her far better in future.  Her\ncarelessness had already doubled the danger she was in.  Formerly the\ngoblins were her only fear; now she had to protect her charge from\nCurdie as well.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 7\n\nThe Mines\n\n\nCurdie went home whistling.  He resolved to say nothing about the\nprincess for fear of getting the nurse into trouble, for while he\nenjoyed teasing her because of her absurdity, he was careful not to do\nher any harm.  He saw no more of the goblins, and was soon fast asleep\nin his bed.\n\nHe woke in the middle of the night, and thought he heard curious noises\noutside.  He sat up and listened; then got up, and, opening the door\nvery quietly, went out.  When he peeped round the corner, he saw, under\nhis own window, a group of stumpy creatures, whom he at once recognized\nby their shape.  Hardly, however, had he begun his 'One, two, three!'\nwhen they broke asunder, scurried away, and were out of sight.  He\nreturned laughing, got into bed again, and was fast asleep in a moment.\n\nReflecting a little over the matter in the morning, he came to the\nconclusion that, as nothing of the kind had ever happened before, they\nmust be annoyed with him for interfering to protect the princess.  By\nthe time he was dressed, however, he was thinking of something quite\ndifferent, for he did not value the enmity of the goblins in the least.\nAs soon as they had had breakfast, he set off with his father for the\nmine.\n\nThey entered the hill by a natural opening under a huge rock, where a\nlittle stream rushed out.  They followed its course for a few yards,\nwhen the passage took a turn, and sloped steeply into the heart of the\nhill.  With many angles and windings and branchings-off, and sometimes\nwith steps where it came upon a natural gulf, it led them deep into the\nhill before they arrived at the place where they were at present\ndigging out the precious ore. This was of various kinds, for the\nmountain was very rich in the better sorts of metals.  With flint and\nsteel, and tinder-box, they lighted their lamps, then fixed them on\ntheir heads, and were soon hard at work with their pickaxes and shovels\nand hammers.  Father and son were at work near each other, but not in\nthe same gang--the passages out of which the ore was dug, they called\ngangs--for when the lode, or vein of ore, was small, one miner would\nhave to dig away alone in a passage no bigger than gave him just room\nto work--sometimes in uncomfortable cramped positions.  If they stopped\nfor a moment they could hear everywhere around them, some nearer, some\nfarther off, the sounds of their companions burrowing away in all\ndirections in the inside of the great mountain--some boring holes in\nthe rock in order to blow it up with gunpowder, others shovelling the\nbroken ore into baskets to be carried to the mouth of the mine, others\nhitting away with their pickaxes. Sometimes, if the miner was in a very\nlonely part, he would hear only a tap-tapping, no louder than that of a\nwoodpecker, for the sound would come from a great distance off through\nthe solid mountain rock.\n\nThe work was hard at best, for it is very warm underground; but it was\nnot particularly unpleasant, and some of the miners, when they wanted\nto earn a little more money for a particular purpose, would stop behind\nthe rest and work all night.  But you could not tell night from day\ndown there, except from feeling tired and sleepy; for no light of the\nsun ever came into those gloomy regions.  Some who had thus remained\nbehind during the night, although certain there were none of their\ncompanions at work, would declare the next morning that they heard,\nevery time they halted for a moment to take breath, a tap-tapping all\nabout them, as if the mountain were then more full of miners than ever\nit was during the day; and some in consequence would never stay\novernight, for all knew those were the sounds of the goblins.  They\nworked only at night, for the miners' night was the goblins' day.\nIndeed, the greater number of the miners were afraid of the goblins;\nfor there were strange stories well known amongst them of the treatment\nsome had received whom the goblins had surprised at their work during\nthe night.  The more courageous of them, however, amongst them Peter\nPeterson and Curdie, who in this took after his father, had stayed in\nthe mine all night again and again, and although they had several times\nencountered a few stray goblins, had never yet failed in driving them\naway.  As I have indicated already, the chief defence against them was\nverse, for they hated verse of every kind, and some kinds they could\nnot endure at all.  I suspect they could not make any themselves, and\nthat was why they disliked it so much.  At all events, those who were\nmost afraid of them were those who could neither make verses themselves\nnor remember the verses that other people made for them; while those\nwho were never afraid were those who could make verses for themselves;\nfor although there were certain old rhymes which were very effectual,\nyet it was well known that a new rhyme, if of the right sort, was even\nmore distasteful to them, and therefore more effectual in putting them\nto flight.\n\nPerhaps my readers may be wondering what the goblins could be about,\nworking all night long, seeing they never carried up the ore and sold\nit; but when I have informed them concerning what Curdie learned the\nvery next night, they will be able to understand.\n\nFor Curdie had determined, if his father would permit him, to remain\nthere alone this night--and that for two reasons: first, he wanted to\nget extra wages that he might buy a very warm red petticoat for his\nmother, who had begun to complain of the cold of the mountain air\nsooner than usual this autumn; and second, he had just a faint hope of\nfinding out what the goblins were about under his window the night\nbefore.\n\nWhen he told his father, he made no objection, for he had great\nconfidence in his boy's courage and resources.\n\n'I'm sorry I can't stay with you,' said Peter; 'but I want to go and\npay the parson a visit this evening, and besides I've had a bit of a\nheadache all day.'\n\n'I'm sorry for that, father,' said Curdie.\n\n'Oh, it's not much.  You'll be sure to take care of yourself, won't\nyou?'\n\n'Yes, father; I will.  I'll keep a sharp look-out, I promise you.'\nCurdie was the only one who remained in the mine.  About six o'clock\nthe rest went away, everyone bidding him good night, and telling him to\ntake care of himself; for he was a great favourite with them all.\n\n'Don't forget your rhymes,' said one.\n\n'No, no,' answered Curdie.\n\n'It's no matter if he does,' said another, 'for he'll only have to make\na new one.'\n\n'Yes: but he mightn't be able to make it fast enough,' said another;\n'and while it was cooking in his head, they might take a mean advantage\nand set upon him.'\n\n'I'll do my best,' said Curdie.  'I'm not afraid.'\n\n'We all know that,' they returned, and left him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 8\n\nThe Goblins\n\n\nFor some time Curdie worked away briskly, throwing all the ore he had\ndisengaged on one side behind him, to be ready for carrying out in the\nmorning.  He heard a good deal of goblin-tapping, but it all sounded\nfar away in the hill, and he paid it little heed.  Towards midnight he\nbegan to feel rather hungry; so he dropped his pickaxe, got out a lump\nof bread which in the morning he had laid in a damp hole in the rock,\nsat down on a heap of ore, and ate his supper. Then he leaned back for\nfive minutes' rest before beginning his work again, and laid his head\nagainst the rock.  He had not kept the position for one minute before\nhe heard something which made him sharpen his ears.  It sounded like a\nvoice inside the rock. After a while he heard it again.  It was a\ngoblin voice--there could be no doubt about that--and this time he\ncould make out the words.\n\n'Hadn't we better be moving?' it said.\n\nA rougher and deeper voice replied:\n\n'There's no hurry.  That wretched little mole won't be through tonight,\nif he work ever so hard.  He's not by any means at the thinnest place.'\n\n'But you still think the lode does come through into our house?' said\nthe first voice.\n\n'Yes, but a good bit farther on than he has got to yet.  If he had\nstruck a stroke more to the side just here,' said the goblin, tapping\nthe very stone, as it seemed to Curdie, against which his head lay, 'he\nwould have been through; but he's a couple of yards past it now, and if\nhe follow the lode it will be a week before it leads him in.  You see\nit back there--a long way.  Still, perhaps, in case of accident it\nwould be as well to be getting out of this. Helfer, you'll take the\ngreat chest.  That's your business, you know.'\n\n'Yes, dad,' said a third voice.  'But you must help me to get it on my\nback.  It's awfully heavy, you know.'\n\n'Well, it isn't just a bag of smoke, I admit.  But you're as strong as\na mountain, Helfer.'\n\n'You say so, dad.  I think myself I'm all right.  But I could carry ten\ntimes as much if it wasn't for my feet.'\n\n'That is your weak point, I confess, my boy.'\n\n'Ain't it yours too, father?'\n\n'Well, to be honest, it's a goblin weakness.  Why they come so soft, I\ndeclare I haven't an idea.'\n\n'Specially when your head's so hard, you know, father.'\n\n'Yes my boy.  The goblin's glory is his head.  To think how the fellows\nup above there have to put on helmets and things when they go fighting!\nHa! ha!'\n\n'But why don't we wear shoes like them, father?  I should like\nit--especially when I've got a chest like that on my head.'\n\n'Well, you see, it's not the fashion.  The king never wears shoes.'\n\n'The queen does.'\n\n'Yes; but that's for distinction.  The first queen, you see--I mean the\nking's first wife--wore shoes, of course, because she came from\nupstairs; and so, when she died, the next queen would not be inferior\nto her as she called it, and would wear shoes too.  It was all pride.\nShe is the hardest in forbidding them to the rest of the women.'\n\n'I'm sure I wouldn't wear them--no, not for--that I wouldn't!' said the\nfirst voice, which was evidently that of the mother of the family.  'I\ncan't think why either of them should.'\n\n'Didn't I tell you the first was from upstairs?' said the other. 'That\nwas the only silly thing I ever knew His Majesty guilty of. Why should\nhe marry an outlandish woman like that-one of our natural enemies too?'\n\n'I suppose he fell in love with her.'\n\n'Pooh! pooh!  He's just as happy now with one of his own people.'\n\n'Did she die very soon?  They didn't tease her to death, did they?'\n\n'Oh, dear, no!  The king worshipped her very footmarks.'\n\n'What made her die, then?  Didn't the air agree with her?'\n\n'She died when the young prince was born.'\n\n'How silly of her!  We never do that.  It must have been because she\nwore shoes.'\n\n'I don't know that.'\n\n'Why do they wear shoes up there?'\n\n'Ah, now that's a sensible question, and I will answer it.  But in\norder to do so, I must first tell you a secret.  I once saw the queen's\nfeet.'\n\n'Without her shoes?'\n\n'Yes--without her shoes.'\n\n'No!  Did you?  How was it?'\n\n'Never you mind how it was.  She didn't know I saw them.  And what do\nyou think!--they had toes!'\n\n'Toes!  What's that?'\n\n'You may well ask!  I should never have known if I had not seen the\nqueen's feet.  Just imagine! the ends of her feet were split up into\nfive or six thin pieces!'\n\n'Oh, horrid!  How could the king have fallen in love with her?'\n\n'You forget that she wore shoes.  That is just why she wore them. That\nis why all the men, and women too, upstairs wear shoes.  They can't\nbear the sight of their own feet without them.'\n\n'Ah! now I understand.  If ever you wish for shoes again, Helfer, I'll\nhit your feet--I will.'\n\n'No, no, mother; pray don't.'\n\n'Then don't you.'\n\n'But with such a big box on my head--'\n\nA horrid scream followed, which Curdie interpreted as in reply to a\nblow from his mother upon the feet of her eldest goblin.\n\n'Well, I never knew so much before!' remarked a fourth voice.\n\n'Your knowledge is not universal quite yet,' said the father.  'You\nwere only fifty last month.  Mind you see to the bed and bedding. As\nsoon as we've finished our supper, we'll be up and going.  Ha! ha! ha!'\n\n'What are you laughing at, husband?'\n\n'I'm laughing to think what a mess the miners will find themselves\nin--somewhere before this day ten years.'\n\n'Why, what do you mean?'\n\n'Oh, nothing.'\n\n'Oh, yes, you do mean something.  You always do mean something.'\n\n'It's more than you do, then, wife.' 'That may be; but it's not more\nthan I find out, you know.'\n\n'Ha! ha!  You're a sharp one.  What a mother you've got, Helfer!'\n\n'Yes, father.'\n\n'Well, I suppose I must tell you.  They're all at the palace consulting\nabout it tonight; and as soon as we've got away from this thin place\nI'm going there to hear what night they fix upon. I should like to see\nthat young ruffian there on the other side, struggling in the agonies\nof--'\n\nHe dropped his voice so low that Curdie could hear only a growl. The\ngrowl went on in the low bass for a good while, as inarticulate as if\nthe goblin's tongue had been a sausage; and it was not until his wife\nspoke again that it rose to its former pitch.\n\n'But what shall we do when you are at the palace?' she asked.\n\n'I will see you safe in the new house I've been digging for you for the\nlast two months.  Podge, you mind the table and chairs.  I commit them\nto your care.  The table has seven legs--each chair three.  I shall\nrequire them all at your hands.'\n\nAfter this arose a confused conversation about the various household\ngoods and their transport; and Curdie heard nothing more that was of\nany importance.\n\nHe now knew at least one of the reasons for the constant sound of the\ngoblin hammers and pickaxes at night.  They were making new houses for\nthemselves, to which they might retreat when the miners should threaten\nto break into their dwellings.  But he had learned two things of far\ngreater importance.  The first was, that some grievous calamity was\npreparing, and almost ready to fall upon the heads of the miners; the\nsecond was--the one weak point of a goblin's body; he had not known\nthat their feet were so tender as he had now reason to suspect.  He had\nheard it said that they had no toes: he had never had opportunity of\ninspecting them closely enough, in the dusk in which they always\nappeared, to satisfy himself whether it was a correct report.  Indeed,\nhe had not been able even to satisfy himself as to whether they had no\nfingers, although that also was commonly said to be the fact.  One of\nthe miners, indeed, who had had more schooling than the rest, was wont\nto argue that such must have been the primordial condition of humanity,\nand that education and handicraft had developed both toes and\nfingers--with which proposition Curdie had once heard his father\nsarcastically agree, alleging in support of it the probability that\nbabies' gloves were a traditional remnant of the old state of things;\nwhile the stockings of all ages, no regard being paid in them to the\ntoes, pointed in the same direction.  But what was of importance was\nthe fact concerning the softness of the goblin feet, which he foresaw\nmight be useful to all miners.  What he had to do in the meantime,\nhowever, was to discover, if possible, the special evil design the\ngoblins had now in their heads.\n\nAlthough he knew all the gangs and all the natural galleries with which\nthey communicated in the mined part of the mountain, he had not the\nleast idea where the palace of the king of the gnomes was; otherwise he\nwould have set out at once on the enterprise of discovering what the\nsaid design was.  He judged, and rightly, that it must lie in a farther\npart of the mountain, between which and the mine there was as yet no\ncommunication.  There must be one nearly completed, however; for it\ncould be but a thin partition which now separated them.  If only he\ncould get through in time to follow the goblins as they retreated!  A\nfew blows would doubtless be sufficient--just where his ear now lay;\nbut if he attempted to strike there with his pickaxe, he would only\nhasten the departure of the family, put them on their guard, and\nperhaps lose their involuntary guidance.  He therefore began to feel\nthe wall with his hands, and soon found that some of the stones were\nloose enough to be drawn out with little noise.\n\nLaying hold of a large one with both his hands, he drew it gently out,\nand let it down softly.\n\n'What was that noise?' said the goblin father.\n\nCurdie blew out his light, lest it should shine through.\n\n'It must be that one miner that stayed behind the rest,' said the\nmother.\n\n'No; he's been gone a good while.  I haven't heard a blow for an hour.\nBesides, it wasn't like that.'\n\n'Then I suppose it must have been a stone carried down the brook\ninside.'\n\n'Perhaps.  It will have more room by and by.'\n\nCurdie kept quite still.  After a little while, hearing nothing but the\nsounds of their preparations for departure, mingled with an occasional\nword of direction, and anxious to know whether the removal of the stone\nhad made an opening into the goblins' house, he put in his hand to\nfeel.  It went in a good way, and then came in contact with something\nsoft.  He had but a moment to feel it over, it was so quickly\nwithdrawn: it was one of the toeless goblin feet.  The owner of it gave\na cry of fright.\n\n'What's the matter, Helfer?' asked his mother.\n\n'A beast came out of the wall and licked my foot.'\n\n'Nonsense!  There are no wild beasts in our country,' said his father.\n\n'But it was, father.  I felt it.'\n\n'Nonsense, I say.  Will you malign your native realms and reduce them\nto a level with the country upstairs?  That is swarming with wild\nbeasts of every description.'\n\n'But I did feel it, father.'\n\n'I tell you to hold your tongue.  You are no patriot.'\n\nCurdie suppressed his laughter, and lay still as a mouse--but no\nstiller, for every moment he kept nibbling away with his fingers at the\nedges of the hole.  He was slowly making it bigger, for here the rock\nhad been very much shattered with the blasting.\n\nThere seemed to be a good many in the family, to judge from the mass of\nconfused talk which now and then came through the hole; but when all\nwere speaking together, and just as if they had bottle-brushes--each at\nleast one--in their throats, it was not easy to make out much that was\nsaid.  At length he heard once more what the father goblin was saying.\n\n'Now, then,' he said, 'get your bundles on your backs.  Here, Helfer,\nI'll help you up with your chest.'\n\n'I wish it was my chest, father.'\n\n'Your turn will come in good time enough!  Make haste.  I must go to\nthe meeting at the palace tonight.  When that's over, we can come back\nand clear out the last of the things before our enemies return in the\nmorning.  Now light your torches, and come along. What a distinction it\nis, to provide our own light, instead of being dependent on a thing\nhung up in the air--a most disagreeable contrivance--intended no doubt\nto blind us when we venture out under its baleful influence!  Quite\nglaring and vulgar, I call it, though no doubt useful to poor creatures\nwho haven't the wit to make light for themselves.'\n\nCurdie could hardly keep himself from calling through to know whether\nthey made the fire to light their torches by.  But a moment's\nreflection showed him that they would have said they did, inasmuch as\nthey struck two stones together, and the fire came.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 9\n\nThe Hall of the Goblin Palace\n\n\nA sound of many soft feet followed, but soon ceased.  Then Curdie flew\nat the hole like a tiger, and tore and pulled.  The sides gave way, and\nit was soon large enough for him to crawl through.  He would not betray\nhimself by rekindling his lamp, but the torches of the retreating\ncompany, which he found departing in a straight line up a long avenue\nfrom the door of their cave, threw back light enough to afford him a\nglance round the deserted home of the goblins.  To his surprise, he\ncould discover nothing to distinguish it from an ordinary natural cave\nin the rock, upon many of which he had come with the rest of the miners\nin the progress of their excavations.  The goblins had talked of coming\nback for the rest of their household gear: he saw nothing that would\nhave made him suspect a family had taken shelter there for a single\nnight.  The floor was rough and stony; the walls full of projecting\ncorners; the roof in one place twenty feet high, in another endangering\nhis forehead; while on one side a stream, no thicker than a needle, it\nis true, but still sufficient to spread a wide dampness over the wall,\nflowed down the face of the rock.  But the troop in front of him was\ntoiling under heavy burdens.  He could distinguish Helfer now and then,\nin the flickering light and shade, with his heavy chest on his bending\nshoulders; while the second brother was almost buried in what looked\nlike a great feather bed.  'Where do they get the feathers?' thought\nCurdie; but in a moment the troop disappeared at a turn of the way, and\nit was now both safe and necessary for Curdie to follow them, lest they\nshould be round the next turning before he saw them again, for so he\nmight lose them altogether.  He darted after them like a greyhound.\nWhen he reached the corner and looked cautiously round, he saw them\nagain at some distance down another long passage.  None of the\ngalleries he saw that night bore signs of the work of man--or of goblin\neither.  Stalactites, far older than the mines, hung from their roofs;\nand their floors were rough with boulders and large round stones,\nshowing that there water must have once run.  He waited again at this\ncorner till they had disappeared round the next, and so followed them a\nlong way through one passage after another.  The passages grew more and\nmore lofty, and were more and more covered in the roof with shining\nstalactites.\n\nIt was a strange enough procession which he followed.  But the\nstrangest part of it was the household animals which crowded amongst\nthe feet of the goblins.  It was true they had no wild animals down\nthere--at least they did not know of any; but they had a wonderful\nnumber of tame ones.  I must, however, reserve any contributions\ntowards the natural history of these for a later position in my story.\n\nAt length, turning a corner too abruptly, he had almost rushed into the\nmiddle of the goblin family; for there they had already set down all\ntheir burdens on the floor of a cave considerably larger than that\nwhich they had left.  They were as yet too breathless to speak, else he\nwould have had warning of their arrest.  He started back, however,\nbefore anyone saw him, and retreating a good way, stood watching till\nthe father should come out to go to the palace.\n\nBefore very long, both he and his son Helfer appeared and kept on in\nthe same direction as before, while Curdie followed them again with\nrenewed precaution.  For a long time he heard no sound except something\nlike the rush of a river inside the rock; but at length what seemed the\nfar-off noise of a great shouting reached his ears, which, however,\npresently ceased.  After advancing a good way farther, he thought he\nheard a single voice.  It sounded clearer and clearer as he went on,\nuntil at last he could almost distinguish the words.  In a moment or\ntwo, keeping after the goblins round another corner, he once more\nstarted back--this time in amazement.\n\nHe was at the entrance of a magnificent cavern, of an oval shape, once\nprobably a huge natural reservoir of water, now the great palace hall\nof the goblins.  It rose to a tremendous height, but the roof was\ncomposed of such shining materials, and the multitude of torches\ncarried by the goblins who crowded the floor lighted up the place so\nbrilliantly, that Curdie could see to the top quite well.  But he had\nno idea how immense the place was until his eyes had got accustomed to\nit, which was not for a good many minutes. The rough projections on the\nwalls, and the shadows thrown upwards from them by the torches, made\nthe sides of the chamber look as if they were crowded with statues upon\nbrackets and pedestals, reaching in irregular tiers from floor to roof.\nThe walls themselves were, in many parts, of gloriously shining\nsubstances, some of them gorgeously coloured besides, which powerfully\ncontrasted with the shadows.  Curdie could not help wondering whether\nhis rhymes would be of any use against such a multitude of goblins as\nfilled the floor of the hall, and indeed felt considerably tempted to\nbegin his shout of 'One, two, three!', but as there was no reason for\nrouting them and much for endeavouring to discover their designs, he\nkept himself perfectly quiet, and peering round the edge of the\ndoorway, listened with both his sharp ears.\n\nAt the other end of the hall, high above the heads of the multitude,\nwas a terrace-like ledge of considerable height, caused by the receding\nof the upper part of the cavern-wall.  Upon this sat the king and his\ncourt: the king on a throne hollowed out of a huge block of green\ncopper ore, and his court upon lower seats around it.  The king had\nbeen making them a speech, and the applause which followed it was what\nCurdie had heard.  One of the court was now addressing the multitude.\nWhat he heard him say was to the following effect: 'Hence it appears\nthat two plans have been for some time together working in the strong\nhead of His Majesty for the deliverance of his people.  Regardless of\nthe fact that we were the first possessors of the regions they now\ninhabit; regardless equally of the fact that we abandoned that region\nfrom the loftiest motives; regardless also of the self-evident fact\nthat we excel them so far in mental ability as they excel us in\nstature, they look upon us as a degraded race and make a mockery of all\nour finer feelings.  But, the time has almost arrived when--thanks to\nHis Majesty's inventive genius--it will be in our power to take a\nthorough revenge upon them once for all, in respect of their unfriendly\nbehaviour.'\n\n'May it please Your Majesty--' cried a voice close by the door, which\nCurdie recognized as that of the goblin he had followed.\n\n'Who is he that interrupts the Chancellor?' cried another from near the\nthrone.\n\n'Glump,' answered several voices.\n\n'He is our trusty subject,' said the king himself, in a slow and\nstately voice: 'let him come forward and speak.'\n\nA lane was parted through the crowd, and Glump, having ascended the\nplatform and bowed to the king, spoke as follows:\n\n'Sire, I would have held my peace, had I not known that I only knew how\nnear was the moment, to which the Chancellor had just referred.\n\nIn all probability, before another day is past, the enemy will have\nbroken through into my house--the partition between being even now not\nmore than a foot in thickness.'\n\n'Not quite so much,' thought Curdie to himself.\n\n'This very evening I have had to remove my household effects; therefore\nthe sooner we are ready to carry out the plan, for the execution of\nwhich His Majesty has been making such magnificent preparations, the\nbetter.  I may just add, that within the last few days I have perceived\na small outbreak in my dining-room, which, combined with observations\nupon the course of the river escaping where the evil men enter, has\nconvinced me that close to the spot must be a deep gulf in its channel.\nThis discovery will, I trust, add considerably to the otherwise immense\nforces at His Majesty's disposal.'\n\nHe ceased, and the king graciously acknowledged his speech with a bend\nof his head; whereupon Glump, after a bow to His Majesty, slid down\namongst the rest of the undistinguished multitude.  Then the Chancellor\nrose and resumed.\n\n'The information which the worthy Glump has given us,' he said, 'might\nhave been of considerable import at the present moment, but for that\nother design already referred to, which naturally takes precedence.\nHis Majesty, unwilling to proceed to extremities, and well aware that\nsuch measures sooner or later result in violent reactions, has\nexcogitated a more fundamental and comprehensive measure, of which I\nneed say no more.  Should His Majesty be successful--as who dares to\ndoubt?--then a peace, all to the advantage of the goblin kingdom, will\nbe established for a generation at least, rendered absolutely secure by\nthe pledge which His Royal Highness the prince will have and hold for\nthe good behaviour of her relatives.  Should His Majesty fail--which\nwho shall dare even to imagine in his most secret thoughts?--then will\nbe the time for carrying out with rigour the design to which Glump\nreferred, and for which our preparations are even now all but\ncompleted.  The failure of the former will render the latter\nimperative.'\n\nCurdie, perceiving that the assembly was drawing to a close and that\nthere was little chance of either plan being more fully discovered, now\nthought it prudent to make his escape before the goblins began to\ndisperse, and slipped quietly away.\n\nThere was not much danger of meeting any goblins, for all the men at\nleast were left behind him in the palace; but there was considerable\ndanger of his taking a wrong turning, for he had now no light, and had\ntherefore to depend upon his memory and his hands.  After he had left\nbehind him the glow that issued from the door of Glump's new abode, he\nwas utterly without guide, so far as his eyes were concerned.\n\nHe was most anxious to get back through the hole before the goblins\nshould return to fetch the remains of their furniture.  It was not that\nhe was in the least afraid of them, but, as it was of the utmost\nimportance that he should thoroughly discover what the plans they were\ncherishing were, he must not occasion the slightest suspicion that they\nwere watched by a miner.\n\nHe hurried on, feeling his way along the walls of rock.  Had he not\nbeen very courageous, he must have been very anxious, for he could not\nbut know that if he lost his way it would be the most difficult thing\nin the world to find it again.  Morning would bring no light into these\nregions; and towards him least of all, who was known as a special\nrhymester and persecutor, could goblins be expected to exercise\ncourtesy.  Well might he wish that he had brought his lamp and\ntinder-box with him, of which he had not thought when he crept so\neagerly after the goblins!  He wished it all the more when, after a\nwhile, he found his way blocked up, and could get no farther.  It was\nof no use to turn back, for he had not the least idea where he had\nbegun to go wrong.  Mechanically, however, he kept feeling about the\nwalls that hemmed him in.  His hand came upon a place where a tiny\nstream of water was running down the face of the rock.  'What a stupid\nI am!' he said to himself.  'I am actually at the end of my journey!\nAnd there are the goblins coming back to fetch their things!' he added,\nas the red glimmer of their torches appeared at the end of the long\navenue that led up to the cave.  In a moment he had thrown himself on\nthe floor, and wriggled backwards through the hole.  The floor on the\nother side was several feet lower, which made it easier to get back.\nIt was all he could do to lift the largest stone he had taken out of\nthe hole, but he did manage to shove it in again.  He sat down on the\nore-heap and thought.\n\nHe was pretty sure that the latter plan of the goblins was to inundate\nthe mine by breaking outlets for the water accumulated in the natural\nreservoirs of the mountain, as well as running through portions of it.\nWhile the part hollowed by the miners remained shut off from that\ninhabited by the goblins, they had had no opportunity of injuring them\nthus; but now that a passage was broken through, and the goblins' part\nproved the higher in the mountain, it was clear to Curdie that the mine\ncould be destroyed in an hour.  Water was always the chief danger to\nwhich the miners were exposed.  They met with a little choke-damp\nsometimes, but never with the explosive firedamp so common in\ncoal-mines.  Hence they were careful as soon as they saw any appearance\nof water. As the result of his reflections while the goblins were busy\nin their old home, it seemed to Curdie that it would be best to build\nup the whole of this gang, filling it with stone, and clay or lie, so\nthat there should be no smallest channel for the water to get into.\nThere was not, however, any immediate danger, for the execution of the\ngoblins' plan was contingent upon the failure of that unknown design\nwhich was to take precedence of it; and he was most anxious to keep the\ndoor of communication open, that he might if possible discover what the\nformer plan was.  At the same time they could not resume their\nintermitted labours for the inundation without his finding it out; when\nby putting all hands to the work, the one existing outlet might in a\nsingle night be rendered impenetrable to any weight of water; for by\nfilling the gang entirely up, their embankment would be buttressed by\nthe sides of the mountain itself.\n\nAs soon as he found that the goblins had again retired, he lighted his\nlamp, and proceeded to fill the hole he had made with such stones as he\ncould withdraw when he pleased.  He then thought it better, as he might\nhave occasion to be up a good many nights after this, to go home and\nhave some sleep.\n\nHow pleasant the night air felt upon the outside of the mountain after\nwhat he had gone through in the inside of it!  He hurried up the hill\nwithout meeting a single goblin on the way, and called and tapped at\nthe window until he woke his father, who soon rose and let him in.  He\ntold him the whole story; and, just as he had expected, his father\nthought it best to work that lode no farther, but at the same time to\npretend occasionally to be at work there still in order that the\ngoblins might have no suspicions.  Both father and son then went to bed\nand slept soundly until the morning.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 10\n\nThe Princess's King-Papa\n\n\nThe weather continued fine for weeks, and the little princess went out\nevery day.  So long a period of fine weather had indeed never been\nknown upon that mountain.  The only uncomfortable thing was that her\nnurse was so nervous and particular about being in before the sun was\ndown that often she would take to her heels when nothing worse than a\nfleecy cloud crossing the sun threw a shadow on the hillside; and many\nan evening they were home a full hour before the sunlight had left the\nweather-cock on the stables.  If it had not been for such odd behaviour\nIrene would by this time have almost forgotten the goblins.  She never\nforgot Curdie, but him she remembered for his own sake, and indeed\nwould have remembered him if only because a princess never forgets her\ndebts until they are paid.\n\nOne splendid sunshiny day, about an hour after noon, Irene, who was\nplaying on a lawn in the garden, heard the distant blast of a bugle.\nShe jumped up with a cry of joy, for she knew by that particular blast\nthat her father was on his way to see her.  This part of the garden lay\non the slope of the hill and allowed a full view of the country below.\nSo she shaded her eyes with her hand and looked far away to catch the\nfirst glimpse of shining armour. In a few moments a little troop came\nglittering round the shoulder of a hill.  Spears and helmets were\nsparkling and gleaming, banners were flying, horses prancing, and again\ncame the bugle-blast which was to her like the voice of her father\ncalling across the distance: 'Irene, I'm coming.'\n\nOn and on they came until she could clearly distinguish the king. He\nrode a white horse and was taller than any of the men with him. He wore\na narrow circle of gold set with jewels around his helmet, and as he\ncame still nearer Irene could discern the flashing of the stones in the\nsun.  It was a long time since he had been to see her, and her little\nheart beat faster and faster as the shining troop approached, for she\nloved her king-papa very dearly and was nowhere so happy as in his\narms.  When they reached a certain point, after which she could see\nthem no more from the garden, she ran to the gate, and there stood till\nup they came, clanging and stamping, with one more bright bugle-blast\nwhich said: 'Irene, I am come.'\n\nBy this time the people of the house were all gathered at the gate, but\nIrene stood alone in front of them.  When the horsemen pulled up she\nran to the side of the white horse and held up her arms. The king\nstopped and took her hands.  In an instant she was on the saddle and\nclasped in his great strong arms.\n\nI wish I could describe the king so that you could see him in your\nmind.  He had gentle, blue eyes, but a nose that made him look like an\neagle.  A long dark beard, streaked with silvery lines, flowed from his\nmouth almost to his waist, and as Irene sat on the saddle and hid her\nglad face upon his bosom it mingled with the golden hair which her\nmother had given her, and the two together were like a cloud with\nstreaks of the sun woven through it.  After he had held her to his\nheart for a minute he spoke to his white horse, and the great beautiful\ncreature, which had been prancing so proudly a little while before,\nwalked as gently as a lady--for he knew he had a little lady on his\nback--through the gate and up to the door of the house.  Then the king\nset her on the ground and, dismounting, took her hand and walked with\nher into the great hall, which was hardly ever entered except when he\ncame to see his little princess.  There he sat down, with two of his\ncounsellors who had accompanied him, to have some refreshment, and\nIrene sat on his right hand and drank her milk out of a wooden bowl\ncuriously carved.\n\nAfter the king had eaten and drunk he turned to the princess and said,\nstroking her hair:\n\n'Now, my child, what shall we do next?'\n\nThis was the question he almost always put to her first after their\nmeal together; and Irene had been waiting for it with some impatience,\nfor now, she thought, she should be able to settle a question which\nconstantly perplexed her.\n\n'I should like you to take me to see my great old grandmother.'\n\nThe king looked grave And said:\n\n'What does my little daughter mean?'\n\n'I mean the Queen Irene that lives up in the tower--the very old lady,\nyou know, with the long hair of silver.'\n\nThe king only gazed at his little princess with a look which she could\nnot understand.\n\n'She's got her crown in her bedroom,' she went on; 'but I've not been\nin there yet.  You know she's there, don't you?'\n\n'No,' said the king, very quietly.\n\n'Then it must all be a dream,' said Irene.  'I half thought it was; but\nI couldn't be sure.  Now I am sure of it.  Besides, I couldn't find her\nthe next time I went up.'\n\nAt that moment a snow-white pigeon flew in at an open window and\nsettled upon Irene's head.  She broke into a merry laugh, cowered a\nlittle, and put up her hands to her head, saying:\n\n'Dear dovey, don't peck me.  You'll pull out my hair with your long\nclaws if you don't mind.'\n\nThe king stretched out his hand to take the pigeon, but it spread its\nwings and flew again through the open window, when its Whiteness made\none flash in the sun and vanished.  The king laid his hand on his\nprincess's head, held it back a little, gazed in her face, smiled half\na smile, and sighed half a sigh.\n\n'Come, my child; we'll have a walk in the garden together,' he said.\n\n'You won't come up and see my huge, great, beautiful grandmother, then,\nking-papa?' said the princess.\n\n'Not this time,' said the king very gently.  'She has not invited me,\nyou know, and great old ladies like her do not choose to be visited\nwithout leave asked and given.'\n\nThe garden was a very lovely place.  Being upon a Mountainside there\nwere parts in it where the rocks came through in great masses, and all\nimmediately about them remained quite wild.  Tufts of heather grew upon\nthem, and other hardy mountain plants and flowers, while near them\nwould be lovely roses and lilies and all pleasant garden flowers.  This\nmingling of the wild mountain with the civilized garden was very\nquaint, and it was impossible for any number of gardeners to make such\na garden look formal and stiff.\n\nAgainst one of these rocks was a garden seat, shadowed from the\nafternoon sun by the overhanging of the rock itself.  There was a\nlittle winding path up to the top of the rock, and on top another seat;\nbut they sat on the seat at its foot because the sun was hot; and there\nthey talked together of many things.  At length the king said:\n\n'You were out late one evening, Irene.'\n\n'Yes, papa.  It was my fault; and Lootie was very sorry.'\n\n'I must talk to Lootie about it,' said the king.\n\n'Don't speak loud to her, please, papa,' said Irene.  'She's been so\nafraid of being late ever since!  Indeed she has not been naughty.  It\nwas only a mistake for once.'\n\n'Once might be too often,' murmured the king to himself, as he stroked\nhis child's head.\n\nI can't tell you how he had come to know.  I am sure Curdie had not\ntold him.  Someone about the palace must have seen them, after all.\n\nHe sat for a good while thinking.  There was no sound to be heard\nexcept that of a little stream which ran merrily out of an opening in\nthe rock by where they sat, and sped away down the hill through the\ngarden.  Then he rose and, leaving Irene where she was, went into the\nhouse and sent for Lootie, with whom he had a talk that made her cry.\n\nWhen in the evening he rode away upon his great white horse, he left\nsix of his attendants behind him, with orders that three of them should\nwatch outside the house every night, walking round and round it from\nsunset to sunrise.  It was clear he was not quite comfortable about the\nprincess.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 11\n\nThe Old Lady's Bedroom\n\n\nNothing more happened worth telling for some time.  The autumn came and\nwent by.  There were no more flowers in the garden.  The wind blew\nstrong, and howled among the rocks.  The rain fell, and drenched the\nfew yellow and red leaves that could not get off the bare branches.\nAgain and again there would be a glorious morning followed by a pouring\nafternoon, and sometimes, for a week together, there would be rain,\nnothing but rain, all day, and then the most lovely cloudless night,\nwith the sky all out in full-blown stars--not one missing.  But the\nprincess could not see much of them, for she went to bed early.  The\nwinter drew on, and she found things growing dreary.  When it was too\nstormy to go out, and she had got tired of her toys, Lootie would take\nher about the house, sometimes to the housekeeper's room, where the\nhousekeeper, who was a good, kind old woman, made much of\nher--sometimes to the servants' hall or the kitchen, where she was not\nprincess merely, but absolute queen, and ran a great risk of being\nspoiled. Sometimes she would run off herself to the room where the\nmen-at-arms whom the king had left sat, and they showed her their arms\nand accoutrements and did what they could to amuse her.  Still at times\nshe found it very dreary, and often and often wished that her huge\ngreat grandmother had not been a dream.\n\nOne morning the nurse left her with the housekeeper for a while. To\namuse her she turned out the contents of an old cabinet upon the table.\nThe little princess found her treasures, queer ancient ornaments, and\nmany things the use of which she could not imagine, far more\ninteresting than her own toys, and sat playing with them for two hours\nor more.  But, at length, in handling a curious old-fashioned brooch,\nshe ran the pin of it into her thumb, and gave a little scream with the\nsharpness of the pain, but would have thought little more of it had not\nthe pain increased and her thumb begun to swell.  This alarmed the\nhousekeeper greatly.  The nurse was fetched; the doctor was sent for;\nher hand was poulticed, and long before her usual time she was put to\nbed.  The pain still continued, and although she fell asleep and\ndreamed a good many dreams, there was the pain always in every dream.\nAt last it woke her up.\n\nThe moon was shining brightly into the room.  The poultice had fallen\noff her hand and it was burning hot.  She fancied if she could hold it\ninto the moonlight that would cool it.  So she got out of bed, without\nwaking the nurse who lay at the other end of the room, and went to the\nwindow.  When she looked out she saw one of the men-at-arms walking in\nthe garden with the moonlight glancing on his armour.  She was just\ngoing to tap on the window and call him, for she wanted to tell him all\nabout it, when she bethought herself that that might wake Lootie, and\nshe would put her into her bed again.  So she resolved to go to the\nwindow of another room, and call him from there.  It was so much nicer\nto have somebody to talk to than to lie awake in bed with the burning\npain in her hand.  She opened the door very gently and went through the\nnursery, which did not look into the garden, to go to the other window.\nBut when she came to the foot of the old staircase there was the moon\nshining down from some window high up, and making the worm-eaten oak\nlook very strange and delicate and lovely.  In a moment she was putting\nher little feet one after the other in the silvery path up the stair,\nlooking behind as she went, to see the shadow they made in the middle\nof the silver.  Some little girls would have been afraid to find\nthemselves thus alone in the middle of the night, but Irene was a\nprincess.\n\nAs she went slowly up the stair, not quite sure that she was not\ndreaming, suddenly a great longing woke up in her heart to try once\nmore whether she could not find the old lady with the silvery hair. 'If\nshe is a dream,' she said to herself, 'then I am the likelier to find\nher, if I am dreaming.'\n\nSo up and up she went, stair after stair, until she came to the many\nrooms--all just as she had seen them before.  Through passage after\npassage she softly sped, comforting herself that if she should lose her\nway it would not matter much, because when she woke she would find\nherself in her own bed with Lootie not far off. But, as if she had\nknown every step of the way, she walked straight to the door at the\nfoot of the narrow stair that led to the tower.\n\n'What if I should realreality-really find my beautiful old grandmother\nup there!' she said to herself as she crept up the steep steps.\n\nWhen she reached the top she stood a moment listening in the dark, for\nthere was no moon there.  Yes! it was! it was the hum of the\nspinning-wheel!  What a diligent grandmother to work both day and\nnight!  She tapped gently at the door.\n\n'Come in, Irene,' said the sweet voice.\n\nThe princess opened the door and entered.  There was the moonlight\nstreaming in at the window, and in the middle of the moonlight sat the\nold lady in her black dress with the white lace, and her silvery hair\nmingling with the moonlight, so that you could not have told which was\nwhich.  'Come in, Irene,' she said again.  'Can you tell me what I am\nspinning?'\n\n'She speaks,' thought Irene, 'just as if she had seen me five minutes\nago, or yesterday at the farthest. --No,' she answered; 'I don't know\nwhat you are spinning.  Please, I thought you were a dream.  Why\ncouldn't I find you before, great-great-grandmother?'\n\n'That you are hardly old enough to understand.  But you would have\nfound me sooner if you hadn't come to think I was a dream.  I will give\nyou one reason though why you couldn't find me.  I didn't want you to\nfind me.'\n\n'Why, please?'\n\n'Because I did not want Lootie to know I was here.'\n\n'But you told me to tell Lootie.'\n\n'Yes.  But I knew Lootie would not believe you.  If she were to see me\nsitting spinning here, she wouldn't believe me, either.'\n\n'Why?'\n\n'Because she couldn't.  She would rub her eyes, and go away and say she\nfelt queer, and forget half of it and more, and then say it had been\nall a dream.'\n\n'Just like me,' said Irene, feeling very much ashamed of herself.\n\n'Yes, a good deal like you, but not just like you; for you've come\nagain; and Lootie wouldn't have come again.  She would have said, No,\nno--she had had enough of such nonsense.'\n\n'Is it naughty of Lootie, then?'\n\n'It would be naughty of you.  I've never done anything for Lootie.'\n\n'And you did wash my face and hands for me,' said Irene, beginning to\ncry.\n\nThe old lady smiled a sweet smile and said:\n\n'I'm not vexed with you, my child--nor with Lootie either.  But I don't\nwant you to say anything more to Lootie about me.  If she should ask\nyou, you must just be silent.  But I do not think she will ask you.'\n\nAll the time they talked the old lady kept on spinning.\n\n'You haven't told me yet what I am spinning,' she said.\n\n'Because I don't know.  It's very pretty stuff.'\n\nIt was indeed very pretty stuff.  There was a good bunch of it on the\ndistaff attached to the spinning-wheel, and in the moonlight it shone\nlike--what shall I say it was like?  It was not white enough for\nsilver--yes, it was like silver, but shone grey rather than white, and\nglittered only a little.  And the thread the old lady drew out from it\nwas so fine that Irene could hardly see it. 'I am spinning this for\nyou, my child.'\n\n'For me!  What am I to do with it, please?'\n\n'I will tell you by and by.  But first I will tell you what it is. It\nis spider-web--of a particular kind.  My pigeons bring it me from over\nthe great sea.  There is only one forest where the spiders live who\nmake this particular kind--the finest and strongest of any.  I have\nnearly finished my present job.  What is on the rock now will be\nenough.  I have a week's work there yet, though,' she added, looking at\nthe bunch.\n\n'Do you work all day and all night, too,\ngreat-great-great-great-grandmother?' said the princess, thinking to be\nvery polite with so many greats.\n\n'I am not quite so great as all that,' she answered, smiling almost\nmerrily.  'If you call me grandmother, that will do.  No, I don't work\nevery night--only moonlit nights, and then no longer than the moon\nshines upon my wheel.  I shan't work much longer tonight.'\n\n'And what will you do next, grandmother?'\n\n'Go to bed.  Would you like to see my bedroom?'\n\n'Yes, that I should.'\n\n'Then I think I won't work any longer tonight.  I shall be in good\ntime.'\n\nThe old lady rose, and left her wheel standing just as it was.  You see\nthere was no good in putting it away, for where there was not any\nfurniture there was no danger of being untidy.\n\nThen she took Irene by the hand, but it was her bad hand and Irene gave\na little cry of pain.  'My child!' said her grandmother, 'what is the\nmatter?'\n\nIrene held her hand into the moonlight, that the old lady might see it,\nand told her all about it, at which she looked grave.  But she only\nsaid: 'Give me your other hand'; and, having led her out upon the\nlittle dark landing, opened the door on the opposite side of it.  What\nwas Irene's surprise to see the loveliest room she had ever seen in her\nlife!  It was large and lofty, and dome-shaped. From the centre hung a\nlamp as round as a ball, shining as if with the brightest moonlight,\nwhich made everything visible in the room, though not so clearly that\nthe princess could tell what many of the things were.  A large oval bed\nstood in the middle, with a coverlid of rose colour, and velvet\ncurtains all round it of a lovely pale blue.  The walls were also\nblue--spangled all over with what looked like stars of silver.\n\nThe old lady left her and, going to a strange-looking cabinet, opened\nit and took out a curious silver casket.  Then she sat down on a low\nchair and, calling Irene, made her kneel before her while she looked at\nher hand.  Having examined it, she opened the casket, and took from it\na little ointment.  The sweetest odour filled the room--like that of\nroses and lilies--as she rubbed the ointment gently all over the hot\nswollen hand.  Her touch was so pleasant and cool that it seemed to\ndrive away the pain and heat wherever it came.\n\n'Oh, grandmother! it is so nice!' said Irene.  'Thank you; thank you.'\n\nThen the old lady went to a chest of drawers, and took out a large\nhandkerchief of gossamer-like cambric, which she tied round her hand.\n\n'I don't think I can let you go away tonight,' she said.  'Would you\nlike to sleep with me?'\n\n'Oh, yes, yes, dear grandmother,' said Irene, and would have clapped\nher hands, forgetting that she could not.\n\n'You won't be afraid, then, to go to bed with such an old woman?'\n\n'No.  You are so beautiful, grandmother.'\n\n'But I am very old.'\n\n'And I suppose I am very young.  You won't mind sleeping with such a\nvery young woman, grandmother?'\n\n'You sweet little pertness!' said the old lady, and drew her towards\nher, and kissed her on the forehead and the cheek and the mouth.  Then\nshe got a large silver basin, and having poured some water into it made\nIrene sit on the chair, and washed her feet. This done, she was ready\nfor bed.  And oh, what a delicious bed it was into which her\ngrandmother laid her!  She hardly could have told she was lying upon\nanything: she felt nothing but the softness.\n\nThe old lady having undressed herself lay down beside her.\n\n'Why don't you put out your moon?' asked the princess.\n\n'That never goes out, night or day,' she answered.  'In the darkest\nnight, if any of my pigeons are out on a message, they always see my\nmoon and know where to fly to.'\n\n'But if somebody besides the pigeons were to see it--somebody about the\nhouse, I mean--they would come to look what it was and find you.'\n\n'The better for them, then,' said the old lady.  'But it does not\nhappen above five times in a hundred years that anyone does see it.\n\nThe greater part of those who do take it for a meteor, wink their eyes,\nand forget it again.  Besides, nobody could find the room except I\npleased.  Besides, again--I will tell you a secret--if that light were\nto go out you would fancy yourself lying in a bare garret, on a heap of\nold straw, and would not see one of the pleasant things round about you\nall the time.'\n\n'I hope it will never go out,' said the princess.\n\n'I hope not.  But it is time we both went to sleep.  Shall I take you\nin my arms?'\n\nThe little princess nestled close up to the old lady, who took her in\nboth her arms and held her close to her bosom.\n\n'Oh, dear! this is so nice!' said the princess.  'I didn't know\nanything in the world could be so comfortable.  I should like to lie\nhere for ever.'\n\n'You may if you will,' said the old lady.  'But I must put you to one\ntrial-not a very hard one, I hope.  This night week you must come back\nto me.  If you don't, I do not know when you may find me again, and you\nwill soon want me very much.'\n\n'Oh! please, don't let me forget.'\n\n'You shall not forget.  The only question is whether you will believe I\nam anywhere--whether you will believe I am anything but a dream.  You\nmay be sure I will do all I can to help you to come. But it will rest\nwith yourself, after all.  On the night of next Friday, you must come\nto me.  Mind now.'\n\n'I will try,' said the princess.\n\n'Then good night,' said the old lady, and kissed the forehead which lay\nin her bosom.\n\nIn a moment more the little princess was dreaming in the midst of the\nloveliest dreams--of summer seas and moonlight and mossy springs and\ngreat murmuring trees, and beds of wild flowers with such odours as she\nhad never smelled before.  But, after all, no dream could be more\nlovely than what she had left behind when she fell asleep.\n\nIn the morning she found herself in her own bed.  There was no\nhandkerchief or anything else on her hand, only a sweet odour lingered\nabout it.  The swelling had all gone down; the prick of the brooch had\nvanished--in fact, her hand was perfectly well.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 12\n\nA Short Chapter About Curdie\n\n\nCurdie spent many nights in the mine.  His father and he had taken Mrs.\nPeterson into the secret, for they knew mother could hold her tongue,\nwhich was more than could be said of all the miners' wives.\n\nBut Curdie did not tell her that every night he spent in the mine, part\nof it went in earning a new red petticoat for her.\n\nMrs. Peterson was such a nice good mother!  All mothers are nice and\ngood more or less, but Mrs. Peterson was nice and good all more and no\nless.  She made and kept a little heaven in that poor cottage on the\nhigh hillside for her husband and son to go home to out of the low and\nrather dreary earth in which they worked.  I doubt if the princess was\nvery much happier even in the arms of her huge great-grandmother than\nPeter and Curdie were in the arms of Mrs. Peterson.  True, her hands\nwere hard and chapped and large, but it was with work for them; and\ntherefore, in the sight of the angels, her hands were so much the more\nbeautiful.  And if Curdie worked hard to get her a petticoat, she\nworked hard every day to get him comforts which he would have missed\nmuch more than she would a new petticoat even in winter.  Not that she\nand Curdie ever thought of how much they worked for each other: that\nwould have spoiled everything.\n\nWhen left alone in the mine Curdie always worked on for an hour or two\nat first, following the lode which, according to Glump, would lead at\nlast into the deserted habitation.  After that, he would set out on a\nreconnoitring expedition.  In order to manage this, or rather the\nreturn from it, better than the first time, he had bought a huge ball\nof fine string, having learned the trick from Hop-o'-my-Thumb, whose\nhistory his mother had often told him.  Not that Hop-o'-my-Thumb had\never used a ball of string--I should be sorry to be supposed so far out\nin my classics--but the principle was the same as that of the pebbles.\nThe end of this string he fastened to his pickaxe, which figured no bad\nanchor, and then, with the ball in his hand, unrolling it as he went,\nset out in the dark through the natural gangs of the goblins'\nterritory.  The first night or two he came upon nothing worth\nremembering; saw only a little of the home-life of the cobs in the\nvarious caves they called houses; failed in coming upon anything to\ncast light upon the foregoing design which kept the inundation for the\npresent in the background.  But at length, I think on the third or\nfourth night, he found, partly guided by the noise of their implements,\na company of evidently the best sappers and miners amongst them, hard\nat work.  What were they about?  It could not well be the inundation,\nseeing that had in the meantime been postponed to something else.  Then\nwhat was it?  He lurked and watched, every now and then in the greatest\nrisk of being detected, but without success.  He had again and again to\nretreat in haste, a proceeding rendered the more difficult that he had\nto gather up his string as he returned upon its course.  It was not\nthat he was afraid of the goblins, but that he was afraid of their\nfinding out that they were watched, which might have prevented the\ndiscovery at which he aimed.  Sometimes his haste had to be such that,\nwhen he reached home towards morning, his string, for lack of time to\nwind it up as he 'dodged the cobs', would be in what seemed most\nhopeless entanglement; but after a good sleep, though a short one, he\nalways found his mother had got it right again.  There it was, wound in\na most respectable ball, ready for use the moment he should want it!\n\n'I can't think how you do it, mother,' he would say.\n\n'I follow the thread,' she would answer--'just as you do in the mine.'\nShe never had more to say about it; but the less clever she was with\nher words, the more clever she was with her hands; and the less his\nmother said, the more Curdie believed she had to say.  But still he had\nmade no discovery as to what the goblin miners were about.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 13\n\nThe Cobs' Creatures\n\n\nAbout this time the gentlemen whom the king had left behind him to\nwatch over the princess had each occasion to doubt the testimony of his\nown eyes, for more than strange were the objects to which they would\nbear witness.  They were of one sort--creatures--but so grotesque and\nmisshapen as to be more like a child's drawings upon his slate than\nanything natural.  They saw them only at night, while on guard about\nthe house.  The testimony of the man who first reported having seen one\nof them was that, as he was walking slowly round the house, while yet\nin the shadow, he caught sight of a creature standing on its hind legs\nin the moonlight, with its forefeet upon a window-ledge, staring in at\nthe window.  Its body might have been that of a dog or wolf, he\nthought, but he declared on his honour that its head was twice the size\nit ought to have been for the size of its body, and as round as a ball,\nwhile the face, which it turned upon him as it fled, was more like one\ncarved by a boy upon the turnip inside which he is going to put a\ncandle than anything else he could think of.  It rushed into the\ngarden. He sent an arrow after it, and thought he must have struck it;\nfor it gave an unearthly howl, and he could not find his arrow any more\nthan the beast, although he searched all about the place where it\nvanished.  They laughed at him until he was driven to hold his tongue,\nand said he must have taken too long a pull at the ale-jug.\n\nBut before two nights were over he had one to side with him, for he,\ntoo, had seen something strange, only quite different from that\nreported by the other.  The description the second man gave of the\ncreature he had seen was yet more grotesque and unlikely.  They were\nboth laughed at by the rest; but night after night another came over to\ntheir side, until at last there was only one left to laugh at all his\ncompanions.  Two nights more passed, and he saw nothing; but on the\nthird he came rushing from the garden to the other two before the\nhouse, in such an agitation that they declared--for it was their turn\nnow--that the band of his helmet was cracking under his chin with the\nrising of his hair inside it. Running with him into that part of the\ngarden which I have already described, they saw a score of creatures,\nto not one of which they could give a name, and not one of which was\nlike another, hideous and ludicrous at once, gambolling on the lawn in\nthe moonlight. The supernatural or rather subnatural ugliness of their\nfaces, the length of legs and necks in some, the apparent absence of\nboth or either in others, made the spectators, although in one consent\nas to what they saw, yet doubtful, as I have said, of the evidence of\ntheir own eyes--and ears as well; for the noises they made, although\nnot loud, were as uncouth and varied as their forms, and could be\ndescribed neither as grunts nor squeaks nor roars nor howls nor barks\nnor yells nor screams nor croaks nor hisses nor mews nor shrieks, but\nonly as something like all of them mingled in one horrible dissonance.\nKeeping in the shade, the watchers had a few moments to recover\nthemselves before the hideous assembly suspected their presence; but\nall at once, as if by common consent, they scampered off in the\ndirection of a great rock, and vanished before the men had come to\nthemselves sufficiently to think of following them.\n\nMy readers will suspect what these were; but I will now give them full\ninformation concerning them.  They were, of course, household animals\nbelonging to the goblins, whose ancestors had taken their ancestors\nmany centuries before from the upper regions of light into the lower\nregions of darkness.  The original stocks of these horrible creatures\nwere very much the same as the animals now seen about farms and homes\nin the country, with the exception of a few of them, which had been\nwild creatures, such as foxes, and indeed wolves and small bears, which\nthe goblins, from their proclivity towards the animal creation, had\ncaught when cubs and tamed.  But in the course of time all had\nundergone even greater changes than had passed upon their owners.  They\nhad altered--that is, their descendants had altered--into such\ncreatures as I have not attempted to describe except in the vaguest\nmanner--the various parts of their bodies assuming, in an apparently\narbitrary and self-willed manner, the most abnormal developments.\nIndeed, so little did any distinct type predominate in some of the\nbewildering results, that you could only have guessed at any known\nanimal as the original, and even then, what likeness remained would be\nmore one of general expression than of definable conformation.  But\nwhat increased the gruesomeness tenfold was that, from constant\ndomestic, or indeed rather family association with the goblins, their\ncountenances had grown in grotesque resemblance to the human.\n\nNo one understands animals who does not see that every one of them,\neven amongst the fishes, it may be with a dimness and vagueness\ninfinitely remote, yet shadows the human: in the case of these the\nhuman resemblance had greatly increased: while their owners had sunk\ntowards them, they had risen towards their owners.  But the conditions\nof subterranean life being equally unnatural for both, while the\ngoblins were worse, the creatures had not improved by the\napproximation, and its result would have appeared far more ludicrous\nthan consoling to the warmest lover of animal nature.  I shall now\nexplain how it was that just then these animals began to show\nthemselves about the king's country house.\n\nThe goblins, as Curdie had discovered, were mining on--at work both day\nand night, in divisions, urging the scheme after which he lay in wait.\nIn the course of their tunnelling they had broken into the channel of a\nsmall stream, but the break being in the top of it, no water had\nescaped to interfere with their work.  Some of the creatures, hovering\nas they often did about their masters, had found the hole, and had,\nwith the curiosity which had grown to a passion from the restraints of\ntheir unnatural circumstances, proceeded to explore the channel.  The\nstream was the same which ran out by the seat on which Irene and her\nking-papa had sat as I have told, and the goblin creatures found it\njolly fun to get out for a romp on a smooth lawn such as they had never\nseen in all their poor miserable lives.  But although they had partaken\nenough of the nature of their owners to delight in annoying and\nalarming any of the people whom they met on the mountain, they were, of\ncourse, incapable of designs of their own, or of intentionally\nfurthering those of their masters.\n\nFor several nights after the men-at-arms were at length of one mind as\nto the fact of the visits of some horrible creatures, whether bodily or\nspectral they could not yet say, they watched with special attention\nthat part of the garden where they had last seen them.  Perhaps indeed\nthey gave in consequence too little attention to the house.  But the\ncreatures were too cunning to be easily caught; nor were the watchers\nquick-eyed enough to descry the head, or the keen eyes in it, which,\nfrom the opening whence the stream issued, would watch them in turn,\nready, the moment they should leave the lawn, to report the place clear.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 14\n\nThat Night Week\n\n\nDuring the whole of the week Irene had been thinking every other moment\nof her promise to the old lady, although even now she could not feel\nquite sure that she had not been dreaming.  Could it really be that an\nold lady lived up in the top of the house, with pigeons and a\nspinning-wheel, and a lamp that never went out?  She was, however, none\nthe less determined, on the coming Friday, to ascend the three stairs,\nwalk through the passages with the many doors, and try to find the\ntower in which she had either seen or dreamed her grandmother.\n\nHer nurse could not help wondering what had come to the child--she\nwould sit so thoughtfully silent, and even in the midst of a game with\nher would so suddenly fall into a dreamy mood.  But Irene took care to\nbetray nothing, whatever efforts Lootie might make to get at her\nthoughts.  And Lootie had to say to herself: 'What an odd child she\nis!' and give it up.\n\nAt length the longed-for Friday arrived, and lest Lootie should be\nmoved to watch her, Irene endeavoured to keep herself as quiet as\npossible.  In the afternoon she asked for her doll's house, and went on\narranging and rearranging the various rooms and their inhabitants for a\nwhole hour.  Then she gave a sigh and threw herself back in her chair.\nOne of the dolls would not sit, and another would not stand, and they\nwere all very tiresome.  Indeed, there was one would not even lie down,\nwhich was too bad.  But it was now getting dark, and the darker it got\nthe more excited Irene became, and the more she felt it necessary to be\ncomposed.\n\n'I see you want your tea, princess,' said the nurse: 'I will go and get\nit.  The room feels close: I will open the window a little. The evening\nis mild: it won't hurt you.'\n\n'There's no fear of that, Lootie,' said Irene, wishing she had put off\ngoing for the tea till it was darker, when she might have made her\nattempt with every advantage.\n\nI fancy Lootie was longer in returning than she had intended; for when\nIrene, who had been lost in thought, looked up, she saw it was nearly\ndark, and at the same moment caught sight of a pair of eyes, bright\nwith a green light, glowering at her through the open window.  The next\ninstant something leaped into the room.  It was like a cat, with legs\nas long as a horse's, Irene said, but its body no bigger and its legs\nno thicker than those of a cat.  She was too frightened to cry out, but\nnot too frightened to jump from her chair and run from the room.\n\nIt is plain enough to every one of my readers what she ought to have\ndone--and indeed, Irene thought of it herself; but when she came to the\nfoot of the old stair, just outside the nursery door, she imagined the\ncreature running up those long ascents after her, and pursuing her\nthrough the dark passages--which, after all, might lead to no tower!\nThat thought was too much.  Her heart failed her, and, turning from the\nstair, she rushed along to the hall, whence, finding the front door\nopen, she darted into the court pursued--at least she thought so--by\nthe creature.  No one happening to see her, on she ran, unable to think\nfor fear, and ready to run anywhere to elude the awful creature with\nthe stilt-legs.  Not daring to look behind her, she rushed straight out\nof the gate and up the mountain.  It was foolish indeed--thus to run\nfarther and farther from all who could help her, as if she had been\nseeking a fit spot for the goblin creature to eat her in his leisure;\nbut that is the way fear serves us: it always sides with the thing we\nare afraid of.\n\nThe princess was soon out of breath with running uphill; but she ran\non, for she fancied the horrible creature just behind her, forgetting\nthat, had it been after her such long legs as those must have overtaken\nher long ago.  At last she could run no longer, and fell, unable even\nto scream, by the roadside, where she lay for some time half dead with\nterror.  But finding nothing lay hold of her, and her breath beginning\nto come back, she ventured at length to get half up and peer anxiously\nabout her.  It was now so dark she could see nothing.  Not a single\nstar was out.  She could not even tell in what direction the house lay,\nand between her and home she fancied the dreadful creature lying ready\nto pounce upon her. She saw now that she ought to have run up the\nstairs at once.  It was well she did not scream; for, although very few\nof the goblins had come out for weeks, a stray idler or two might have\nheard her. She sat down upon a stone, and nobody but one who had done\nsomething wrong could have been more miserable.  She had quite\nforgotten her promise to visit her grandmother.  A raindrop fell on her\nface.  She looked up, and for a moment her terror was lost in\nastonishment.  At first she thought the rising moon had left her place,\nand drawn nigh to see what could be the matter with the little girl,\nsitting alone, without hat or cloak, on the dark bare mountain; but she\nsoon saw she was mistaken, for there was no light on the ground at her\nfeet, and no shadow anywhere.  But a great silver globe was hanging in\nthe air; and as she gazed at the lovely thing, her courage revived.  If\nshe were but indoors again, she would fear nothing, not even the\nterrible creature with the long legs!  But how was she to find her way\nback?  What could that light be?  Could it be--? No, it couldn't.  But\nwhat if it should be--yes--it must be--her great-great-grandmother's\nlamp, which guided her pigeons home through the darkest night!  She\njumped up: she had but to keep that light in view and she must find the\nhouse.  Her heart grew strong.  Speedily, yet softly, she walked down\nthe hill, hoping to pass the watching creature unseen.  Dark as it was,\nthere was little danger now of choosing the wrong road.  And--which was\nmost strange--the light that filled her eyes from the lamp, instead of\nblinding them for a moment to the object upon which they next fell,\nenabled her for a moment to see it, despite the darkness.  By looking\nat the lamp and then dropping her eyes, she could see the road for a\nyard or two in front of her, and this saved her from several falls, for\nthe road was very rough.  But all at once, to her dismay, it vanished,\nand the terror of the beast, which had left her the moment she began to\nreturn, again laid hold of her heart.  The same instant, however, she\ncaught the light of the windows, and knew exactly where she was.  It\nwas too dark to run, but she made what haste she could, and reached the\ngate in safety.  She found the house door still open, ran through the\nhall, and, without even looking into the nursery, bounded straight up\nthe stair, and the next, and the next; then turning to the right, ran\nthrough the long avenue of silent rooms, and found her way at once to\nthe door at the foot of the tower stair.\n\nWhen first the nurse missed her, she fancied she was playing her a\ntrick, and for some time took no trouble about her; but at last,\ngetting frightened, she had begun to search; and when the princess\nentered, the whole household was hither and thither over the house,\nhunting for her.  A few seconds after she reached the stair of the\ntower they had even begun to search the neglected rooms, in which they\nwould never have thought of looking had they not already searched every\nother place they could think of in vain.  But by this time she was\nknocking at the old lady's door.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 15\n\nWoven and Then Spun\n\n\n'Come in, Irene,' said the silvery voice of her grandmother.\n\nThe princess opened the door and peeped in.  But the room was quite\ndark and there was no sound of the spinning-wheel.  She grew frightened\nonce more, thinking that, although the room was there, the old lady\nmight be a dream after all.  Every little girl knows how dreadful it is\nto find a room empty where she thought somebody was; but Irene had to\nfancy for a moment that the person she came to find was nowhere at all.\nShe remembered, however, that at night she spun only in the moonlight,\nand concluded that must be why there was no sweet, bee-like humming:\nthe old lady might be somewhere in the darkness.  Before she had time\nto think another thought, she heard her voice again, saying as before:\n'Come in, Irene.'  From the sound, she understood at once that she was\nnot in the room beside her.  Perhaps she was in her bedroom.  She\nturned across the passage, feeling her way to the other door.  When her\nhand fell on the lock, again the old lady spoke:\n\n'Shut the other door behind you, Irene.  I always close the door of my\nworkroom when I go to my chamber.'\n\nIrene wondered to hear her voice so plainly through the door: having\nshut the other, she opened it and went in.  Oh, what a lovely haven to\nreach from the darkness and fear through which she had come!  The soft\nlight made her feel as if she were going into the heart of the milkiest\npearl; while the blue walls and their silver stars for a moment\nperplexed her with the fancy that they were in reality the sky which\nshe had left outside a minute ago covered with rainclouds.\n\n'I've lighted a fire for you, Irene: you're cold and wet,' said her\ngrandmother.\n\nThen Irene looked again, and saw that what she had taken for a huge\nbouquet of red roses on a low stand against the wall was in fact a fire\nwhich burned in the shapes of the loveliest and reddest roses, glowing\ngorgeously between the heads and wings of two cherubs of shining\nsilver.  And when she came nearer, she found that the smell of roses\nwith which the room was filled came from the fire-roses on the hearth.\nHer grandmother was dressed in the loveliest pale blue velvet, over\nwhich her hair, no longer white, but of a rich golden colour, streamed\nlike a cataract, here falling in dull gathered heaps, there rushing\naway in smooth shining falls.  And ever as she looked, the hair seemed\npouring down from her head and vanishing in a golden mist ere it\nreached the floor.  It flowed from under the edge of a circle of\nshining silver, set with alternated pearls and opals.  On her dress was\nno ornament whatever, neither was there a ring on her hand, or a\nnecklace or carcanet about her neck.  But her slippers glimmered with\nthe light of the Milky Way, for they were covered with seed-pearls and\nopals in one mass.  Her face was that of a woman of three-and-twenty.\n\nThe princess was so bewildered with astonishment and admiration that\nshe could hardly thank her, and drew nigh with timidity, feeling dirty\nand uncomfortable.  The lady was seated on a low chair by the side of\nthe fire, with hands outstretched to take her, but the princess hung\nback with a troubled smile.\n\n'Why, what's the matter?' asked her grandmother.  'You haven't been\ndoing anything wrong--I know that by your face, though it is rather\nmiserable.  What's the matter, my dear?'\n\nAnd she still held out her arms.\n\n'Dear grandmother,' said Irene, 'I'm not so sure that I haven't done\nsomething wrong.  I ought to have run up to you at once when the\nlong-legged cat came in at the window, instead of running out on the\nmountain and making myself such a fright.'\n\n'You were taken by surprise, my child, and you are not so likely to do\nit again.  It is when people do wrong things wilfully that they are the\nmore likely to do them again.  Come.'\n\nAnd still she held out her arms.\n\n'But, grandmother, you're so beautiful and grand with your crown on;\nand I am so dirty with mud and rain!  I should quite spoil your\nbeautiful blue dress.'\n\nWith a merry little laugh the lady sprung from her chair, more lightly\nfar than Irene herself could, caught the child to her bosom, and,\nkissing the tear-stained face over and over, sat down with her in her\nlap.\n\n'Oh, grandmother!  You'll make yourself such a mess!' cried Irene,\nclinging to her.\n\n'You darling! do you think I care more for my dress than for my little\ngirl?  Besides--look here.'\n\nAs she spoke she set her down, and Irene saw to her dismay that the\nlovely dress was covered with the mud of her fall on the mountain road.\nBut the lady stooped to the fire, and taking from it, by the stalk in\nher fingers, one of the burning roses, passed it once and again and a\nthird time over the front of her dress; and when Irene looked, not a\nsingle stain was to be discovered.\n\n'There!' said her grandmother, 'you won't mind coming to me now?'\n\nBut Irene again hung back, eying the flaming rose which the lady held\nin her hand.\n\n'You're not afraid of the rose--are you?' she said, about to throw it\non the hearth again.\n\n'Oh! don't, please!' cried Irene.  'Won't you hold it to my frock and\nmy hands and my face?  And I'm afraid my feet and my knees want it too.'\n\n'No, answered her grandmother, smiling a little sadly, as she threw the\nrose from her; 'it is too hot for you yet.  It would set your frock in\na flame.  Besides, I don't want to make you clean tonight.\n\nI want your nurse and the rest of the people to see you as you are, for\nyou will have to tell them how you ran away for fear of the long-legged\ncat.  I should like to wash you, but they would not believe you then.\nDo you see that bath behind you?'\n\nThe princess looked, and saw a large oval tub of silver, shining\nbrilliantly in the light of the wonderful lamp.\n\n'Go and look into it,' said the lady.\n\nIrene went, and came back very silent with her eyes shining.\n\n'What did you see?' asked her grandmother.\n\n'The sky, and the moon and the stars,' she answered.  'It looked as if\nthere was no bottom to it.'\n\nThe lady smiled a pleased satisfied smile, and was silent also for a\nfew moments.  Then she said:\n\n'Any time you want a bath, come to me.  I know YOU have a bath every\nmorning, but sometimes you want one at night, too.'\n\n'Thank you, grandmother; I will--I will indeed,' answered Irene, and\nwas again silent for some moments thinking.  Then she said: 'How was\nit, grandmother, that I saw your beautiful lamp--not the light of it\nonly--but the great round silvery lamp itself, hanging alone in the\ngreat open air, high up?  It was your lamp I saw--wasn't it?'\n\n'Yes, my child--it was my lamp.'\n\n'Then how was it?  I don't see a window all round.'\n\n'When I please I can make the lamp shine through the walls--shine so\nstrong that it melts them away from before the sight, and shows itself\nas you saw it.  But, as I told you, it is not everybody can see it.'\n\n'How is it that I can, then?  I'm sure I don't know.'\n\n'It is a gift born with you.  And one day I hope everybody will have\nit.'\n\n'But how do you make it shine through the walls?'\n\n'Ah! that you would not understand if I were to try ever so much to\nmake you--not yet--not yet.  But,' added the lady, rising, 'you must\nsit in my chair while I get you the present I have been preparing for\nyou.  I told you my spinning was for you.  It is finished now, and I am\ngoing to fetch it.  I have been keeping it warm under one of my\nbrooding pigeons.'\n\nIrene sat down in the low chair, and her grandmother left her, shutting\nthe door behind her.  The child sat gazing, now at the rose fire, now\nat the starry walls, now at the silver light; and a great quietness\ngrew in her heart.  If all the long-legged cats in the world had come\nrushing at her then she would not have been afraid of them for a\nmoment.  How this was she could not tell--she only knew there was no\nfear in her, and everything was so right and safe that it could not get\nin.\n\nShe had been gazing at the lovely lamp for some minutes fixedly:\nturning her eyes, she found the wall had vanished, for she was looking\nout on the dark cloudy night.  But though she heard the wind blowing,\nnone of it blew upon her.  In a moment more the clouds themselves\nparted, or rather vanished like the wall, and she looked straight into\nthe starry herds, flashing gloriously in the dark blue.  It was but for\na moment.  The clouds gathered again and shut out the stars; the wall\ngathered again and shut out the clouds; and there stood the lady beside\nher with the loveliest smile on her face, and a shimmering ball in her\nhand, about the size of a pigeon's egg.\n\n'There, Irene; there is my work for you!' she said, holding out the\nball to the princess.\n\nShe took it in her hand, and looked at it all over.  It sparkled a\nlittle, and shone here and there, but not much.  It was of a sort of\ngrey-whiteness, something like spun glass.\n\n'Is this all your spinning, grandmother?' she asked.\n\n'All since you came to the house.  There is more there than you think.'\n\n'How pretty it is!  What am I to do with it, please?'\n\n'That I will now explain to you,' answered the lady, turning from her\nand going to her cabinet.  She came back with a small ring in her hand.\nThen she took the ball from Irene's, and did something with the\nring--Irene could not tell what.\n\n'Give me your hand,' she said.  Irene held up her right hand.\n\n'Yes, that is the hand I want,' said the lady, and put the ring on the\nforefinger of it.\n\n'What a beautiful ring!' said Irene.  'What is the stone called?'\n\n'It is a fire-opal.'\n\n'Please, am I to keep it?'\n\n'Always.'\n\n'Oh, thank you, grandmother! It's prettier than anything I ever saw,\nexcept those--of all colours-in your--Please, is that your crown?'\n\n'Yes, it is my crown.  The stone in your ring is of the same sort--only\nnot so good.  It has only red, but mine have all colours, you see.'\n\n'Yes, grandmother.  I will take such care of it!  But--' she added,\nhesitating.\n\n'But what?' asked her grandmother.\n\n'What am I to say when Lootie asks me where I got it?'\n\n'You will ask her where you got it,' answered the lady smiling.\n\n'I don't see how I can do that.'\n\n'You will, though.'\n\n'Of course I will, if you say so.  But, you know, I can't pretend not\nto know.'\n\n'Of course not.  But don't trouble yourself about it.  You will see\nwhen the time comes.'\n\nSo saying, the lady turned, and threw the little ball into the rose\nfire.\n\n'Oh, grandmother!' exclaimed Irene; 'I thought you had spun it for me.'\n\n'So I did, my child.  And you've got it.'\n\n'No; it's burnt in the fire!'\n\nThe lady put her hand in the fire, brought out the ball, glimmering as\nbefore, and held it towards her.  Irene stretched out her hand to take\nit, but the lady turned and, going to her cabinet, opened a drawer, and\nlaid the ball in it.\n\n'Have I done anything to vex you, grandmother?' said Irene pitifully.\n\n'No, my darling.  But you must understand that no one ever gives\nanything to another properly and really without keeping it.  That ball\nis yours.'\n\n'Oh! I'm not to take it with me!  You are going to keep it for me!'\n\n'You are to take it with you.  I've fastened the end of it to the ring\non your finger.'\n\nIrene looked at the ring.\n\n'I can't see it there, grandmother,' she said.\n\n'Feel--a little way from the ring--towards the cabinet,' said the lady.\n\n'Oh! I do feel it!' exclaimed the princess.  'But I can't see it,' she\nadded, looking close to her outstretched hand.\n\n'No.  The thread is too fine for you to see it.  You can only feel it.\nNow you can fancy how much spinning that took, although it does seem\nsuch a little ball.'\n\n'But what use can I make of it, if it lies in your cabinet?'\n\n'That is what I will explain to you.  It would be of no use to you--it\nwouldn't be yours at all if it did not lie in my cabinet.  Now listen.\nIf ever you find yourself in any danger--such, for example, as you were\nin this same evening--you must take off your ring and put it under the\npillow of your bed.  Then you must lay your finger, the same that wore\nthe ring, upon the thread, and follow the thread wherever it leads you.'\n\n'Oh, how delightful!  It will lead me to you, grandmother, I know!'\n\n'Yes.  But, remember, it may seem to you a very roundabout way indeed,\nand you must not doubt the thread.  Of one thing you may be sure, that\nwhile you hold it, I hold it too.'\n\n'It is very wonderful!' said Irene thoughtfully.  Then suddenly\nbecoming aware, she jumped up, crying:\n\n'Oh, grandmother! here have I been sitting all this time in your chair,\nand you standing!  I beg your pardon.'\n\nThe lady laid her hand on her shoulder, and said:\n\n'Sit down again, Irene.  Nothing pleases me better than to see anyone\nsit in my chair.  I am only too glad to stand so long as anyone will\nsit in it.'\n\n'How kind of you!' said the princess, and sat down again.\n\n'It makes me happy,' said the lady.\n\n'But,' said Irene, still puzzled, 'won't the thread get in somebody's\nway and be broken, if the one end is fast to my ring, and the other\nlaid in your cabinet?'\n\n'You will find all that arrange itself.  I am afraid it is time for you\nto go.'\n\n'Mightn't I stay and sleep with you tonight, grandmother?'\n\n'No, not tonight. If I had meant you to stay tonight, I should have\ngiven you a bath; but you know everybody in the house is miserable\nabout you, and it would be cruel to keep them so all night. You must go\ndownstairs.'\n\n'I'm so glad, grandmother, you didn't say \"Go home,\" for this is my\nhome.  Mayn't I call this my home?'\n\n'You may, my child.  And I trust you will always think it your home.\nNow come.  I must take you back without anyone seeing you.'\n\n'Please, I want to ask you one question more,' said Irene.  'Is it\nbecause you have your crown on that you look so young?'\n\n'No, child,' answered her grandmother; 'it is because I felt so young\nthis evening that I put my crown on.  And I thought you would like to\nsee your old grandmother in her best.'\n\n'Why do you call yourself old?  You're not old, grandmother.'\n\n'I am very old indeed.  It is so silly of people--I don't mean you, for\nyou are such a tiny, and couldn't know better--but it is so silly of\npeople to fancy that old age means crookedness and witheredness and\nfeebleness and sticks and spectacles and rheumatism and forgetfulness!\nIt is so silly! Old age has nothing whatever to do with all that.  The\nright old age means strength and beauty and mirth and courage and clear\neyes and strong painless limbs.  I am older than you are able to think,\nand--'\n\n'And look at you, grandmother!' cried Irene, jumping up and flinging\nher arms about her neck.  'I won't be so silly again, I promise you.\nAt least--I'm rather afraid to promise--but if I am, I promise to be\nsorry for it--I do.  I wish I were as old as you, grandmother.  I don't\nthink you are ever afraid of anything.'\n\n'Not for long, at least, my child.  Perhaps by the time I am two\nthousand years of age, I shall, indeed, never be afraid of anything.\nBut I confess I have sometimes been afraid about my children--sometimes\nabout you, Irene.'\n\n'Oh, I'm so sorry, grandmother!  Tonight, I suppose, you mean.'\n\n'Yes--a little tonight; but a good deal when you had all but made up\nyour mind that I was a dream, and no real great-great-grandmother.  You\nmust not suppose I am blaming you for that.  I dare say you could not\nhelp it.'\n\n'I don't know, grandmother,' said the princess, beginning to cry. 'I\ncan't always do myself as I should like.  And I don't always try.  I'm\nvery sorry anyhow.'\n\nThe lady stooped, lifted her in her arms, and sat down with her in her\nchair, holding her close to her bosom.  In a few minutes the princess\nhad sobbed herself to sleep.  How long she slept I do not know.  When\nshe came to herself she was sitting in her own high chair at the\nnursery table, with her doll's house before her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 16\n\nThe Ring\n\n\nThe same moment her nurse came into the room, sobbing.  When she saw\nher sitting there she started back with a loud cry of amazement and\njoy.  Then running to her, she caught her in her arms and covered her\nwith kisses.\n\n'My precious darling princess! where have you been?  What has happened\nto you?  We've all been crying our eyes out, and searching the house\nfrom top to bottom for you.'\n\n'Not quite from the top,' thought Irene to herself; and she might have\nadded, 'not quite to the bottom', perhaps, if she had known all.  But\nthe one she would not, and the other she could not say. 'Oh, Lootie!\nI've had such a dreadful adventure!' she replied, and told her all\nabout the cat with the long legs, and how she ran out upon the\nmountain, and came back again.  But she said nothing of her grandmother\nor her lamp.\n\n'And there we've been searching for you all over the house for more\nthan an hour and a half!' exclaimed the nurse.  'But that's no matter,\nnow we've got you!  Only, princess, I must say,' she added, her mood\nchanging, 'what you ought to have done was to call for your own Lootie\nto come and help you, instead of running out of the house, and up the\nmountain, in that wild, I must say, foolish fashion.'\n\n'Well, Lootie,' said Irene quietly, 'perhaps if you had a big cat, all\nlegs, running at you, you might not exactly know what was the wisest\nthing to do at the moment.'\n\n'I wouldn't run up the mountain, anyhow,' returned Lootie.\n\n'Not if you had time to think about it.  But when those creatures came\nat you that night on the mountain, you were so frightened yourself that\nyou lost your way home.'\n\nThis put a stop to Lootie's reproaches.  She had been on the point of\nsaying that the long-legged cat must have been a twilight fancy of the\nprincess's, but the memory of the horrors of that night, and of the\ntalking-to which the king had given her in consequence, prevented her\nfrom saying what after all she did not half believe--having a strong\nsuspicion that the cat was a goblin; for she knew nothing of the\ndifference between the goblins and their creatures: she counted them\nall just goblins.\n\nWithout another word she went and got some fresh tea and bread and\nbutter for the princess.  Before she returned, the whole household,\nheaded by the housekeeper, burst into the nursery to exult over their\ndarling.  The gentlemen-at-arms followed, and were ready enough to\nbelieve all she told them about the long-legged cat. Indeed, though\nwise enough to say nothing about it, they remembered, with no little\nhorror, just such a creature amongst those they had surprised at their\ngambols upon the princess's lawn.\n\nIn their own hearts they blamed themselves for not having kept better\nwatch.  And their captain gave orders that from this night the front\ndoor and all the windows on the ground floor should be locked\nimmediately the sun set, and opened after upon no pretence whatever.\nThe men-at-arms redoubled their vigilance, and for some time there was\nno further cause of alarm.\n\nWhen the princess woke the next morning, her nurse was bending over\nher.  'How your ring does glow this morning, princess!--just like a\nfiery rose!' she said.\n\n'Does it, Lootie?' returned Irene.  'Who gave me the ring, Lootie? I\nknow I've had it a long time, but where did I get it?  I don't\nremember.'\n\n'I think it must have been your mother gave it you, princess; but\nreally, for as long as you have worn it, I don't remember that ever I\nheard,' answered her nurse.\n\n'I will ask my king-papa the next time he comes,' said Irene.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 17\n\nSpringtime\n\n\nThe spring so dear to all creatures, young and old, came at last, and\nbefore the first few days of it had gone, the king rode through its\nbudding valleys to see his little daughter.  He had been in a distant\npart of his dominions all the winter, for he was not in the habit of\nstopping in one great city, or of visiting only his favourite country\nhouses, but he moved from place to place, that all his people might\nknow him.  Wherever he journeyed, he kept a constant look-out for the\nablest and best men to put into office; and wherever he found himself\nmistaken, and those he had appointed incapable or unjust, he removed\nthem at once.  Hence you see it was his care of the people that kept\nhim from seeing his princess so often as he would have liked.  You may\nwonder why he did not take her about with him; but there were several\nreasons against his doing so, and I suspect her great-great-grandmother\nhad had a principal hand in preventing it.  Once more Irene heard the\nbugle-blast, and once more she was at the gate to meet her father as he\nrode up on his great white horse.\n\nAfter they had been alone for a little while, she thought of what she\nhad resolved to ask him.\n\n'Please, king-papa,' she said, 'Will you tell me where I got this\npretty ring?  I can't remember.'\n\nThe king looked at it.  A strange beautiful smile spread like sunshine\nover his face, and an answering smile, but at the same time a\nquestioning one, spread like moonlight over Irene's.  'It was your\nqueen-mamma's once,' he said.\n\n'And why isn't it hers now?' asked Irene.\n\n'She does not want it now,' said the king, looking grave.\n\n'Why doesn't she want it now?'\n\n'Because she's gone where all those rings are made.'\n\n'And when shall I see her?' asked the princess.\n\n'Not for some time yet,' answered the king, and the tears came into his\neyes.\n\nIrene did not remember her mother and did not know why her father\nlooked so, and why the tears came in his eyes; but she put her arms\nround his neck and kissed him, and asked no more questions.\n\nThe king was much disturbed on hearing the report of the\ngentlemen-at-arms concerning the creatures they had seen; and I presume\nwould have taken Irene with him that very day, but for what the\npresence of the ring on her finger assured him of.  About an hour\nbefore he left, Irene saw him go up the old stair; and he did not come\ndown again till they were just ready to start; and she thought with\nherself that he had been up to see the old lady.  When he went away he\nleft other six gentlemen behind him, that there might be six of them\nalways on guard.\n\nAnd now, in the lovely spring weather, Irene was out on the mountain\nthe greater part of the day.  In the warmer hollows there were lovely\nprimroses, and not so many that she ever got tired of them.  As often\nas she saw a new one opening an eye of light in the blind earth, she\nwould clap her hands with gladness, and unlike some children I know,\ninstead of pulling it, would touch it as tenderly as if it had been a\nnew baby, and, having made its acquaintance, would leave it as happy as\nshe found it.  She treated the plants on which they grew like birds'\nnests; every fresh flower was like a new little bird to her.  She would\npay visits to all the flower-nests she knew, remembering each by\nitself.  She would go down on her hands and knees beside one and say:\n'Good morning!  Are you all smelling very sweet this morning?\nGood-bye!' and then she would go to another nest, and say the same.  It\nwas a favourite amusement with her.  There were many flowers up and\ndown, and she loved them all, but the primroses were her favourites.\n\n'They're not too shy, and they're not a bit forward,' she would say to\nLootie.\n\nThere were goats too about, over the mountain, and when the little kids\ncame she was as pleased with them as with the flowers.  The goats\nbelonged to the miners mostly-a few of them to Curdie's mother; but\nthere were a good many wild ones that seemed to belong to nobody.\nThese the goblins counted theirs, and it was upon them partly that they\nlived.  They set snares and dug pits for them; and did not scruple to\ntake what tame ones happened to be caught; but they did not try to\nsteal them in any other manner, because they were afraid of the dogs\nthe hill-people kept to watch them, for the knowing dogs always tried\nto bite their feet.  But the goblins had a kind of sheep of their\nown--very queer creatures, which they drove out to feed at night, and\nthe other goblin creatures were wise enough to keep good watch over\nthem, for they knew they should have their bones by and by.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 18\n\nCurdie's Clue\n\n\nCurdie was as watchful as ever, but was almost getting tired of his ill\nsuccess.  Every other night or so he followed the goblins about, as\nthey went on digging and boring, and getting as near them as he could,\nwatched them from behind stones and rocks; but as yet he seemed no\nnearer finding out what they had in view.  As at first, he always kept\nhold of the end of his string, while his pickaxe, left just outside the\nhole by which he entered the goblins' country from the mine, continued\nto serve as an anchor and hold fast the other end.  The goblins,\nhearing no more noise in that quarter, had ceased to apprehend an\nimmediate invasion, and kept no watch.\n\nOne night, after dodging about and listening till he was nearly falling\nasleep with weariness, he began to roll up his ball, for he had\nresolved to go home to bed.  It was not long, however, before he began\nto feel bewildered.  One after another he passed goblin houses, caves,\nthat is, occupied by goblin families, and at length was sure they were\nmany more than he had passed as he came.  He had to use great caution\nto pass unseen--they lay so close together. Could his string have led\nhim wrong?  He still followed winding it, and still it led him into\nmore thickly populated quarters, until he became quite uneasy, and\nindeed apprehensive; for although he was not afraid of the cobs, he was\nafraid of not finding his way out. But what could he do?  It was of no\nuse to sit down and wait for the morning--the morning made no\ndifference here.  It was dark, and always dark; and if his string\nfailed him he was helpless.  He might even arrive within a yard of the\nmine and never know it. Seeing he could do nothing better he would at\nleast find where the end of his string was, and, if possible, how it\nhad come to play him such a trick.  He knew by the size of the ball\nthat he was getting pretty near the last of it, when he began to feel a\ntugging and pulling at it.  What could it mean?  Turning a sharp\ncorner, he thought he heard strange sounds.  These grew, as he went on,\nto a scuffling and growling and squeaking; and the noise increased,\nuntil, turning a second sharp corner, he found himself in the midst of\nit, and the same moment tumbled over a wallowing mass, which he knew\nmust be a knot of the cobs' creatures.  Before he could recover his\nfeet, he had caught some great scratches on his face and several severe\nbites on his legs and arms.  But as he scrambled to get up, his hand\nfell upon his pickaxe, and before the horrid beasts could do him any\nserious harm, he was laying about with it right and left in the dark.\nThe hideous cries which followed gave him the satisfaction of knowing\nthat he had punished some of them pretty smartly for their rudeness,\nand by their scampering and their retreating howls, he perceived that\nhe had routed them.  He stood for a little, weighing his battle-axe in\nhis hand as if it had been the most precious lump of metal--but indeed\nno lump of gold itself could have been so precious at the time as that\ncommon tool--then untied the end of the string from it, put the ball in\nhis pocket, and still stood thinking.  It was clear that the cobs'\ncreatures had found his axe, had between them carried it off, and had\nso led him he knew not where.  But for all his thinking he could not\ntell what he ought to do, until suddenly he became aware of a glimmer\nof light in the distance.  Without a moment's hesitation he set out for\nit, as fast as the unknown and rugged way would permit.  Yet again\nturning a corner, led by the dim light, he spied something quite new in\nhis experience of the underground regions--a small irregular shape of\nsomething shining.  Going up to it, he found it was a piece of mica, or\nMuscovy glass, called sheep-silver in Scotland, and the light flickered\nas if from a fire behind it.  After trying in vain for some time to\ndiscover an entrance to the place where it was burning, he came at\nlength to a small chamber in which an opening, high in the wall,\nrevealed a glow beyond.  To this opening he managed to scramble up, and\nthen he saw a strange sight.\n\nBelow sat a little group of goblins around a fire, the smoke of which\nvanished in the darkness far aloft.  The sides of the cave were full of\nshining minerals like those of the palace hall; and the company was\nevidently of a superior order, for every one wore stones about head, or\narms, or waist, shining dull gorgeous colours in the light of the fire.\nNor had Curdie looked long before he recognized the king himself, and\nfound that he had made his way into the inner apartment of the royal\nfamily.  He had never had such a good chance of hearing something.  He\ncrept through the hole as softly as he could, scrambled a good way down\nthe wall towards them without attracting attention, and then sat down\nand listened. The king, evidently the queen, and probably the crown\nprince and the Prime Minister were talking together.  He was sure of\nthe queen by her shoes, for as she warmed her feet at the fire, he saw\nthem quite plainly.\n\n'That will be fun!' said the one he took for the crown prince. It was\nthe first whole sentence he heard.\n\n'I don't see why you should think it such a grand affair!' said his\nstepmother, tossing her head backward.\n\n'You must remember, my spouse,' interposed His Majesty, as if making\nexcuse for his son, 'he has got the same blood in him.  His mother--'\n\n'Don't talk to me of his mother!  You positively encourage his\nunnatural fancies.  Whatever belongs to that mother ought to be cut out\nof him.'\n\n'You forget yourself, my dear!' said the king.\n\n'I don't,' said the queen, 'nor you either.  If you expect me to\napprove of such coarse tastes, you will find yourself mistaken.  I\ndon't wear shoes for nothing.'\n\n'You must acknowledge, however,' the king said, with a little groan,\n'that this at least is no whim of Harelip's, but a matter of State\npolicy.  You are well aware that his gratification comes purely from\nthe pleasure of sacrificing himself to the public good.\n\nDoes it not, Harelip?'\n\n'Yes, father; of course it does.  Only it will be nice to make her cry.\nI'll have the skin taken off between her toes, and tie them up till\nthey grow together.  Then her feet will be like other people's, and\nthere will be no occasion for her to wear shoes.'\n\n'Do you mean to insinuate I've got toes, you unnatural wretch?' cried\nthe queen; and she moved angrily towards Harelip.  The councillor,\nhowever, who was betwixt them, leaned forward so as to prevent her\ntouching him, but only as if to address the prince.\n\n'Your Royal Highness,' he said, 'possibly requires to be reminded that\nyou have got three toes yourself--one on one foot, two on the other.'\n\n'Ha! ha! ha!' shouted the queen triumphantly.\n\nThe councillor, encouraged by this mark of favour, went on.\n\n'It seems to me, Your Royal Highness, it would greatly endear you to\nyour future people, proving to them that you are not the less one of\nthemselves that you had the misfortune to be born of a sun-mother, if\nyou were to command upon yourself the comparatively slight operation\nwhich, in a more extended form, you so wisely meditate with regard to\nyour future princess.'\n\n'Ha! ha! ha!' laughed the queen louder than before, and the king and\nthe minister joined in the laugh.  Harelip growled, and for a few\nmoments the others continued to express their enjoyment of his\ndiscomfiture.\n\nThe queen was the only one Curdie could see with any distinctness. She\nsat sideways to him, and the light of the fire shone full upon her\nface.  He could not consider her handsome.  Her nose was certainly\nbroader at the end than its extreme length, and her eyes, instead of\nbeing horizontal, were set up like two perpendicular eggs, one on the\nbroad, the other on the small end.  Her mouth was no bigger than a\nsmall buttonhole until she laughed, when it stretched from ear to\near--only, to be sure, her ears were very nearly in the middle of her\ncheeks.\n\nAnxious to hear everything they might say, Curdie ventured to slide\ndown a smooth part of the rock just under him, to a projection below,\nupon which he thought to rest.  But whether he was not careful enough,\nor the projection gave way, down he came with a rush on the floor of\nthe cavern, bringing with him a great rumbling shower of stones.\n\nThe goblins jumped from their seats in more anger than consternation,\nfor they had never yet seen anything to be afraid of in the palace.\nBut when they saw Curdie with his pick in his hand their rage was\nmingled with fear, for they took him for the first of an invasion of\nminers.  The king notwithstanding drew himself up to his full height of\nfour feet, spread himself to his full breadth of three and a half, for\nhe was the handsomest and squarest of all the goblins, and strutting up\nto Curdie, planted himself with outspread feet before him, and said\nwith dignity:\n\n'Pray what right have you in my palace?'\n\n'The right of necessity, Your Majesty,' answered Curdie.  'I lost my\nway and did not know where I was wandering to.'\n\n'How did you get in?'\n\n'By a hole in the mountain.'\n\n'But you are a miner!  Look at your pickaxe!'\n\nCurdie did look at it, answering:\n\n'I came upon it lying on the ground a little way from here.  I tumbled\nover some wild beasts who were playing with it.  Look, Your Majesty.'\nAnd Curdie showed him how he was scratched and bitten.\n\nThe king was pleased to find him behave more politely than he had\nexpected from what his people had told him concerning the miners, for\nhe attributed it to the power of his own presence; but he did not\ntherefore feel friendly to the intruder.\n\n'You will oblige me by walking out of my dominions at once,' he said,\nwell knowing what a mockery lay in the words.\n\n'With pleasure, if Your Majesty will give me a guide,' said Curdie.\n\n'I will give you a thousand,' said the king with a scoffing air of\nmagnificent liberality.\n\n'One will be quite sufficient,' said Curdie.\n\nBut the king uttered a strange shout, half halloo, half roar, and in\nrushed goblins till the cave was swarming.  He said something to the\nfirst of them which Curdie could not hear, and it was passed from one\nto another till in a moment the farthest in the crowd had evidently\nheard and understood it.  They began to gather about him in a way he\ndid not relish, and he retreated towards the wall. They pressed upon\nhim.\n\n'Stand back,' said Curdie, grasping his pickaxe tighter by his knee.\n\nThey only grinned and pressed closer.  Curdie bethought himself and\nbegan to rhyme.\n\n\n  'Ten, twenty, thirty--\n  You're all so very dirty!\n  Twenty, thirty, forty--\n  You're all so thick and snorty!\n  'Thirty, forty, fifty--\n  You're all so puff-and-snifty!\n  Forty, fifty, sixty--\n  Beast and man so mixty!\n\n  'Fifty, sixty, seventy--\n  Mixty, maxty, leaventy!\n  Sixty, seventy, eighty--\n  All your cheeks so slaty!\n\n  'Seventy, eighty, ninety,\n  All your hands so flinty!\n  Eighty, ninety, hundred,\n  Altogether dundred!'\n\n\nThe goblins fell back a little when he began, and made horrible\ngrimaces all through the rhyme, as if eating something so disagreeable\nthat it set their teeth on edge and gave them the creeps; but whether\nit was that the rhyming words were most of them no words at all, for, a\nnew rhyme being considered the more efficacious, Curdie had made it on\nthe spur of the moment, or whether it was that the presence of the king\nand queen gave them courage, I cannot tell; but the moment the rhyme\nwas over they crowded on him again, and out shot a hundred long arms,\nwith a multitude of thick nailless fingers at the ends of them, to lay\nhold upon him.  Then Curdie heaved up his axe.  But being as gentle as\ncourageous and not wishing to kill any of them, he turned the end which\nwas square and blunt like a hammer, and with that came down a great\nblow on the head of the goblin nearest him.  Hard as the heads of all\ngoblins are, he thought he must feel that.  And so he did, no doubt;\nbut he only gave a horrible cry, and sprung at Curdie's throat.\nCurdie, however, drew back in time, and just at that critical moment\nremembered the vulnerable part of the goblin body.  He made a sudden\nrush at the king and stamped with all his might on His Majesty's feet.\nThe king gave a most unkingly howl and almost fell into the fire.\nCurdie then rushed into the crowd, stamping right and left.  The\ngoblins drew back, howling on every side as he approached, but they\nwere so crowded that few of those he attacked could escape his tread;\nand the shrieking and roaring that filled the cave would have appalled\nCurdie but for the good hope it gave him.  They were tumbling over each\nother in heaps in their eagerness to rush from the cave, when a new\nassailant suddenly faced him--the queen, with flaming eyes and expanded\nnostrils, her hair standing half up from her head, rushed at him. She\ntrusted in her shoes: they were of granite--hollowed like French\nsabots.  Curdie would have endured much rather than hurt a woman, even\nif she was a goblin; but here was an affair of life and death:\nforgetting her shoes, he made a great stamp on one of her feet.  But\nshe instantly returned it with very different effect, causing him\nfrightful pain, and almost disabling him.  His only chance with her\nwould have been to attack the granite shoes with his pickaxe, but\nbefore he could think of that she had caught him up in her arms and was\nrushing with him across the cave.  She dashed him into a hole in the\nwall, with a force that almost stunned him.  But although he could not\nmove, he was not too far gone to hear her great cry, and the rush of\nmultitudes of soft feet, followed by the sounds of something heaved up\nagainst the rock; after which came a multitudinous patter of stones\nfalling near him.  The last had not ceased when he grew very faint, for\nhis head had been badly cut, and at last insensible.\n\nWhen he came to himself there was perfect silence about him, and utter\ndarkness, but for the merest glimmer in one tiny spot.  He crawled to\nit, and found that they had heaved a slab against the mouth of the\nhole, past the edge of which a poor little gleam found its way from the\nfire.  He could not move it a hairbreadth, for they had piled a great\nheap of stones against it.  He crawled back to where he had been lying,\nin the faint hope of finding his pickaxe. But after a vain search he\nwas at last compelled to acknowledge himself in an evil plight.  He sat\ndown and tried to think, but soon fell fast asleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 19\n\nGoblin Counsels\n\n\nHe must have slept a long time, for when he awoke he felt wonderfully\nrestored--indeed almost well--and very hungry.  There were voices in\nthe outer cave.\n\nOnce more, then, it was night; for the goblins slept during the day and\nwent about their affairs during the night.\n\nIn the universal and constant darkness of their dwelling they had no\nreason to prefer the one arrangement to the other; but from aversion to\nthe sun-people they chose to be busy when there was least chance of\ntheir being met either by the miners below, when they were burrowing,\nor by the people of the mountain above, when they were feeding their\nsheep or catching their goats.  And indeed it was only when the sun was\naway that the outside of the mountain was sufficiently like their own\ndismal regions to be endurable to their mole eyes, so thoroughly had\nthey become unaccustomed to any light beyond that of their own fires\nand torches.\n\nCurdie listened, and soon found that they were talking of himself.\n\n'How long will it take?' asked Harelip.\n\n'Not many days, I should think,' answered the king.  'They are poor\nfeeble creatures, those sun-people, and want to be always eating. We\ncan go a week at a time without food, and be all the better for it; but\nI've been told they eat two or three times every day!  Can you believe\nit?  They must be quite hollow inside--not at all like us, nine-tenths\nof whose bulk is solid flesh and bone.  Yes--I judge a week of\nstarvation will do for him.'\n\n'If I may be allowed a word,' interposed the queen,--'and I think I\nought to have some voice in the matter--'\n\n'The wretch is entirely at your disposal, my spouse,' interrupted the\nking.  'He is your property.  You caught him yourself.  We should never\nhave done it.'\n\nThe queen laughed.  She seemed in far better humour than the night\nbefore.\n\n'I was about to say,' she resumed, 'that it does seem a pity to waste\nso much fresh meat.'\n\n'What are you thinking of, my love?' said the king.  'The very notion\nof starving him implies that we are not going to give him any meat,\neither salt or fresh.'\n\n'I'm not such a stupid as that comes to,' returned Her Majesty. 'What I\nmean is that by the time he is starved there will hardly be a picking\nupon his bones.'\n\nThe king gave a great laugh.\n\n'Well, my spouse, you may have him when you like,' he said.  'I don't\nfancy him for my part.  I am pretty sure he is tough eating.'\n\n'That would be to honour instead of punish his insolence,' returned the\nqueen.  'But why should our poor creatures be deprived of so much\nnourishment?  Our little dogs and cats and pigs and small bears would\nenjoy him very much.'\n\n'You are the best of housekeepers, my lovely queen!' said her husband.\n'Let it be so by all means.  Let us have our people in, and get him out\nand kill him at once.  He deserves it.  The mischief he might have\nbrought upon us, now that he had penetrated so far as our most retired\ncitadel, is incalculable.  Or rather let us tie him hand and foot, and\nhave the pleasure of seeing him torn to pieces by full torchlight in\nthe great hall.'\n\n'Better and better!' cried the queen and the prince together, both of\nthem clapping their hands.  And the prince made an ugly noise with his\nhare-lip, just as if he had intended to be one at the feast.\n\n'But,' added the queen, bethinking herself, 'he is so troublesome. For\npoor creatures as they are, there is something about those sun-people\nthat is very troublesome.  I cannot imagine how it is that with such\nsuperior strength and skill and understanding as ours, we permit them\nto exist at all.  Why do we not destroy them entirely, and use their\ncattle and grazing lands at our pleasure? Of course we don't want to\nlive in their horrid country!  It is far too glaring for our quieter\nand more refined tastes.  But we might use it as a sort of outhouse,\nyou know.  Even our creatures' eyes might get used to it, and if they\ndid grow blind that would be of no consequence, provided they grew fat\nas well.  But we might even keep their great cows and other creatures,\nand then we should have a few more luxuries, such as cream and cheese,\nwhich at present we only taste occasionally, when our brave men have\nsucceeded in carrying some off from their farms.'\n\n'It is worth thinking of,' said the king; 'and I don't know why you\nshould be the first to suggest it, except that you have a positive\ngenius for conquest.  But still, as you say, there is something very\ntroublesome about them; and it would be better, as I understand you to\nsuggest, that we should starve him for a day or two first, so that he\nmay be a little less frisky when we take him out.'\n\n\n  'Once there was a goblin\n  Living in a hole;\n  Busy he was cobblin'\n  A shoe without a sole.\n\n  'By came a birdie:\n  \"Goblin, what do you do?\"\n  \"Cobble at a sturdie\n  Upper leather shoe.\"\n\n  '\"What's the good o' that, Sir?\"\n  Said the little bird.\n  \"Why it's very Pat, Sir--\n  Plain without a word.\n\n  '\"Where 'tis all a hole, Sir,\n  Never can be holes:\n  Why should their shoes have soles, Sir,\n  When they've got no souls?\"'\n\n\n'What's that horrible noise?' cried the queen, shuddering from\npot-metal head to granite shoes.\n\n'I declare,' said the king with solemn indignation, 'it's the\nsun-creature in the hole!'\n\n'Stop that disgusting noise!' cried the crown prince valiantly, getting\nup and standing in front of the heap of stones, with his face towards\nCurdie's prison.  'Do now, or I'll break your head.'\n\n'Break away,' shouted Curdie, and began singing again:\n\n\n  'Once there was a goblin,\n  Living in a hole--'\n\n\n'I really cannot bear it,' said the queen.  'If I could only get at his\nhorrid toes with my slippers again!'\n\n'I think we had better go to bed,' said the king.\n\n'It's not time to go to bed,' said the queen.\n\n'I would if I was you,' said Curdie.\n\n'Impertinent wretch!' said the queen, with the utmost scorn in her\nvoice.\n\n'An impossible if,' said His Majesty with dignity.\n\n'Quite,' returned Curdie, and began singing again:\n\n\n  'Go to bed,\n  Goblin, do.\n  Help the queen\n  Take off her shoe.\n\n  'If you do,\n  It will disclose\n  A horrid set\n  Of sprouting toes.'\n\n\n'What a lie!' roared the queen in a rage.\n\n'By the way, that reminds me,' said the king, 'that for as long as we\nhave been married, I have never seen your feet, queen.  I think you\nmight take off your shoes when you go to bed!  They positively hurt me\nsometimes.'\n\n'I will do as I like,' retorted the queen sulkily.\n\n'You ought to do as your own hubby wishes you,' said the king.\n\n'I will not,' said the queen.\n\n'Then I insist upon it,' said the king.\n\nApparently His Majesty approached the queen for the purpose of\nfollowing the advice given by Curdie, for the latter heard a scuffle,\nand then a great roar from the king.\n\n'Will you be quiet, then?' said the queen wickedly.\n\n'Yes, yes, queen.  I only meant to coax you.'\n\n'Hands off!' cried the queen triumphantly.  'I'm going to bed.  You may\ncome when you like.  But as long as I am queen I will sleep in my\nshoes.  It is my royal privilege.  Harelip, go to bed.'\n\n'I'm going,' said Harelip sleepily.\n\n'So am I,' said the king.\n\n'Come along, then,' said the queen; 'and mind you are good, or I'll--'\n\n'Oh, no, no, no!' screamed the king in the most supplicating of tones.\n\nCurdie heard only a muttered reply in the distance; and then the cave\nwas quite still.\n\nThey had left the fire burning, and the light came through brighter\nthan before.  Curdie thought it was time to try again if anything could\nbe done.  But he found he could not get even a finger through the chink\nbetween the slab and the rock.  He gave a great rush with his shoulder\nagainst the slab, but it yielded no more than if it had been part of\nthe rock.  All he could do was to sit down and think again.\n\nBy and by he came to the resolution to pretend to be dying, in the hope\nthey might take him out before his strength was too much exhausted to\nlet him have a chance.  Then, for the creatures, if he could but find\nhis axe again, he would have no fear of them; and if it were not for\nthe queen's horrid shoes, he would have no fear at all.\n\nMeantime, until they should come again at night, there was nothing for\nhim to do but forge new rhymes, now his only weapons.  He had no\nintention of using them at present, of course; but it was well to have\na stock, for he might live to want them, and the manufacture of them\nwould help to while away the time.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 20\n\nIrene's Clue\n\n\nThat same morning early, the princess woke in a terrible fright. There\nwas a hideous noise in her room--creatures snarling and hissing and\nrocketing about as if they were fighting.  The moment she came to\nherself, she remembered something she had never thought of again--what\nher grandmother told her to do when she was frightened.  She\nimmediately took off her ring and put it under her pillow.  As she did\nso she fancied she felt a finger and thumb take it gently from under\nher palm.  'It must be my grandmother!' she said to herself, and the\nthought gave her such courage that she stopped to put on her dainty\nlittle slippers before running from the room.  While doing this she\ncaught sight of a long cloak of sky-blue, thrown over the back of a\nchair by the bedside.  She had never seen it before but it was\nevidently waiting for her.  She put it on, and then, feeling with the\nforefinger of her right hand, soon found her grandmother's thread,\nwhich she proceeded at once to follow, expecting it would lead her\nstraight up the old stair. When she reached the door she found it went\ndown and ran along the floor, so that she had almost to crawl in order\nto keep a hold of it.  Then, to her surprise, and somewhat to her\ndismay, she found that instead of leading her towards the stair it\nturned in quite the opposite direction.  It led her through certain\nnarrow passages towards the kitchen, turning aside ere she reached it,\nand guiding her to a door which communicated with a small back yard.\nSome of the maids were already up, and this door was standing open.\nAcross the yard the thread still ran along the ground, until it brought\nher to a door in the wall which opened upon the mountainside.  When she\nhad passed through, the thread rose to about half her height, and she\ncould hold it with ease as she walked.  It led her straight up the\nmountain.\n\nThe cause of her alarm was less frightful than she supposed.  The\ncook's great black cat, pursued by the housekeeper's terrier, had\nbounced against her bedroom door, which had not been properly fastened,\nand the two had burst into the room together and commenced a battle\nroyal.  How the nurse came to sleep through it was a mystery, but I\nsuspect the old lady had something to do with it.\n\nIt was a clear warm morning.  The wind blew deliciously over the\nMountainside.  Here and there she saw a late primrose but she did not\nstop to call upon them.  The sky was mottled with small clouds.\n\nThe sun was not yet up, but some of their fluffy edges had caught his\nlight, and hung out orange and gold-coloured fringes upon the air.  The\ndew lay in round drops upon the leaves, and hung like tiny diamond\near-rings from the blades of grass about her path.\n\n'How lovely that bit of gossamer is!' thought the princess, looking at\na long undulating line that shone at some distance from her up the\nhill.  It was not the time for gossamers though; and Irene soon\ndiscovered that it was her own thread she saw shining on before her in\nthe light of the morning.  It was leading her she knew not whither; but\nshe had never in her life been out before sunrise, and everything was\nso fresh and cool and lively and full of something coming, that she\nfelt too happy to be afraid of anything.\n\nAfter leading her up a good distance, the thread turned to the left,\nand down the path upon which she and Lootie had met Curdie. But she\nnever thought of that, for now in the morning light, with its far\noutlook over the country, no path could have been more open and airy\nand cheerful.  She could see the road almost to the horizon, along\nwhich she had so often watched her king-papa and his troop come\nshining, with the bugle-blast cleaving the air before them; and it was\nlike a companion to her.  Down and down the path went, then up, and\nthen down and then up again, getting rugged and more rugged as it went;\nand still along the path went the silvery thread, and still along the\nthread went Irene's little rosy-tipped forefinger.  By and by she came\nto a little stream that jabbered and prattled down the hill, and up the\nside of the stream went both path and thread.  And still the path grew\nrougher and steeper, and the mountain grew wilder, till Irene began to\nthink she was going a very long way from home; and when she turned to\nlook back she saw that the level country had vanished and the rough\nbare mountain had closed in about her.  But still on went the thread,\nand on went the princess.  Everything around her was getting brighter\nand brighter as the sun came nearer; till at length his first rays all\nat once alighted on the top of a rock before her, like some golden\ncreature fresh from the sky.  Then she saw that the little stream ran\nout of a hole in that rock, that the path did not go past the rock, and\nthat the thread was leading her straight up to it.  A shudder ran\nthrough her from head to foot when she found that the thread was\nactually taking her into the hole out of which the stream ran.  It ran\nout babbling joyously, but she had to go in.\n\nShe did not hesitate.  Right into the hole she went, which was high\nenough to let her walk without stooping.  For a little way there was a\nbrown glimmer, but at the first turn it all but ceased, and before she\nhad gone many paces she was in total darkness.  Then she began to be\nfrightened indeed.  Every moment she kept feeling the thread backwards\nand forwards, and as she went farther and farther into the darkness of\nthe great hollow mountain, she kept thinking more and more about her\ngrandmother, and all that she had said to her, and how kind she had\nbeen, and how beautiful she was, and all about her lovely room, and the\nfire of roses, and the great lamp that sent its light through stone\nwalls.  And she became more and more sure that the thread could not\nhave gone there of itself, and that her grandmother must have sent it.\nBut it tried her dreadfully when the path went down very steep, and\nespecially when she came to places where she had to go down rough\nstairs, and even sometimes a ladder.  Through one narrow passage after\nanother, over lumps of rock and sand and clay, the thread guided her,\nuntil she came to a small hole through which she had to creep.  Finding\nno change on the other side, 'Shall I ever get back?' she thought, over\nand over again, wondering at herself that she was not ten times more\nfrightened, and often feeling as if she were only walking in the story\nof a dream.  Sometimes she heard the noise of water, a dull gurgling\ninside the rock.  By and by she heard the sounds of blows, which came\nnearer and nearer; but again they grew duller, and almost died away.\nIn a hundred directions she turned, obedient to the guiding thread.\n\nAt last she spied a dull red shine, and came up to the mica window, and\nthence away and round about, and right, into a cavern, where glowed the\nred embers of a fire.  Here the thread began to rise. It rose as high\nas her head and higher still.  What should she do if she lost her hold?\nShe was pulling it down: She might break it! She could see it far up,\nglowing as red as her fire-opal in the light of the embers.\n\nBut presently she came to a huge heap of stones, piled in a slope\nagainst the wall of the cavern.  On these she climbed, and soon\nrecovered the level of the thread only however to find, the next\nmoment, that it vanished through the heap of stones, and left her\nstanding on it, with her face to the solid rock.  For one terrible\nmoment she felt as if her grandmother had forsaken her.  The thread\nwhich the spiders had spun far over the seas, which her grandmother had\nsat in the moonlight and spun again for her, which she had tempered in\nthe rose-fire and tied to her opal ring, had left her--had gone where\nshe could no longer follow it--had brought her into a horrible cavern,\nand there left her!  She was forsaken indeed!\n\n'When shall I wake?' she said to herself in an agony, but the same\nmoment knew that it was no dream.  She threw herself upon the heap, and\nbegan to cry.  It was well she did not know what creatures, one of them\nwith stone shoes on her feet, were lying in the next cave. But neither\ndid she know who was on the other side of the slab.\n\nAt length the thought struck her that at least she could follow the\nthread backwards, and thus get out of the mountain, and home.  She rose\nat once, and found the thread.  But the instant she tried to feel it\nbackwards, it vanished from her touch.  Forwards, it led her hand up to\nthe heap of stones--backwards it seemed nowhere. Neither could she see\nit as before in the light of the fire.  She burst into a wailing cry,\nand again threw herself down on the stones.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 21\n\nThe Escape\n\n\nAs the princess lay and sobbed she kept feeling the thread\nmechanically, following it with her finger many times up to the stones\nin which it disappeared.  By and by she began, still mechanically, to\npoke her finger in after it between the stones as far as she could.\nAll at once it came into her head that she might remove some of the\nstones and see where the thread went next. Almost laughing at herself\nfor never having thought of this before, she jumped to her feet.  Her\nfear vanished; once more she was certain her grandmother's thread could\nnot have brought her there just to leave her there; and she began to\nthrow away the stones from the top as fast as she could, sometimes two\nor three at a handful, sometimes taking both hands to lift one.  After\nclearing them away a little, she found that the thread turned and went\nstraight downwards.  Hence, as the heap sloped a good deal, growing of\ncourse wider towards its base, she had to throw away a multitude of\nstones to follow the thread.  But this was not all, for she soon found\nthat the thread, after going straight down for a little way, turned\nfirst sideways in one direction, then sideways in another, and then\nshot, at various angles, hither and thither inside the heap, so that\nshe began to be afraid that to clear the thread she must remove the\nwhole huge gathering.  She was dismayed at the very idea, but, losing\nno time, set to work with a will; and with aching back, and bleeding\nfingers and hands, she worked on, sustained by the pleasure of seeing\nthe heap slowly diminish and begin to show itself on the opposite side\nof the fire.  Another thing which helped to keep up her courage was\nthat, as often as she uncovered a turn of the thread, instead of lying\nloose upon the stone, it tightened up; this made her sure that her\ngrandmother was at the end of it somewhere.\n\nShe had got about half-way down when she started, and nearly fell with\nfright.  Close to her ears as it seemed, a voice broke out singing:\n\n  'Jabber, bother, smash!\n  You'll have it all in a crash.\n  Jabber, smash, bother!\n  You'll have the worst of the pother.\n  Smash, bother, jabber!--'\n\n\nHere Curdie stopped, either because he could not find a rhyme to\n'jabber', or because he remembered what he had forgotten when he woke\nup at the sound of Irene's labours, that his plan was to make the\ngoblins think he was getting weak.  But he had uttered enough to let\nIrene know who he was.\n\n'It's Curdie!' she cried joyfully.\n\n'Hush! hush!' came Curdie's voice again from somewhere.  'Speak softly.'\n\n'Why, you were singing loud!' said Irene.\n\n'Yes.  But they know I am here, and they don't know you are.  Who are\nyou?'\n\n'I'm Irene,' answered the princess.  'I know who you are quite well.\nYou're Curdie.'\n\n'Why, how ever did you come here, Irene?'\n\n'My great-great-grandmother sent me; and I think I've found out why.\nYou can't get out, I suppose?'\n\n'No, I can't.  What are you doing?'\n\n'Clearing away a huge heap of stones.'\n\n'There's a princess!' exclaimed Curdie, in a tone of delight, but still\nspeaking in little more than a whisper.  'I can't think how you got\nhere, though.'\n\n'My grandmother sent me after her thread.'\n\n'I don't know what you mean,' said Curdie; 'but so you're there, it\ndoesn't much matter.'\n\n'Oh, yes, it does!' returned Irene.  'I should never have been here but\nfor her.'\n\n'You can tell me all about it when we get out, then.  There's no time\nto lose now,' said Curdie.\n\nAnd Irene went to work, as fresh as when she began.\n\n'There's such a lot of stones!' she said.  'It will take me a long time\nto get them all away.'\n\n'How far on have you got?' asked Curdie.\n\n'I've got about the half away, but the other half is ever so much\nbigger.'\n\n'I don't think you will have to move the lower half.  Do you see a slab\nlaid up against the wall?'\n\nIrene looked, and felt about with her hands, and soon perceived the\noutlines of the slab.\n\n'Yes,' she answered, 'I do.'\n\n'Then, I think,' rejoined Curdie, 'when you have cleared the slab about\nhalf-way down, or a bit more, I shall be able to push it over.'\n\n'I must follow my thread,' returned Irene, 'whatever I do.'\n\n'What do you mean?' exclaimed Curdie.\n\n'You will see when you get out,' answered the princess, and went on\nharder than ever.\n\nBut she was soon satisfied that what Curdie wanted done and what the\nthread wanted done were one and the same thing.  For she not only saw\nthat by following the turns of the thread she had been clearing the\nface of the slab, but that, a little more than half-way down, the\nthread went through the chink between the slab and the wall into the\nplace where Curdie was confined, so that she could not follow it any\nfarther until the slab was out of her way. As soon as she found this,\nshe said in a right joyous whisper:\n\n'Now, Curdie, I think if you were to give a great push, the slab would\ntumble over.'\n\n'Stand quite clear of it, then,' said Curdie, 'and let me know when you\nare ready.'\n\nIrene got off the heap, and stood on one side of it.  'Now, Curdie!'\nshe cried.\n\nCurdie gave a great rush with his shoulder against it.  Out tumbled the\nslab on the heap, and out crept Curdie over the top of it.\n\n'You've saved my life, Irene!' he whispered.\n\n'Oh, Curdie! I'm so glad!  Let's get out of this horrid place as fast\nas we can.'\n\n'That's easier said than done,' returned he.\n\n'Oh, no, it's quite easy,' said Irene.  'We have only to follow my\nthread.  I am sure that it's going to take us out now.'\n\nShe had already begun to follow it over the fallen slab into the hole,\nwhile Curdie was searching the floor of the cavern for his pickaxe.\n\n'Here it is!' he cried.  'No, it is not,' he added, in a disappointed\ntone.  'What can it be, then?  I declare it's a torch. That is jolly!\nIt's better almost than my pickaxe.  Much better if it weren't for\nthose stone shoes!' he went on, as he lighted the torch by blowing the\nlast embers of the expiring fire.\n\nWhen he looked up, with the lighted torch casting a glare into the\ngreat darkness of the huge cavern, he caught sight of Irene\ndisappearing in the hole out of which he had himself just come.\n\n'Where are you going there?' he cried.  'That's not the way out. That's\nwhere I couldn't get out.'\n\n'I know that,' whispered Irene.  'But this is the way my thread goes,\nand I must follow it.'\n\n'What nonsense the child talks!' said Curdie to himself.  'I must\nfollow her, though, and see that she comes to no harm.  She will soon\nfind she can't get out that way, and then she will come with me.'\n\nSo he crept over the slab once more into the hole with his torch in his\nhand.  But when he looked about in it, he could see her nowhere.  And\nnow he discovered that although the hole was narrow, it was much longer\nthan he had supposed; for in one direction the roof came down very low,\nand the hole went off in a narrow passage, of which he could not see\nthe end.  The princess must have crept in there.  He got on his knees\nand one hand, holding the torch with the other, and crept after her.\nThe hole twisted about, in some parts so low that he could hardly get\nthrough, in others so high that he could not see the roof, but\neverywhere it was narrow--far too narrow for a goblin to get through,\nand so I presume they never thought that Curdie might.  He was\nbeginning to feel very uncomfortable lest something should have\nbefallen the princess, when he heard her voice almost close to his ear,\nwhispering:\n\n'Aren't you coming, Curdie?'\n\nAnd when he turned the next corner there she stood waiting for him.\n\n'I knew you couldn't go wrong in that narrow hole, but now you must\nkeep by me, for here is a great wide place,' she said.\n\n'I can't understand it,' said Curdie, half to himself, half to Irene.\n\n'Never mind,' she returned.  'Wait till we get out.'\n\nCurdie, utterly astonished that she had already got so far, and by a\npath he had known nothing of, thought it better to let her do as she\npleased.  'At all events,' he said again to himself, 'I know nothing\nabout the way, miner as I am; and she seems to think she does know\nsomething about it, though how she should passes my comprehension.  So\nshe's just as likely to find her way as I am, and as she insists on\ntaking the lead, I must follow.  We can't be much worse off than we\nare, anyhow.'  Reasoning thus, he followed her a few steps, and came\nout in another great cavern, across which Irene walked in a straight\nline, as confidently as if she knew every step of the way.  Curdie went\non after her, flashing his torch about, and trying to see something of\nwhat lay around them. Suddenly he started back a pace as the light fell\nupon something close by which Irene was passing.  It was a platform of\nrock raised a few feet from the floor and covered with sheepskins, upon\nwhich lay two horrible figures asleep, at once recognized by Curdie as\nthe king and queen of the goblins.  He lowered his torch instantly lest\nthe light should awake them.  As he did so it flashed upon his pickaxe,\nlying by the side of the queen, whose hand lay close by the handle of\nit.\n\n'Stop one moment,' he whispered.  'Hold my torch, and don't let the\nlight on their faces.'\n\nIrene shuddered when she saw the frightful creatures, whom she had\npassed without observing them, but she did as he requested, and turning\nher back, held the torch low in front of her.  Curdie drew his pickaxe\ncarefully away, and as he did so spied one of her feet, projecting from\nunder the skins.  The great clumsy granite shoe, exposed thus to his\nhand, was a temptation not to be resisted.  He laid hold of it, and,\nwith cautious efforts, drew it off.  The moment he succeeded, he saw to\nhis astonishment that what he had sung in ignorance, to annoy the\nqueen, was actually true: she had six horrible toes.  Overjoyed at his\nsuccess, and seeing by the huge bump in the sheepskins where the other\nfoot was, he proceeded to lift them gently, for, if he could only\nsucceed in carrying away the other shoe as well, he would be no more\nafraid of the goblins than of so many flies.  But as he pulled at the\nsecond shoe the queen gave a growl and sat up in bed.  The same instant\nthe king awoke also and sat up beside her.\n\n'Run, Irene!' cried Curdie, for though he was not now in the least\nafraid for himself, he was for the princess.\n\nIrene looked once round, saw the fearful creatures awake, and like the\nwise princess she was, dashed the torch on the ground and extinguished\nit, crying out:\n\n'Here, Curdie, take my hand.'\n\nHe darted to her side, forgetting neither the queen's shoe nor his\npickaxe, and caught hold of her hand, as she sped fearlessly where her\nthread guided her.  They heard the queen give a great bellow; but they\nhad a good start, for it would be some time before they could get\ntorches lighted to pursue them.  Just as they thought they saw a gleam\nbehind them, the thread brought them to a very narrow opening, through\nwhich Irene crept easily, and Curdie with difficulty.\n\n'Now,' said Curdie; 'I think we shall be safe.'\n\n'Of course we shall,' returned Irene.\n\n 'Why do you think so?' asked Curdie.\n\n'Because my grandmother is taking care of us.'\n\n'That's all nonsense,' said Curdie.  'I don't know what you mean.'\n\n'Then if you don't know what I mean, what right have you to call it\nnonsense?' asked the princess, a little offended.\n\n'I beg your pardon, Irene,' said Curdie; 'I did not mean to vex you.'\n\n'Of course not,' returned the princess.  'But why do you think we shall\nbe safe?'\n\n'Because the king and queen are far too stout to get through that hole.'\n\n'There might be ways round,' said the princess.\n\n'To be sure there might: we are not out of it yet,' acknowledged Curdie.\n\n'But what do you mean by the king and queen?' asked the princess. 'I\nshould never call such creatures as those a king and a queen.'\n\n'Their own people do, though,' answered Curdie.\n\nThe princess asked more questions, and Curdie, as they walked leisurely\nalong, gave her a full account, not only of the character and habits of\nthe goblins, so far as he knew them, but of his own adventures with\nthem, beginning from the very night after that in which he had met her\nand Lootie upon the mountain.  When he had finished, he begged Irene to\ntell him how it was that she had come to his rescue.  So Irene too had\nto tell a long story, which she did in rather a roundabout manner,\ninterrupted by many questions concerning things she had not explained.\nBut her tale, as he did not believe more than half of it, left\neverything as unaccountable to him as before, and he was nearly as much\nperplexed as to what he must think of the princess.  He could not\nbelieve that she was deliberately telling stories, and the only\nconclusion he could come to was that Lootie had been playing the child\ntricks, inventing no end of lies to frighten her for her own purposes.\n\n'But how ever did Lootie come to let you go into the mountains\nalone?' he asked.\n\n'Lootie knows nothing about it.  I left her fast asleep--at least I\nthink so.  I hope my grandmother won't let her get into trouble, for it\nwasn't her fault at all, as my grandmother very well knows.'\n\n'But how did you find your way to me?' persisted Curdie.\n\n'I told you already,' answered Irene; 'by keeping my finger upon my\ngrandmother's thread, as I am doing now.'\n\n'You don't mean you've got the thread there?'\n\n'Of course I do.  I have told you so ten times already.  I have\nhardly--except when I was removing the stones--taken my finger off it.\nThere!' she added, guiding Curdie's hand to the thread, 'you feel it\nyourself--don't you?'\n\n'I feel nothing at all,' replied Curdie.\n\n'Then what can be the matter with your finger? I feel it perfectly. To\nbe sure it is very thin, and in the sunlight looks just like the thread\nof a spider, though there are many of them twisted together to make\nit--but for all that I can't think why you shouldn't feel it as well as\nI do.'\n\nCurdie was too polite to say he did not believe there was any thread\nthere at all.  What he did say was:\n\n'Well, I can make nothing of it.'\n\n'I can, though, and you must be glad of that, for it will do for both\nof us.'\n\n'We're not out yet,' said Curdie.\n\n'We soon shall be,' returned Irene confidently.  And now the thread\nwent downwards, and led Irene's hand to a hole in the floor of the\ncavern, whence came a sound of running water which they had been\nhearing for some time.\n\n'It goes into the ground now, Curdie,' she said, stopping.\n\nHe had been listening to another sound, which his practised ear had\ncaught long ago, and which also had been growing louder.  It was the\nnoise the goblin-miners made at their work, and they seemed to be at no\ngreat distance now.  Irene heard it the moment she stopped.\n\n'What is that noise?' she asked.  'Do you know, Curdie?'\n\n'Yes.  It is the goblins digging and burrowing,' he answered.\n\n'And you don't know what they do it for?'\n\n'No; I haven't the least idea.  Would you like to see them?' he asked,\nwishing to have another try after their secret.\n\n'If my thread took me there, I shouldn't much mind; but I don't want to\nsee them, and I can't leave my thread.  It leads me down into the hole,\nand we had better go at once.'\n\n'Very well.  Shall I go in first?' said Curdie.\n\n'No; better not.  You can't feel the thread,' she answered, stepping\ndown through a narrow break in the floor of the cavern. 'Oh!' she\ncried, 'I am in the water.  It is running strong--but it is not deep,\nand there is just room to walk.  Make haste, Curdie.'\n\nHe tried, but the hole was too small for him to get in.\n\n'Go on a little bit,' he said, shouldering his pickaxe.  In a few moments\nhe had cleared a larger opening and followed her.  They went on, down\nand down with the running water, Curdie getting more and more afraid it\nwas leading them to some terrible gulf in the heart of the mountain.\nIn one or two places he had to break away the rock to make room before\neven Irene could get through--at least without hurting herself.  But at\nlength they spied a glimmer of light, and in a minute more they were\nalmost blinded by the full sunlight, into which they emerged.  It was\nsome little time before the princess could see well enough to discover\nthat they stood in her own garden, close by the seat on which she and\nher king-papa had sat that afternoon.  They had come out by the channel\nof the little stream.  She danced and clapped her hands with delight.\n\n'Now, Curdie!' she cried, 'won't you believe what I told you about my\ngrandmother and her thread?'\n\nFor she had felt all the time that Curdie was not believing what she\ntold him.\n\n'There!--don't you see it shining on before us?' she added.\n\n'I don't see anything,' persisted Curdie.\n\n'Then you must believe without seeing,' said the princess; 'for you\ncan't deny it has brought us out of the mountain.'\n\n'I can't deny we are out of the mountain, and I should be very\nungrateful indeed to deny that you had brought me out of it.'\n\n'I couldn't have done it but for the thread,' persisted Irene.\n\n'That's the part I don't understand.'\n\n'Well, come along, and Lootie will get you something to eat.  I am sure\nyou must want it very much.'\n\n'Indeed I do.  But my father and mother will be so anxious about me, I\nmust make haste--first up the mountain to tell my mother, and then down\ninto the mine again to let my father know.'\n\n'Very well, Curdie; but you can't get out without coming this way, and\nI will take you through the house, for that is nearest.'\n\nThey met no one by the way, for, indeed, as before, the people were\nhere and there and everywhere searching for the princess.  When they\ngot in Irene found that the thread, as she had half expected, went up\nthe old staircase, and a new thought struck her.  She turned to Curdie\nand said:\n\n'My grandmother wants me.  Do come up with me and see her.  Then you\nwill know that I have been telling you the truth.  Do come--to please\nme, Curdie.  I can't bear you should think what I say is not true.'\n\n'I never doubted you believed what you said,' returned Curdie.  'I only\nthought you had some fancy in your head that was not correct.'\n\n'But do come, dear Curdie.'\n\nThe little miner could not withstand this appeal, and though he felt\nshy in what seemed to him a huge grand house, he yielded, and followed\nher up the stair.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 22\n\nThe Old Lady and Curdie\n\n\nUp the stair then they went, and the next and the next, and through the\nlong rows of empty rooms, and up the little tower stair, Irene growing\nhappier and happier as she ascended.  There was no answer when she\nknocked at length at the door of the workroom, nor could she hear any\nsound of the spinning-wheel, and once more her heart sank within her,\nbut only for one moment, as she turned and knocked at the other door.\n\n'Come in,' answered the sweet voice of her grandmother, and Irene\nopened the door and entered, followed by Curdie.\n\n'You darling!' cried the lady, who was seated by a fire of red roses\nmingled with white.  'I've been waiting for you, and indeed getting a\nlittle anxious about you, and beginning to think whether I had not\nbetter go and fetch you myself.'\n\nAs she spoke she took the little princess in her arms and placed her\nupon her lap.  She was dressed in white now, and looking if possible\nmore lovely than ever.\n\n'I've brought Curdie, grandmother.  He wouldn't believe what I told him\nand so I've brought him.'\n\n'Yes--I see him.  He is a good boy, Curdie, and a brave boy. Aren't you\nglad you've got him out?'\n\n'Yes, grandmother.  But it wasn't very good of him not to believe me\nwhen I was telling him the truth.'\n\n'People must believe what they can, and those who believe more must not\nbe hard upon those who believe less.  I doubt if you would have\nbelieved it all yourself if you hadn't seen some of it.'\n\n'Ah! yes, grandmother, I dare say.  I'm sure you are right.  But he'll\nbelieve now.'\n\n'I don't know that,' replied her grandmother.\n\n'Won't you, Curdie?' said Irene, looking round at him as she asked the\nquestion.  He was standing in the middle of the floor, staring, and\nlooking strangely bewildered.  This she thought came of his\nastonishment at the beauty of the lady.\n\n'Make a bow to my grandmother, Curdie,' she said.\n\n'I don't see any grandmother,' answered Curdie rather gruffly.\n\n'Don't see my grandmother, when I'm sitting in her lap?' exclaimed the\nprincess.\n\n'No, I don't,' reiterated Curdie, in an offended tone.\n\n'Don't you see the lovely fire of roses--white ones amongst them this\ntime?' asked Irene, almost as bewildered as he.\n\n'No, I don't,' answered Curdie, almost sulkily.\n\n'Nor the blue bed?  Nor the rose-coloured counterpane?--Nor the\nbeautiful light, like the moon, hanging from the roof?'\n\n'You're making game of me, Your Royal Highness; and after what we have\ncome through together this day, I don't think it is kind of you,' said\nCurdie, feeling very much hurt.\n\n'Then what do you see?' asked Irene, who perceived at once that for her\nnot to believe him was at least as bad as for him not to believe her.\n\n'I see a big, bare, garret-room--like the one in mother's cottage, only\nbig enough to take the cottage itself in, and leave a good margin all\nround,' answered Curdie.\n\n'And what more do you see?'\n\n'I see a tub, and a heap of musty straw, and a withered apple, and a\nray of sunlight coming through a hole in the middle of the roof and\nshining on your head, and making all the place look a curious dusky\nbrown.  I think you had better drop it, princess, and go down to the\nnursery, like a good girl.'\n\n'But don't you hear my grandmother talking to me?' asked Irene, almost\ncrying.\n\n'No.  I hear the cooing of a lot of pigeons.  If you won't come down, I\nwill go without you.  I think that will be better anyhow, for I'm sure\nnobody who met us would believe a word we said to them.  They would\nthink we made it all up.  I don't expect anybody but my own father and\nmother to believe me.  They know I wouldn't tell a story.'\n\n'And yet you won't believe me, Curdie?' expostulated the princess, now\nfairly crying with vexation and sorrow at the gulf between her and\nCurdie.\n\n'No.  I can't, and I can't help it,' said Curdie, turning to leave the\nroom.\n\n'What SHALL I do, grandmother?' sobbed the princess, turning her face\nround upon the lady's bosom, and shaking with suppressed sobs.\n\n'You must give him time,' said her grandmother; 'and you must be\ncontent not to be believed for a while.  It is very hard to bear; but I\nhave had to bear it, and shall have to bear it many a time yet.  I will\ntake care of what Curdie thinks of you in the end. You must let him go\nnow.'\n\n'You're not coming, are you?' asked Curdie.\n\n'No, Curdie; my grandmother says I must let you go.  Turn to the right\nwhen you get to the bottom of all the stairs, and that will take you to\nthe hall where the great door is.'\n\n'Oh! I don't doubt I can find my way--without you, princess, or your\nold grannie's thread either,' said Curdie quite rudely.\n\n'Oh, Curdie!  Curdie!'\n\n'I wish I had gone home at once.  I'm very much obliged to you, Irene,\nfor getting me out of that hole, but I wish you hadn't made a fool of\nme afterwards.'\n\nHe said this as he opened the door, which he left open, and, without\nanother word, went down the stair.  Irene listened with dismay to his\ndeparting footsteps.  Then turning again to the lady:\n\n'What does it all mean, grandmother?' she sobbed, and burst into fresh\ntears.\n\n'It means, my love, that I did not mean to show myself.  Curdie is not\nyet able to believe some things.  Seeing is not believing--it is only\nseeing.  You remember I told you that if Lootie were to see me, she\nwould rub her eyes, forget the half she saw, and call the other half\nnonsense.'\n\n'Yes; but I should have thought Curdie--'\n\n'You are right.  Curdie is much farther on than Lootie, and you will\nsee what will come of it.  But in the meantime you must be content, I\nsay, to be misunderstood for a while.  We are all very anxious to be\nunderstood, and it is very hard not to be.  But there is one thing much\nmore necessary.'\n\n'What is that, grandmother?'\n\n'To understand other people.'\n\n'Yes, grandmother.  I must be fair--for if I'm not fair to other\npeople, I'm not worth being understood myself.  I see.  So as Curdie\ncan't help it, I will not be vexed with him, but just wait.'\n\n'There's my own dear child,' said her grandmother, and pressed her\nclose to her bosom.\n\n'Why weren't you in your workroom when we came up, grandmother?' asked\nIrene, after a few moments' silence.\n\n'If I had been there, Curdie would have seen me well enough.  But why\nshould I be there rather than in this beautiful room?'\n\n'I thought you would be spinning.'\n\n'I've nobody to spin for just at present.  I never spin without knowing\nfor whom I am spinning.'\n\n'That reminds me--there is one thing that puzzles me,' said the\nprincess: 'how are you to get the thread out of the mountain again?\nSurely you won't have to make another for me?  That would be such a\ntrouble!'\n\nThe lady set her down and rose and went to the fire.  Putting in her\nhand, she drew it out again and held up the shining ball between her\nfinger and thumb.\n\n'I've got it now, you see,' she said, coming back to the princess, 'all\nready for you when you want it.'\n\nGoing to her cabinet, she laid it in the same drawer as before.\n\n'And here is your ring,' she added, taking it from the little finger of\nher left hand and putting it on the forefinger of Irene's right hand.\n\n'Oh, thank you, grandmother! I feel so safe now!'\n\n'You are very tired, my child,' the lady went on.  'Your hands are hurt\nwith the stones, and I have counted nine bruises on you.  Just look\nwhat you are like.'\n\nAnd she held up to her a little mirror which she had brought from the\ncabinet.  The princess burst into a merry laugh at the sight. She was\nso draggled with the stream and dirty with creeping through narrow\nplaces, that if she had seen the reflection without knowing it was a\nreflection, she would have taken herself for some gipsy child whose\nface was washed and hair combed about once in a month. The lady laughed\ntoo, and lifting her again upon her knee, took off her cloak and\nnight-gown.  Then she carried her to the side of the room.  Irene\nwondered what she was going to do with her, but asked no\nquestions--only starting a little when she found that she was going to\nlay her in the large silver bath; for as she looked into it, again she\nsaw no bottom, but the stars shining miles away, as it seemed, in a\ngreat blue gulf.  Her hands closed involuntarily on the beautiful arms\nthat held her, and that was all.\n\nThe lady pressed her once more to her bosom, saying:\n\n'Do not be afraid, my child.'\n\n'No, grandmother,' answered the princess, with a little gasp; and the\nnext instant she sank in the clear cool water.\n\nWhen she opened her eyes, she saw nothing but a strange lovely blue\nover and beneath and all about her.  The lady, and the beautiful room,\nhad vanished from her sight, and she seemed utterly alone. But instead\nof being afraid, she felt more than happy--perfectly blissful.  And\nfrom somewhere came the voice of the lady, singing a strange sweet\nsong, of which she could distinguish every word; but of the sense she\nhad only a feeling--no understanding.  Nor could she remember a single\nline after it was gone.  It vanished, like the poetry in a dream, as\nfast as it came.  In after years, however, she would sometimes fancy\nthat snatches of melody suddenly rising in her brain must be little\nphrases and fragments of the air of that song; and the very fancy would\nmake her happier, and abler to do her duty.\n\nHow long she lay in the water she did not know.  It seemed a long\ntime--not from weariness but from pleasure.  But at last she felt the\nbeautiful hands lay hold of her, and through the gurgling water she was\nlifted out into the lovely room.  The lady carried her to the fire, and\nsat down with her in her lap, and dried her tenderly with the softest\ntowel.  It was so different from Lootie's drying. When the lady had\ndone, she stooped to the fire, and drew from it her night-gown, as\nwhite as snow.\n\n'How delicious!' exclaimed the princess.  'It smells of all the roses\nin the world, I think.'\n\nWhen she stood up on the floor she felt as if she had been made over\nagain.  Every bruise and all weariness were gone, and her hands were\nsoft and whole as ever.\n\n'Now I am going to put you to bed for a good sleep,' said her\ngrandmother.\n\n'But what will Lootie be thinking?  And what am I to say to her when\nshe asks me where I have been?'\n\n'Don't trouble yourself about it.  You will find it all come right,'\nsaid her grandmother, and laid her into the blue bed, under the rosy\ncounterpane.\n\n'There is just one thing more,' said Irene.  'I am a little anxious\nabout Curdie.  As I brought him into the house, I ought to have seen\nhim safe on his way home.'\n\n'I took care of all that,' answered the lady.  'I told you to let him\ngo, and therefore I was bound to look after him.  Nobody saw him, and\nhe is now eating a good dinner in his mother's cottage far up in the\nmountain.'\n\n'Then I will go to sleep,' said Irene, and in a few minutes she was\nfast asleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 23\n\nCurdie and His Mother\n\n\nCurdie went up the mountain neither whistling nor singing, for he was\nvexed with Irene for taking him in, as he called it; and he was vexed\nwith himself for having spoken to her so angrily.  His mother gave a\ncry of joy when she saw him, and at once set about getting him\nsomething to eat, asking him questions all the time, which he did not\nanswer so cheerfully as usual.  When his meal was ready, she left him\nto eat it, and hurried to the mine to let his father know he was safe.\nWhen she came back, she found him fast asleep upon her bed; nor did he\nwake until his father came home in the evening.\n\n'Now, Curdie,' his mother said, as they sat at supper, 'tell us the\nwhole story from beginning to end, just as it all happened.'\n\nCurdie obeyed, and told everything to the point where they came out\nupon the lawn in the garden of the king's house.\n\n'And what happened after that?' asked his mother.  'You haven't told us\nall.  You ought to be very happy at having got away from those demons,\nand instead of that I never saw you so gloomy.  There must be something\nmore.  Besides, you do not speak of that lovely child as I should like\nto hear you.  She saved your life at the risk of her own, and yet\nsomehow you don't seem to think much of it.'\n\n'She talked such nonsense,' answered Curdie, 'and told me a pack of\nthings that weren't a bit true; and I can't get over it.'\n\n'What were they?' asked his father.  'Your mother may be able to throw\nsome light upon them.'\n\nThen Curdie made a clean breast of it, and told them everything.\n\nThey all sat silent for some time, pondering the strange tale.  At last\nCurdie's mother spoke.\n\n'You confess, my boy,' she said, 'there is something about the whole\naffair you do not understand?'\n\n'Yes, of course, mother,' he answered.  'I cannot understand how a\nchild knowing nothing about the mountain, or even that I was shut up in\nit, should come all that way alone, straight to where I was; and then,\nafter getting me out of the hole, lead me out of the mountain too,\nwhere I should not have known a step of the way if it had been as light\nas in the open air.'\n\n'Then you have no right to say what she told you was not true.  She did\ntake you out, and she must have had something to guide her: why not a\nthread as well as a rope, or anything else?  There is something you\ncannot explain, and her explanation may be the right one.'\n\n'It's no explanation at all, mother; and I can't believe it.'\n\n'That may be only because you do not understand it.  If you did, you\nwould probably find it was an explanation, and believe it thoroughly.\nI don't blame you for not being able to believe it, but I do blame you\nfor fancying such a child would try to deceive you.  Why should she?\nDepend upon it, she told you all she knew. Until you had found a better\nway of accounting for it all, you might at least have been more sparing\nof your judgement.'\n\n'That is what something inside me has been saying all the time,' said\nCurdie, hanging down his head.  'But what do you make of the\ngrandmother?  That is what I can't get over.  To take me up to an old\ngarret, and try to persuade me against the sight of my own eyes that it\nwas a beautiful room, with blue walls and silver stars, and no end of\nthings in it, when there was nothing there but an old tub and a\nwithered apple and a heap of straw and a sunbeam!  It was too bad!  She\nmight have had some old woman there at least to pass for her precious\ngrandmother!'\n\n'Didn't she speak as if she saw those other things herself, Curdie?'\n\n'Yes.  That's what bothers me.  You would have thought she really meant\nand believed that she saw every one of the things she talked about.\nAnd not one of them there!  It was too bad, I say.'\n\n'Perhaps some people can see things other people can't see, Curdie,'\nsaid his mother very gravely.  'I think I will tell you something I saw\nmyself once--only perhaps you won't believe me either!'\n\n'Oh, mother, mother!' cried Curdie, bursting into tears; 'I don't\ndeserve that, surely!'\n\n'But what I am going to tell you is very strange,' persisted his\nmother; 'and if having heard it you were to say I must have been\ndreaming, I don't know that I should have any right to be vexed with\nyou, though I know at least that I was not asleep.'\n\n'Do tell me, mother.  Perhaps it will help me to think better of the\nprincess.'\n\n'That's why I am tempted to tell you,' replied his mother.  'But first,\nI may as well mention that, according to old whispers, there is\nsomething more than common about the king's family; and the queen was\nof the same blood, for they were cousins of some degree. There were\nstrange stories told concerning them--all good stories--but strange,\nvery strange.  What they were I cannot tell, for I only remember the\nfaces of my grandmother and my mother as they talked together about\nthem.  There was wonder and awe--not fear--in their eyes, and they\nwhispered, and never spoke aloud.  But what I saw myself was this: Your\nfather was going to work in the mine one night, and I had been down\nwith his supper.  It was soon after we were married, and not very long\nbefore you were born.  He came with me to the mouth of the mine, and\nleft me to go home alone, for I knew the way almost as well as the\nfloor of our own cottage.  It was pretty dark, and in some parts of the\nroad where the rocks overhung nearly quite dark.  But I got along\nperfectly well, never thinking of being afraid, until I reached a spot\nyou know well enough, Curdie, where the path has to make a sharp turn\nout of the way of a great rock on the left-hand side.  When I got\nthere, I was suddenly surrounded by about half a dozen of the cobs, the\nfirst I had ever seen, although I had heard tell of them often enough.\nOne of them blocked up the path, and they all began tormenting and\nteasing me in a way it makes me shudder to think of even now.'\n\n'If I had only been with you!' cried father and son in a breath.\n\nThe mother gave a funny little smile, and went on.\n\n'They had some of their horrible creatures with them too, and I must\nconfess I was dreadfully frightened.  They had torn my clothes very\nmuch, and I was afraid they were going to tear myself to pieces, when\nsuddenly a great white soft light shone upon me.  I looked up.  A broad\nray, like a shining road, came down from a large globe of silvery\nlight, not very high up, indeed not quite so high as the horizon--so it\ncould not have been a new star or another moon or anything of that\nsort.  The cobs dropped persecuting me, and looked dazed, and I thought\nthey were going to run away, but presently they began again.  The same\nmoment, however, down the path from the globe of light came a bird,\nshining like silver in the sun.  It gave a few rapid flaps first, and\nthen, with its wings straight out, shot, sliding down the slope of the\nlight.  It looked to me just like a white pigeon.  But whatever it was,\nwhen the cobs caught sight of it coming straight down upon them, they\ntook to their heels and scampered away across the mountain, leaving me\nsafe, only much frightened.  As soon as it had sent them off, the bird\nwent gliding again up the light, and the moment it reached the globe\nthe light disappeared, just as if a shutter had been closed over a\nwindow, and I saw it no more.  But I had no more trouble with the cobs\nthat night or ever after.'\n\n'How strange!' exclaimed Curdie.\n\n'Yes, it was strange; but I can't help believing it, whether you do or\nnot,' said his mother.\n\n'It's exactly as your mother told it to me the very next morning,' said\nhis father.\n\n'You don't think I'm doubting my own mother?' cried Curdie.\n\n'There are other people in the world quite as well worth believing as\nyour own mother,' said his mother. 'I don't know that she's so much the\nfitter to be believed that she happens to be your mother, Mr. Curdie.\nThere are mothers far more likely to tell lies than the little girl\nI saw talking to the primroses a few weeks ago. If she were to lie I\nshould begin to doubt my own word.'\n\n'But princesses have told lies as well as other people,' said Curdie.\n\n'Yes, but not princesses like that child.  She's a good girl, I am\ncertain, and that's more than being a princess.  Depend upon it you\nwill have to be sorry for behaving so to her, Curdie.  You ought at\nleast to have held your tongue.'\n\n'I am sorry now,' answered Curdie.\n\n'You ought to go and tell her so, then.'\n\n'I don't see how I could manage that.  They wouldn't let a miner boy\nlike me have a word with her alone; and I couldn't tell her before that\nnurse of hers.  She'd be asking ever so many questions, and I don't\nknow how many the little princess would like me to answer.  She told me\nthat Lootie didn't know anything about her coming to get me out of the\nmountain.  I am certain she would have prevented her somehow if she had\nknown it.  But I may have a chance before long, and meantime I must try\nto do something for her.  I think, father, I have got on the track at\nlast.'\n\n'Have you, indeed, my boy?' said Peter.  'I am sure you deserve some\nsuccess; you have worked very hard for it.  What have you found out?'\n\n'It's difficult, you know, father, inside the mountain, especially in\nthe dark, and not knowing what turns you have taken, to tell the lie of\nthings outside.'\n\n'Impossible, my boy, without a chart, or at least a compass,' returned\nhis father.\n\n'Well, I think I have nearly discovered in what direction the cobs are\nmining.  If I am right, I know something else that I can put to it, and\nthen one and one will make three.'\n\n'They very often do, Curdie, as we miners ought to be very well aware.\nNow tell us, my boy, what the two things are, and see whether we can\nguess at the same third as you.'\n\n'I don't see what that has to do with the princess,' interposed his\nmother.\n\n'I will soon let you see that, mother.  Perhaps you may think me\nfoolish, but until I am sure there, is nothing in my present fancy, I\nam more determined than ever to go on with my observations.  Just as we\ncame to the channel by which we got out, I heard the miners at work\nsomewhere near--I think down below us.  Now since I began to watch\nthem, they have mined a good half-mile, in a straight line; and so far\nas I am aware, they are working in no other part of the mountain.  But\nI never could tell in what direction they were going.  When we came out\nin the king's garden, however, I thought at once whether it was\npossible they were working towards the king's house; and what I want to\ndo tonight is to make sure whether they are or not.  I will take a\nlight with me--'\n\n'Oh, Curdie,' cried his mother, 'then they will see you.'\n\n'I'm no more afraid of them now than I was before,' rejoined Curdie,\n'now that I've got this precious shoe.  They can't make another such in\na hurry, and one bare foot will do for my purpose. Woman as she may be,\nI won't spare her next time.  But I shall be careful with my light, for\nI don't want them to see me.  I won't stick it in my hat.'\n\n'Go on, then, and tell us what you mean to do.'\n\n'I mean to take a bit of paper with me and a pencil, and go in at the\nmouth of the stream by which we came out.  I shall mark on the paper as\nnear as I can the angle of every turning I take until I find the cobs\nat work, and so get a good idea in what direction they are going.  If\nit should prove to be nearly parallel with the stream, I shall know it\nis towards the king's house they are working.'\n\n'And what if you should?  How much wiser will you be then?'\n\n'Wait a minute, mother dear.  I told you that when I came upon the\nroyal family in the cave, they were talking of their prince--Harelip,\nthey called him--marrying a sun-woman--that means one of us--one with\ntoes to her feet.  Now in the speech one of them made that night at\ntheir great gathering, of which I heard only a part, he said that peace\nwould be secured for a generation at least by the pledge the prince\nwould hold for the good behaviour of her relatives: that's what he\nsaid, and he must have meant the sun-woman the prince was to marry.  I\nam quite sure the king is much too proud to wish his son to marry any\nbut a princess, and much too knowing to fancy that his having a peasant\nwoman for a wife would be of any great advantage to them.'\n\n'I see what you are driving at now,' said his mother.\n\n'But,' said his father, 'our king would dig the mountain to the plain\nbefore he would have his princess the wife of a cob, if he were ten\ntimes a prince.'\n\n'Yes; but they think so much of themselves!' said his mother. 'Small\ncreatures always do.  The bantam is the proudest cock in my little\nyard.'\n\n'And I fancy,' said Curdie, 'if they once got her, they would tell the\nking they would kill her except he consented to the marriage.'\n\n'They might say so,' said his father, 'but they wouldn't kill her; they\nwould keep her alive for the sake of the hold it gave them over our\nking.  Whatever he did to them, they would threaten to do the same to\nthe princess.'\n\n'And they are bad enough to torment her just for their own amusement--I\nknow that,' said his mother.\n\n'Anyhow, I will keep a watch on them, and see what they are up to,'\nsaid Curdie.  'It's too horrible to think of.  I daren't let myself do\nit.  But they shan't have her--at least if I can help it.  So, mother\ndear--my clue is all right--will you get me a bit of paper and a pencil\nand a lump of pease pudding, and I will set out at once.  I saw a place\nwhere I can climb over the wall of the garden quite easily.'\n\n'You must mind and keep out of the way of the men on the watch,' said\nhis mother.\n\n'That I will.  I don't want them to know anything about it.  They would\nspoil it all.  The cobs would only try some other plan--they are such\nobstinate creatures!  I shall take good care, mother. They won't kill\nand eat me either, if they should come upon me.  So you needn't mind\nthem.'\n\nHis mother got him what he had asked for, and Curdie set out. Close\nbeside the door by which the princess left the garden for the mountain\nstood a great rock, and by climbing it Curdie got over the wall.  He\ntied his clue to a stone just inside the channel of the stream, and\ntook his pickaxe with him.  He had not gone far before he encountered a\nhorrid creature coming towards the mouth.  The spot was too narrow for\ntwo of almost any size or shape, and besides Curdie had no wish to let\nthe creature pass.  Not being able to use his pickaxe, however, he had\na severe struggle with him, and it was only after receiving many bites,\nsome of them bad, that he succeeded in killing him with his\npocket-knife.  Having dragged him out, he made haste to get in again\nbefore another should stop up the way.\n\nI need not follow him farther in this night's adventures.  He returned\nto his breakfast, satisfied that the goblins were mining in the\ndirection of the palace--on so low a level that their intention must,\nhe thought, be to burrow under the walls of the king's house, and rise\nup inside it--in order, he fully believed, to lay hands on the little\nprincess, and carry her off for a wife to their horrid Harelip.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 24\n\nIrene Behaves Like a Princess\n\n\nWhen the princess awoke from the sweetest of sleeps, she found her\nnurse bending over her, the housekeeper looking over the nurse's\nshoulder, and the laundry-maid looking over the housekeeper's. The room\nwas full of women-servants; and the gentlemen-at-arms, with a long\ncolumn of servants behind them, were peeping, or trying to peep in at\nthe door of the nursery.\n\n'Are those horrid creatures gone?' asked the princess, remembering\nfirst what had terrified her in the morning.\n\n'You naughty, naughty little princess!' cried Lootie.\n\nHer face was very pale, with red streaks in it, and she looked as if\nshe were going to shake her; but Irene said nothing--only waited to\nhear what should come next.\n\n'How could you get under the clothes like that, and make us all fancy\nyou were lost!  And keep it up all day too!  You are the most obstinate\nchild!  It's anything but fun to us, I can tell you!'\n\nIt was the only way the nurse could account for her disappearance.\n\n'I didn't do that, Lootie,' said Irene, very quietly.\n\n'Don't tell stories!' cried her nurse quite rudely.\n\n'I shall tell you nothing at all,' said Irene.\n\n'That's just as bad,' said the nurse.\n\n'Just as bad to say nothing at all as to tell stories?' exclaimed the\nprincess.  'I will ask my papa about that.  He won't say so. And I\ndon't think he will like you to say so.'\n\n'Tell me directly what you mean by it!' screamed the nurse, half wild\nwith anger at the princess and fright at the possible consequences to\nherself.\n\n'When I tell you the truth, Lootie,' said the princess, who somehow did\nnot feel at all angry, 'you say to me \"Don't tell stories\": it seems I\nmust tell stories before you will believe me.'\n\n'You are very rude, princess,' said the nurse.\n\n'You are so rude, Lootie, that I will not speak to you again till you\nare sorry.  Why should I, when I know you will not believe me?'\nreturned the princess.  For she did know perfectly well that if she\nwere to tell Lootie what she had been about, the more she went on to\ntell her, the less would she believe her.\n\n'You are the most provoking child!' cried her nurse.  'You deserve to\nbe well punished for your wicked behaviour.'\n\n'Please, Mrs Housekeeper,' said the princess, 'will you take me to your\nroom, and keep me till my king-papa comes?  I will ask him to come as\nsoon as he can.'\n\nEvery one stared at these words.  Up to this moment they had all\nregarded her as little more than a baby.\n\nBut the housekeeper was afraid of the nurse, and sought to patch\nmatters up, saying:\n\n'I am sure, princess, nursie did not mean to be rude to you.'\n\n'I do not think my papa would wish me to have a nurse who spoke to me\nas Lootie does.  If she thinks I tell lies, she had better either say\nso to my papa, or go away.  Sir Walter, will you take charge of me?'\n\n'With the greatest of pleasure, princess,' answered the captain of the\ngentlemen-at-arms, walking with his great stride into the room.\n\nThe crowd of servants made eager way for him, and he bowed low before\nthe little princess's bed.  'I shall send my servant at once, on the\nfastest horse in the stable, to tell your king-papa that Your Royal\nHighness desires his presence.  When you have chosen one of these\nunder-servants to wait upon you, I shall order the room to be cleared.'\n\n'Thank you very much, Sir Walter,' said the princess, and her eye\nglanced towards a rosy-cheeked girl who had lately come to the house as\na scullery-maid.\n\nBut when Lootie saw the eyes of her dear princess going in search of\nanother instead of her, she fell upon her knees by the bedside, and\nburst into a great cry of distress.\n\n'I think, Sir Walter,' said the princess, 'I will keep Lootie.  But I\nput myself under your care; and you need not trouble my king-papa until\nI speak to you again.  Will you all please to go away?  I am quite safe\nand well, and I did not hide myself for the sake either of amusing\nmyself, or of troubling my people.  Lootie, will you please to dress\nme.'\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 25\n\nCurdie Comes to Grief\n\n\nEverything was for some time quiet above ground.  The king was still\naway in a distant part of his dominions.  The men-at-arms kept watching\nabout the house.  They had been considerably astonished by finding at\nthe foot of the rock in the garden the hideous body of the goblin\ncreature killed by Curdie; but they came to the conclusion that it had\nbeen slain in the mines, and had crept out there to die; and except an\noccasional glimpse of a live one they saw nothing to cause alarm.\nCurdie kept watching in the mountain, and the goblins kept burrowing\ndeeper into the earth.  As long as they went deeper there was, Curdie\njudged, no immediate danger.\n\nTo Irene the summer was as full of pleasure as ever, and for a long\ntime, although she often thought of her grandmother during the day, and\noften dreamed about her at night, she did not see her.  The kids and\nthe flowers were as much her delight as ever, and she made as much\nfriendship with the miners' children she met on the mountain as Lootie\nwould permit; but Lootie had very foolish notions concerning the\ndignity of a princess, not understanding that the truest princess is\njust the one who loves all her brothers and sisters best, and who is\nmost able to do them good by being humble towards them.  At the same\ntime she was considerably altered for the better in her behaviour to\nthe princess.  She could not help seeing that she was no longer a mere\nchild, but wiser than her age would account for.  She kept foolishly\nwhispering to the servants, however--sometimes that the princess was\nnot right in her mind, sometimes that she was too good to live, and\nother nonsense of the same sort.\n\nAll this time Curdie had to be sorry, without a chance of confessing,\nthat he had behaved so unkindly to the princess.  This perhaps made him\nthe more diligent in his endeavours to serve her. His mother and he\noften talked on the subject, and she comforted him, and told him she\nwas sure he would some day have the opportunity he so much desired.\n\nHere I should like to remark, for the sake of princes and princesses in\ngeneral, that it is a low and contemptible thing to refuse to confess a\nfault, or even an error.  If a true princess has done wrong, she is\nalways uneasy until she has had an opportunity of throwing the\nwrongness away from her by saying: 'I did it; and I wish I had not; and\nI am sorry for having done it.' So you see there is some ground for\nsupposing that Curdie was not a miner only, but a prince as well.  Many\nsuch instances have been known in the world's history.\n\nAt length, however, he began to see signs of a change in the\nproceedings of the goblin excavators: they were going no deeper, but\nhad commenced running on a level; and he watched them, therefore, more\nclosely than ever.  All at once, one night, coming to a slope of very\nhard rock, they began to ascend along the inclined plane of its\nsurface.  Having reached its top, they went again on a level for a\nnight or two, after which they began to ascend once more, and kept on\nat a pretty steep angle.  At length Curdie judged it time to transfer\nhis observation to another quarter, and the next night he did not go to\nthe mine at all; but, leaving his pickaxe and clue at home, and taking\nonly his usual lumps of bread and pease pudding, went down the mountain\nto the king's house.  He climbed over the wall, and remained in the\ngarden the whole night, creeping on hands and knees from one spot to\nthe other, and lying at full length with his ear to the ground,\nlistening.  But he heard nothing except the tread of the men-at-arms as\nthey marched about, whose observation, as the night was cloudy and\nthere was no moon, he had little difficulty in avoiding.  For several\nfollowing nights he continued to haunt the garden and listen, but with\nno success.\n\nAt length, early one evening, whether it was that he had got careless\nof his own safety, or that the growing moon had become strong enough to\nexpose him, his watching came to a sudden end.  He was creeping from\nbehind the rock where the stream ran out, for he had been listening all\nround it in the hope it might convey to his ear some indication of the\nwhereabouts of the goblin miners, when just as he came into the\nmoonlight on the lawn, a whizz in his ear and a blow upon his leg\nstartled him.  He instantly squatted in the hope of eluding further\nnotice.  But when he heard the sound of running feet, he jumped up to\ntake the chance of escape by flight. He fell, however, with a keen\nshoot of pain, for the bolt of a crossbow had wounded his leg, and the\nblood was now streaming from it.  He was instantly laid hold of by two\nor three of the men-at-arms.  It was useless to struggle, and he\nsubmitted in silence.\n\n'It's a boy!' cried several of them together, in a tone of amazement.\n'I thought it was one of those demons.  What are you about here?'\n\n'Going to have a little rough usage, apparently,' said Curdie,\nlaughing, as the men shook him.\n\n'Impertinence will do you no good.  You have no business here in the\nking's grounds, and if you don't give a true account of yourself, you\nshall fare as a thief.'\n\n'Why, what else could he be?' said one.\n\n'He might have been after a lost kid, you know,' suggested another.\n\n'I see no good in trying to excuse him.  He has no business here,\nanyhow.'\n\n'Let me go away, then, if you please,' said Curdie.\n\n'But we don't please--not except you give a good account of yourself.'\n\n'I don't feel quite sure whether I can trust you,' said Curdie.\n\n'We are the king's own men-at-arms,' said the captain courteously, for\nhe was taken with Curdie's appearance and courage.\n\n'Well, I will tell you all about it--if you will promise to listen to\nme and not do anything rash.'\n\n'I call that cool!' said one of the party, laughing.  'He will tell us\nwhat mischief he was about, if we promise to do as pleases him.'\n\n'I was about no mischief,' said Curdie.\n\nBut ere he could say more he turned faint, and fell senseless on the\ngrass.  Then first they discovered that the bolt they had shot, taking\nhim for one of the goblin creatures, had wounded him.\n\nThey carried him into the house and laid him down in the hall.  The\nreport spread that they had caught a robber, and the servants crowded\nin to see the villain.  Amongst the rest came the nurse. The moment she\nsaw him she exclaimed with indignation:\n\n'I declare it's the same young rascal of a miner that was rude to me\nand the princess on the mountain.  He actually wanted to kiss the\nprincess.  I took good care of that--the wretch!  And he was prowling\nabout, was he?  Just like his impudence!' The princess being fast\nasleep, she could misrepresent at her pleasure.\n\nWhen he heard this, the captain, although he had considerable doubt of\nits truth, resolved to keep Curdie a prisoner until they could search\ninto the affair.  So, after they had brought him round a little, and\nattended to his wound, which was rather a bad one, they laid him, still\nexhausted from the loss of blood, upon a mattress in a disused\nroom--one of those already so often mentioned--and locked the door, and\nleft him.  He passed a troubled night, and in the morning they found\nhim talking wildly.  In the evening he came to himself, but felt very\nweak, and his leg was exceedingly painful.  Wondering where he was, and\nseeing one of the men-at-arms in the room, he began to question him and\nsoon recalled the events of the preceding night.  As he was himself\nunable to watch any more, he told the soldier all he knew about the\ngoblins, and begged him to tell his companions, and stir them up to\nwatch with tenfold vigilance; but whether it was that he did not talk\nquite coherently, or that the whole thing appeared incredible,\ncertainly the man concluded that Curdie was only raving still, and\ntried to coax him into holding his tongue.  This, of course, annoyed\nCurdie dreadfully, who now felt in his turn what it was not to be\nbelieved, and the consequence was that his fever returned, and by the\ntime when, at his persistent entreaties, the captain was called, there\ncould be no doubt that he was raving.  They did for him what they\ncould, and promised everything he wanted, but with no intention of\nfulfilment.  At last he went to sleep, and when at length his sleep\ngrew profound and peaceful, they left him, locked the door again, and\nwithdrew, intending to revisit him early in the morning.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 26\n\nThe Goblin-Miners\n\n\nThat same night several of the servants were having a chat together\nbefore going to bed.\n\n'What can that noise be?' said one of the housemaids, who had been\nlistening for a moment or two.\n\n'I've heard it the last two nights,' said the cook.  'If there were any\nabout the place, I should have taken it for rats, but my Tom keeps them\nfar enough.'\n\n'I've heard, though,' said the scullery-maid, 'that rats move about in\ngreat companies sometimes.  There may be an army of them invading us.\nI've heard the noises yesterday and today too.'\n\n'It'll be grand fun, then, for my Tom and Mrs Housekeeper's Bob,' said\nthe cook.  'They'll be friends for once in their lives, and fight on\nthe same side.  I'll engage Tom and Bob together will put to flight any\nnumber of rats.'\n\n'It seems to me,' said the nurse, 'that the noises are much too loud\nfor that.  I have heard them all day, and my princess has asked me\nseveral times what they could be.  Sometimes they sound like distant\nthunder, and sometimes like the noises you hear in the mountain from\nthose horrid miners underneath.'\n\n'I shouldn't wonder,' said the cook, 'if it was the miners after all.\nThey may have come on some hole in the mountain through which the\nnoises reach to us.  They are always boring and blasting and breaking,\nyou know.'\n\nAs he spoke, there came a great rolling rumble beneath them, and the\nhouse quivered.  They all started up in affright, and rushing to the\nhall found the gentlemen-at-arms in consternation also. They had sent\nto wake their captain, who said from their description that it must\nhave been an earthquake, an occurrence which, although very rare in\nthat country, had taken place almost within the century; and then went\nto bed again, strange to say, and fell fast asleep without once\nthinking of Curdie, or associating the noises they had heard with what\nhe had told them.  He had not believed Curdie.  If he had, he would at\nonce have thought of what he had said, and would have taken\nprecautions.  As they heard nothing more, they concluded that Sir\nWalter was right, and that the danger was over for perhaps another\nhundred years.  The fact, as discovered afterwards, was that the\ngoblins had, in working up a second sloping face of stone, arrived at a\nhuge block which lay under the cellars of the house, within the line of\nthe foundations.\n\nIt was so round that when they succeeded, after hard work, in\ndislodging it without blasting, it rolled thundering down the slope\nwith a bounding, jarring roll, which shook the foundations of the\nhouse.  The goblins were themselves dismayed at the noise, for they\nknew, by careful spying and measuring, that they must now be very near,\nif not under the king's house, and they feared giving an alarm.  They,\ntherefore, remained quiet for a while, and when they began to work\nagain, they no doubt thought themselves very fortunate in coming upon a\nvein of sand which filled a winding fissure in the rock on which the\nhouse was built.  By scooping this away they came out in the king's\nwine cellar.\n\nNo sooner did they find where they were, than they scurried back again,\nlike rats into their holes, and running at full speed to the goblin\npalace, announced their success to the king and queen with shouts of\ntriumph.\n\nIn a moment the goblin royal family and the whole goblin people were on\ntheir way in hot haste to the king's house, each eager to have a share\nin the glory of carrying off that same night the Princess Irene.\n\nThe queen went stumping along in one shoe of stone and one of skin.\n\nThis could not have been pleasant, and my readers may wonder that, with\nsuch skilful workmen about her, she had not yet replaced the shoe\ncarried off by Curdie.  As the king, however, had more than one ground\nof objection to her stone shoes, he no doubt took advantage of the\ndiscovery of her toes, and threatened to expose her deformity if she\nhad another made.  I presume he insisted on her being content with skin\nshoes, and allowed her to wear the remaining granite one on the present\noccasion only because she was going out to war.\n\nThey soon arrived in the king's wine cellar, and regardless of its huge\nvessels, of which they did not know the use, proceeded at once, but as\nquietly as they could, to force the door that led upwards.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 27\n\nThe Goblins in the King's House\n\n\nWhen Curdie fell asleep he began at once to dream.  He thought he was\nascending the Mountainside from the mouth of the mine, whistling and\nsinging 'Ring, dod, bang!' when he came upon a woman and child who had\nlost their way; and from that point he went on dreaming everything that\nhad happened to him since he thus met the princess and Lootie; how he\nhad watched the goblins, how he had been taken by them, how he had been\nrescued by the princess; everything, indeed, until he was wounded,\ncaptured, and imprisoned by the men-at-arms.  And now he thought he was\nlying wide awake where they had laid him, when suddenly he heard a\ngreat thundering sound.\n\n'The cobs are coming!' he said.  'They didn't believe a word I told\nthem!  The cobs'll be carrying off the princess from under their stupid\nnoses!  But they shan't! that they shan't!'\n\nHe jumped up, as he thought, and began to dress, but, to his dismay,\nfound that he was still lying in bed.\n\n'Now then, I will!' he said.  'Here goes!  I am up now!'\n\nBut yet again he found himself snug in bed.  Twenty times he tried, and\ntwenty times he failed; for in fact he was not awake, only dreaming\nthat he was.  At length in an agony of despair, fancying he heard the\ngoblins all over the house, he gave a great cry.  Then there came, as\nhe thought, a hand upon the lock of his door.  It opened, and, looking\nup, he saw a lady with white hair, carrying a silver box in her hand,\nenter the room.  She came to his bed, he thought, stroked his head and\nface with cool, soft hands, took the dressing from his leg, rubbed it\nwith something that smelt like roses, and then waved her hands over him\nthree times.  At the last wave of her hands everything vanished, he\nfelt himself sinking into the profoundest slumber, and remembered\nnothing more until he awoke in earnest.\n\nThe setting moon was throwing a feeble light through the casement, and\nthe house was full of uproar.  There was soft heavy multitudinous\nstamping, a clashing and clanging of weapons, the voices of men and the\ncries of women, mixed with a hideous bellowing, which sounded\nvictorious.  The cobs were in the house! He sprang from his bed,\nhurried on some of his clothes, not forgetting his shoes, which were\narmed with nails; then spying an old hunting-knife, or short sword,\nhanging on the wall, he caught it, and rushed down the stairs, guided\nby the sounds of strife, which grew louder and louder.\n\nWhen he reached the ground floor he found the whole place swarming.\n\nAll the goblins of the mountain seemed gathered there.  He rushed\namongst them, shouting:\n\n  'One, two,\n  Hit and hew!\n  Three, four,\n  Blast and bore!'\n\nand with every rhyme he came down a great stamp upon a foot, cutting at\nthe same time their faces--executing, indeed, a sword dance of the\nwildest description.  Away scattered the goblins in every\ndirection--into closets, up stairs, into chimneys, up on rafters, and\ndown to the cellars.  Curdie went on stamping and slashing and singing,\nbut saw nothing of the people of the house until he came to the great\nhall, in which, the moment he entered it, arose a great goblin shout.\nThe last of the men-at-arms, the captain himself, was on the floor,\nburied beneath a wallowing crowd of goblins.  For, while each knight\nwas busy defending himself as well as he could, by stabs in the thick\nbodies of the goblins, for he had soon found their heads all but\ninvulnerable, the queen had attacked his legs and feet with her\nhorrible granite shoe, and he was soon down; but the captain had got\nhis back to the wall and stood out longer.  The goblins would have torn\nthem all to pieces, but the king had given orders to carry them away\nalive, and over each of them, in twelve groups, was standing a knot of\ngoblins, while as many as could find room were sitting upon their\nprostrate bodies.\n\nCurdie burst in dancing and gyrating and stamping and singing like a\nsmall incarnate whirlwind.\n\n  'Where 'tis all a hole, sir,\n  Never can be holes:\n  Why should their shoes have soles, sir,\n  When they've got no souls?\n\n  'But she upon her foot, sir,\n  Has a granite shoe:\n  The strongest leather boot, sir,\n  Six would soon be through.'\n\n\nThe queen gave a howl of rage and dismay; and before she recovered her\npresence of mind, Curdie, having begun with the group nearest him, had\neleven of the knights on their legs again.\n\n'Stamp on their feet!' he cried as each man rose, and in a few minutes\nthe hall was nearly empty, the goblins running from it as fast as they\ncould, howling and shrieking and limping, and cowering every now and\nthen as they ran to cuddle their wounded feet in their hard hands, or\nto protect them from the frightful stamp-stamp of the armed men.\n\nAnd now Curdie approached the group which, in trusting in the queen and\nher shoe, kept their guard over the prostrate captain.  The king sat on\nthe captain's head, but the queen stood in front, like an infuriated\ncat, with her perpendicular eyes gleaming green, and her hair standing\nhalf up from her horrid head.  Her heart was quaking, however, and she\nkept moving about her skin-shod foot with nervous apprehension.  When\nCurdie was within a few paces, she rushed at him, made one tremendous\nstamp at his opposing foot, which happily he withdrew in time, and\ncaught him round the waist, to dash him on the marble floor.  But just\nas she caught him, he came down with all the weight of his iron-shod\nshoe upon her skin-shod foot, and with a hideous howl she dropped him,\nsquatted on the floor, and took her foot in both her hands.  Meanwhile\nthe rest rushed on the king and the bodyguard, sent them flying, and\nlifted the prostrate captain, who was all but pressed to death.  It was\nsome moments before he recovered breath and consciousness.\n\n'Where's the princess?' cried Curdie, again and again.\n\nNo one knew, and off they all rushed in search of her.\n\nThrough every room in the house they went, but nowhere was she to be\nfound.  Neither was one of the servants to be seen.  But Curdie, who\nhad kept to the lower part of the house, which was now quiet enough,\nbegan to hear a confused sound as of a distant hubbub, and set out to\nfind where it came from.  The noise grew as his sharp ears guided him\nto a stair and so to the wine cellar.  It was full of goblins, whom the\nbutler was supplying with wine as fast as he could draw it.\n\nWhile the queen and her party had encountered the men-at-arms, Harelip\nwith another company had gone off to search the house. They captured\nevery one they met, and when they could find no more, they hurried away\nto carry them safe to the caverns below.  But when the butler, who was\namongst them, found that their path lay through the wine cellar, he\nbethought himself of persuading them to taste the wine, and, as he had\nhoped, they no sooner tasted than they wanted more.  The routed\ngoblins, on their way below, joined them, and when Curdie entered they\nwere all, with outstretched hands, in which were vessels of every\ndescription from sauce pan to silver cup, pressing around the butler,\nwho sat at the tap of a huge cask, filling and filling.  Curdie cast\none glance around the place before commencing his attack, and saw in\nthe farthest corner a terrified group of the domestics unwatched, but\ncowering without courage to attempt their escape.  Amongst them was the\nterror-stricken face of Lootie; but nowhere could he see the princess.\nSeized with the horrible conviction that Harelip had already carried\nher off, he rushed amongst them, unable for wrath to sing any more, but\nstamping and cutting with greater fury than ever.\n\n'Stamp on their feet; stamp on their feet!' he shouted, and in a moment\nthe goblins were disappearing through the hole in the floor like rats\nand mice.\n\nThey could not vanish so fast, however, but that many more goblin feet\nhad to go limping back over the underground ways of the mountain that\nmorning.\n\nPresently, however, they were reinforced from above by the king and his\nparty, with the redoubtable queen at their head.  Finding Curdie again\nbusy amongst her unfortunate subjects, she rushed at him once more with\nthe rage of despair, and this time gave him a bad bruise on the foot.\nThen a regular stamping fight got up between them, Curdie, with the\npoint of his hunting-knife, keeping her from clasping her mighty arms\nabout him, as he watched his opportunity of getting once more a good\nstamp at her skin-shod foot.  But the queen was more wary as well as\nmore agile than hitherto.\n\nThe rest meantime, finding their adversary thus matched for the moment,\npaused in their headlong hurry, and turned to the shivering group of\nwomen in the corner.  As if determined to emulate his father and have a\nsun-woman of some sort to share his future throne, Harelip rushed at\nthem, caught up Lootie, and sped with her to the hole.  She gave a\ngreat shriek, and Curdie heard her, and saw the plight she was in.\nGathering all his strength, he gave the queen a sudden cut across the\nface with his weapon, came down, as she started back, with all his\nweight on the proper foot, and sprung to Lootie's rescue.  The prince\nhad two defenceless feet, and on both of them Curdie stamped just as he\nreached the hole.  He dropped his burden and rolled shrieking into the\nearth.  Curdie made one stab at him as he disappeared, caught hold of\nthe senseless Lootie, and having dragged her back to the corner, there\nmounted guard over her, preparing once more to encounter the queen.\n\nHer face streaming with blood, and her eyes flashing green lightning\nthrough it, she came on with her mouth open and her teeth grinning like\na tiger's, followed by the king and her bodyguard of the thickest\ngoblins.  But the same moment in rushed the captain and his men, and\nran at them stamping furiously.  They dared not encounter such an\nonset.  Away they scurried, the queen foremost. Of course, the right\nthing would have been to take the king and queen prisoners, and hold\nthem hostages for the princess, but they were so anxious to find her\nthat no one thought of detaining them until it was too late.\n\nHaving thus rescued the servants, they set about searching the house\nonce more.  None of them could give the least information concerning\nthe princess.  Lootie was almost silly with terror, and, although\nscarcely able to walk would not leave Curdie's side for a single\nmoment.  Again he allowed the others to search the rest of the\nhouse--where, except a dismayed goblin lurking here and there, they\nfound no one--while he requested Lootie to take him to the princess's\nroom.  She was as submissive and obedient as if he had been the king.\n\nHe found the bedclothes tossed about, and most of them on the floor,\nwhile the princess's garments were scattered all over the room, which\nwas in the greatest confusion.  It was only too evident that the\ngoblins had been there, and Curdie had no longer any doubt that she had\nbeen carried off at the very first of the inroad. With a pang of\ndespair he saw how wrong they had been in not securing the king and\nqueen and prince; but he determined to find and rescue the princess as\nshe had found and rescued him, or meet the worst fate to which the\ngoblins could doom him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 28\n\nCurdie's Guide\n\n\nJust as the consolation of this resolve dawned upon his mind and he was\nturning away for the cellar to follow the goblins into their hole,\nsomething touched his hand.  It was the slightest touch, and when he\nlooked he could see nothing.  Feeling and peering about in the grey of\nthe dawn, his fingers came upon a tight thread.  He looked again, and\nnarrowly, but still could see nothing.  It flashed upon him that this\nmust be the princess's thread.  Without saying a word, for he knew no\none would believe him any more than he had believed the princess, he\nfollowed the thread with his finger, contrived to give Lootie the slip,\nand was soon out of the house and on the mountainside--surprised that,\nif the thread were indeed the grandmother's messenger, it should have\nled the princess, as he supposed it must, into the mountain, where she\nwould be certain to meet the goblins rushing back enraged from their\ndefeat.  But he hurried on in the hope of overtaking her first.  When\nhe arrived, however, at the place where the path turned off for the\nmine, he found that the thread did not turn with it, but went straight\nup the mountain.  Could it be that the thread was leading him home to\nhis mother's cottage?  Could the princess be there?  He bounded up the\nmountain like one of its own goats, and before the sun was up the\nthread had brought him indeed to his mother's door.  There it vanished\nfrom his fingers, and he could not find it, search as he might.\n\nThe door was on the latch, and he entered.  There sat his mother by the\nfire, and in her arms lay the princess, fast asleep.\n\n'Hush, Curdie!' said his mother.  'Do not wake her.  I'm so glad you're\ncome!  I thought the cobs must have got you again!'\n\nWith a heart full of delight, Curdie sat down at a corner of the\nhearth, on a stool opposite his mother's chair, and gazed at the\nprincess, who slept as peacefully as if she had been in her own bed.\nAll at once she opened her eyes and fixed them on him.\n\n'Oh, Curdie! you're come!' she said quietly.  'I thought you would!'\n\nCurdie rose and stood before her with downcast eyes.\n\n'Irene,' he said, 'I am very sorry I did not believe you.'\n\n'Oh, never mind, Curdie!' answered the princess.  'You couldn't, you\nknow.  You do believe me now, don't you?'\n\n'I can't help it now.  I ought to have helped it before.'\n\n'Why can't you help it now?'\n\n'Because, just as I was going into the mountain to look for you, I got\nhold of your thread, and it brought me here.'\n\n'Then you've come from my house, have you?'\n\n'Yes, I have.'\n\n'I didn't know you were there.'\n\n'I've been there two or three days, I believe.'\n\n'And I never knew it!  Then perhaps you can tell me why my grandmother\nhas brought me here?  I can't think.  Something woke me--I didn't know\nwhat, but I was frightened, and I felt for the thread, and there it\nwas!  I was more frightened still when it brought me out on the\nmountain, for I thought it was going to take me into it again, and I\nlike the outside of it best.  I supposed you were in trouble again, and\nI had to get you out.  But it brought me here instead; and, oh, Curdie!\nyour mother has been so kind to me--just like my own grandmother!'\n\nHere Curdie's mother gave the princess a hug, and the princess turned\nand gave her a sweet smile, and held up her mouth to kiss her.\n\n'Then you didn't see the cobs?' asked Curdie.\n\n'No; I haven't been into the mountain, I told you, Curdie.'\n\n'But the cobs have been into your house--all over it--and into your\nbedroom, making such a row!'\n\n'What did they want there?  It was very rude of them.'\n\n'They wanted you--to carry you off into the mountain with them, for a\nwife to their prince Harelip.'\n\n'Oh, how dreadful!' cried the princess, shuddering.\n\n'But you needn't be afraid, you know.  Your grandmother takes care of\nyou.'\n\n'Ah! you do believe in my grandmother, then?  I'm so glad!  She made me\nthink you would some day.'\n\nAll at once Curdie remembered his dream, and was silent, thinking.\n\n'But how did you come to be in my house, and me not know it?' asked the\nprincess.\n\nThen Curdie had to explain everything--how he had watched for her sake,\nhow he had been wounded and shut up by the soldiers, how he heard the\nnoises and could not rise, and how the beautiful old lady had come to\nhim, and all that followed.\n\n'Poor Curdie! to lie there hurt and ill, and me never to know it!'\nexclaimed the princess, stroking his rough hand.  'I would have come\nand nursed you, if they had told me.'\n\n'I didn't see you were lame,' said his mother.\n\n'Am I, mother?  Oh--yes--I suppose I ought to be! I declare I've never\nthought of it since I got up to go down amongst the cobs!'\n\n'Let me see the wound,' said his mother.\n\nHe pulled down his stocking--when behold, except a great scar, his leg\nwas perfectly sound!\n\nCurdie and his mother gazed in each other's eyes, full of wonder, but\nIrene called out:\n\n'I thought so, Curdie!  I was sure it wasn't a dream.  I was sure my\ngrandmother had been to see you.  Don't you smell the roses?  It was my\ngrandmother healed your leg, and sent you to help me.'\n\n'No, Princess Irene,' said Curdie; 'I wasn't good enough to be allowed\nto help you: I didn't believe you.  Your grandmother took care of you\nwithout me.'\n\n'She sent you to help my people, anyhow.  I wish my king-papa would\ncome.  I do want so to tell him how good you have been!'\n\n'But,' said the mother, 'we are forgetting how frightened your people\nmust be.  You must take the princess home at once, Curdie--or at least\ngo and tell them where she is.'\n\n'Yes, mother.  Only I'm dreadfully hungry.  Do let me have some\nbreakfast first.  They ought to have listened to me, and then they\nwouldn't have been taken by surprise as they were.'\n\n'That is true, Curdie; but it is not for you to blame them much. You\nremember?'\n\n'Yes, mother, I do.  Only I must really have something to eat.'\n\n'You shall, my boy--as fast as I can get it,' said his mother, rising\nand setting the princess on her chair.\n\nBut before his breakfast was ready, Curdie jumped up so suddenly as to\nstartle both his companions.\n\n'Mother, mother!' he cried, 'I was forgetting.  You must take the\nprincess home yourself.  I must go and wake my father.'\n\nWithout a word of explanation, he rushed to the place where his father\nwas sleeping.  Having thoroughly roused him with what he told him he\ndarted out of the cottage.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 29\n\nMasonwork\n\n\nHe had all at once remembered the resolution of the goblins to carry\nout their second plan upon the failure of the first.  No doubt they\nwere already busy, and the mine was therefore in the greatest danger of\nbeing flooded and rendered useless--not to speak of the lives of the\nminers.\n\nWhen he reached the mouth of the mine, after rousing all the miners\nwithin reach, he found his father and a good many more just entering.\nThey all hurried to the gang by which he had found a way into the\ngoblin country.  There the foresight of Peter had already collected a\ngreat many blocks of stone, with cement, ready for building up the weak\nplace--well enough known to the goblins. Although there was not room\nfor more than two to be actually building at once, they managed, by\nsetting all the rest to work in preparing the cement and passing the\nstones, to finish in the course of the day a huge buttress filling the\nwhole gang, and supported everywhere by the live rock.  Before the hour\nwhen they usually dropped work, they were satisfied the mine was secure.\n\nThey had heard goblin hammers and pickaxes busy all the time, and at\nlength fancied they heard sounds of water they had never heard before.\nBut that was otherwise accounted for when they left the mine, for they\nstepped out into a tremendous storm which was raging all over the\nmountain.  The thunder was bellowing, and the lightning lancing out of\na huge black cloud which lay above it and hung down  its edges of thick\nmist over its sides.  The lightning was breaking out of the mountain,\ntoo, and flashing up into the cloud.  From the state of the brooks, now\nswollen into raging torrents, it was evident that the storm had been\nstorming all day.\n\nThe wind was blowing as if it would blow him off the mountain, but,\nanxious about his mother and the princess, Curdie darted up through the\nthick of the tempest.  Even if they had not set out before the storm\ncame on, he did not judge them safe, for in such a storm even their\npoor little house was in danger.  Indeed he soon found that but for a\nhuge rock against which it was built, and which protected it both from\nthe blasts and the waters, it must have been swept if it was not blown\naway; for the two torrents into which this rock parted the rush of\nwater behind it united again in front of the cottage--two roaring and\ndangerous streams, which his mother and the princess could not possibly\nhave passed.  It was with great difficulty that he forced his way\nthrough one of them, and up to the door.\n\nThe moment his hand fell on the latch, through all the uproar of winds\nand waters came the joyous cry of the princess:\n\n'There's Curdie!  Curdie!  Curdie!'\n\nShe was sitting wrapped in blankets on the bed, his mother trying for\nthe hundredth time to light the fire which had been drowned by the rain\nthat came down the chimney.  The clay floor was one mass of mud, and\nthe whole place looked wretched.  But the faces of the mother and the\nprincess shone as if their troubles only made them the merrier.  Curdie\nburst out laughing at the sight of them.\n\n'I never had such fun!' said the princess, her eyes twinkling and her\npretty teeth shining.  'How nice it must be to live in a cottage on the\nmountain!'\n\n'It all depends on what kind your inside house is,' said the mother.\n\n'I know what you mean,' said Irene.  'That's the kind of thing my\ngrandmother says.'\n\nBy the time Peter returned the storm was nearly over, but the streams\nwere so fierce and so swollen that it was not only out of the question\nfor the princess to go down the mountain, but most dangerous for Peter\neven or Curdie to make the attempt in the gathering darkness.\n\n'They will be dreadfully frightened about you,' said Peter to the\nprincess, 'but we cannot help it.  We must wait till the morning.'\n\nWith Curdie's help, the fire was lighted at last, and the mother set\nabout making their supper; and after supper they all told the princess\nstories till she grew sleepy.  Then Curdie's mother laid her in\nCurdie's bed, which was in a tiny little garret-room.  As soon as she\nwas in bed, through a little window low down in the roof she caught\nsight of her grandmother's lamp shining far away beneath, and she gazed\nat the beautiful silvery globe until she fell asleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 30\n\nThe King and the Kiss\n\n\nThe next morning the sun rose so bright that Irene said the rain had\nwashed his face and let the light out clean.  The torrents were still\nroaring down the side of the mountain, but they were so much smaller as\nnot to be dangerous in the daylight.  After an early breakfast, Peter\nwent to his work and Curdie and his mother set out to take the princess\nhome.  They had difficulty in getting her dry across the streams, and\nCurdie had again and again to carry her, but at last they got safe on\nthe broader part of the road, and walked gently down towards the king's\nhouse.  And what should they see as they turned the last corner but the\nlast of the king's troop riding through the gate!\n\n'Oh, Curdie!' cried Irene, clapping her hands right joyfully, 'my\nking-papa is come.'\n\nThe moment Curdie heard that, he caught her up in his arms, and set off\nat full speed, crying:\n\n'Come on, mother dear!  The king may break his heart before he knows\nthat she is safe.'\n\nIrene clung round his neck and he ran with her like a deer.  When he\nentered the gate into the court, there sat the king on his horse, with\nall the people of the house about him, weeping and hanging their heads.\nThe king was not weeping, but his face was white as a dead man's, and\nhe looked as if the life had gone out of him.  The men-at-arms he had\nbrought with him sat with horror-stricken faces, but eyes flashing with\nrage, waiting only for the word of the king to do something--they did\nnot know what, and nobody knew what.\n\nThe day before, the men-at-arms belonging to the house, as soon as they\nwere satisfied the princess had been carried away, rushed after the\ngoblins into the hole, but found that they had already so skilfully\nblockaded the narrowest part, not many feet below the cellar, that\nwithout miners and their tools they could do nothing. Not one of them\nknew where the mouth of the mine lay, and some of those who had set out\nto find it had been overtaken by the storm and had not even yet\nreturned.  Poor Sir Walter was especially filled with shame, and almost\nhoped the king would order his head to be cut off, for to think of that\nsweet little face down amongst the goblins was unendurable.\n\nWhen Curdie ran in at the gate with the princess in his arms, they were\nall so absorbed in their own misery and awed by the king's presence and\ngrief, that no one observed his arrival.  He went straight up to the\nking, where he sat on his horse.\n\n'Papa! papa!' the princess cried, stretching out her arms to him; 'here\nI am!'\n\nThe king started.  The colour rushed to his face.  He gave an\ninarticulate cry.  Curdie held up the princess, and the king bent down\nand took her from his arms.  As he clasped her to his bosom, the big\ntears went dropping down his cheeks and his beard.  And such a shout\narose from all the bystanders that the startled horses pranced and\ncapered, and the armour rang and clattered, and the rocks of the\nmountain echoed back the noises.  The princess greeted them all as she\nnestled in her father's bosom, and the king did not set her down until\nshe had told them all the story.  But she had more to tell about Curdie\nthan about herself, and what she did tell about herself none of them\ncould understand--except the king and Curdie, who stood by the king's\nknee stroking the neck of the great white horse.  And still as she told\nwhat Curdie had done, Sir Walter and others added to what she told,\neven Lootie joining in the praises of his courage and energy.\n\nCurdie held his peace, looking quietly up in the king's face.  And his\nmother stood on the outskirts of the crowd listening with delight, for\nher son's deeds were pleasant in her ears, until the princess caught\nsight of her.\n\n'And there is his mother, king-papa!' she said.  'See--there.  She is\nsuch a nice mother, and has been so kind to me!'\n\nThey all parted asunder as the king made a sign to her to come forward.\nShe obeyed, and he gave her his hand, but could not speak.\n\n'And now, king-papa,' the princess went on, 'I must tell you another\nthing.  One night long ago Curdie drove the goblins away and brought\nLootie and me safe from the mountain.  And I promised him a kiss when\nwe got home, but Lootie wouldn't let me give it him.  I don't want you\nto scold Lootie, but I want you to tell her that a princess must do as\nshe promises.'\n\n'Indeed she must, my child--except it be wrong,' said the king. 'There,\ngive Curdie a kiss.'\n\nAnd as he spoke he held her towards him.\n\nThe princess reached down, threw her arms round Curdie's neck, and\nkissed him on the mouth, saying: 'There, Curdie!  There's the kiss I\npromised you!'\n\nThen they all went into the house, and the cook rushed to the kitchen\nand the servants to their work.  Lootie dressed Irene in her shiningest\nclothes, and the king put off his armour, and put on purple and gold;\nand a messenger was sent for Peter and all the miners, and there was a\ngreat and a grand feast, which continued long after the princess was\nput to bed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 31\n\nThe Subterranean Waters\n\n\nThe king's harper, who always formed a part of his escort, was chanting\na ballad which he made as he went on playing on his instrument--about\nthe princess and the goblins, and the prowess of Curdie, when all at\nonce he ceased, with his eyes on one of the doors of the hall.\nThereupon the eyes of the king and his guests turned thitherward also.\nThe next moment, through the open doorway came the princess Irene.  She\nwent straight up to her father, with her right hand stretched out a\nlittle sideways, and her forefinger, as her father and Curdie\nunderstood, feeling its way along the invisible thread.  The king took\nher on his knee, and she said in his ear:\n\n'King-papa, do you hear that noise?'\n\n'I hear nothing,' said the king.\n\n'Listen,' she said, holding up her forefinger.\n\nThe king listened, and a great stillness fell upon the company. Each\nman, seeing that the king listened, listened also, and the harper sat\nwith his harp between his arms, and his finger silent upon the strings.\n\n'I do hear a noise,' said the king at length--'a noise as of distant\nthunder.  It is coming nearer and nearer.  What can it be?'\n\nThey all heard it now, and each seemed ready to start to his feet as he\nlistened.  Yet all sat perfectly still.  The noise came rapidly nearer.\n\n'What can it be?' said the king again.\n\n'I think it must be another storm coming over the mountain,' said Sir\nWalter.\n\nThen Curdie, who at the first word of the king had slipped from his\nseat, and laid his ear to the ground, rose up quickly, and approaching\nthe king said, speaking very fast:\n\n'Please, Your Majesty, I think I know what it is.  I have no time to\nexplain, for that might make it too late for some of us.  Will Your\nMajesty give orders that everybody leave the house as quickly as\npossible and get up the mountain?'\n\nThe king, who was the wisest man in the kingdom, knew well there was a\ntime when things must be done and questions left till afterwards.  He\nhad faith in Curdie, and rose instantly, with Irene in his arms.\n'Every man and woman follow me,' he said, and strode out into the\ndarkness.\n\nBefore he had reached the gate, the noise had grown to a great\nthundering roar, and the ground trembled beneath their feet, and before\nthe last of them had crossed the court, out after them from the great\nhall door came a huge rush of turbid water, and almost swept them away.\nBut they got safe out of the gate and up the mountain, while the\ntorrent went roaring down the road into the valley beneath.\n\nCurdie had left the king and the princess to look after his mother,\nwhom he and his father, one on each side, caught up when the stream\novertook them and carried safe and dry.\n\nWhen the king had got out of the way of the water, a little up the\nmountain, he stood with the princess in his arms, looking back with\namazement on the issuing torrent, which glimmered fierce and foamy\nthrough the night.  There Curdie rejoined them.\n\n'Now, Curdie,' said the king, 'what does it mean?  Is this what you\nexpected?'\n\n'It is, Your Majesty,' said Curdie; and proceeded to tell him about the\nsecond scheme of the goblins, who, fancying the miners of more\nimportance to the upper world than they were, had resolved, if they\nshould fail in carrying off the king's daughter, to flood the mine and\ndrown the miners.  Then he explained what the miners had done to\nprevent it.  The goblins had, in pursuance of their design, let loose\nall the underground reservoirs and streams, expecting the water to run\ndown into the mine, which was lower than their part of the mountain,\nfor they had, as they supposed, not knowing of the solid wall close\nbehind, broken a passage through into it.  But the readiest outlet the\nwater could find had turned out to be the tunnel they had made to the\nking's house, the possibility of which catastrophe had not occurred to\nthe young miner until he had laid his ear to the floor of the hall.\n\nWhat was then to be done?  The house appeared in danger of falling, and\nevery moment the torrent was increasing.\n\n'We must set out at once,' said the king.  'But how to get at the\nhorses!'\n\n'Shall I see if we can manage that?' said Curdie.\n\n'Do,' said the king.\n\nCurdie gathered the men-at-arms, and took them over the garden wall,\nand so to the stables.  They found their horses in terror; the water\nwas rising fast around them, and it was quite time they were got out.\nBut there was no way to get them out, except by riding them through the\nstream, which was now pouring from the lower windows as well as the\ndoor.  As one horse was quite enough for any man to manage through such\na torrent, Curdie got on the king's white charger and, leading the way,\nbrought them all in safety to the rising ground.\n\n'Look, look, Curdie!' cried Irene, the moment that, having dismounted,\nhe led the horse up to the king.\n\nCurdie did look, and saw, high in the air, somewhere about the top of\nthe king's house, a great globe of light shining like the purest silver.\n\n'Oh!' he cried in some consternation, 'that is your grandmother's lamp!\nWe must get her out.  I will go and find her.  The house may fall, you\nknow.'\n\n'My grandmother is in no danger,' said Irene, smiling.\n\n'Here, Curdie, take the princess while I get on my horse,' said the\nking.\n\nCurdie took the princess again, and both turned their eyes to the globe\nof light.  The same moment there shot from it a white bird, which,\ndescending with outstretched wings, made one circle round the king and\nCurdie and the princess, and then glided up again.  The light and the\npigeon vanished together.\n\n'Now, Curdie!' said the princess, as he lifted her to her father's\narms, 'you see my grandmother knows all about it, and isn't frightened.\nI believe she could walk through that water and it wouldn't wet her a\nbit.'\n\n'But, my child,' said the king, 'you will be cold if you haven't\nsomething more on.  Run, Curdie, my boy, and fetch anything you can lay\nyour hands on, to keep the princess warm.  We have a long ride before\nus.'\n\nCurdie was gone in a moment, and soon returned with a great rich fur,\nand the news that dead goblins were tossing about in the current\nthrough the house.  They had been caught in their own snare; instead of\nthe mine they had flooded their own country, whence they were now swept\nup drowned.  Irene shuddered, but the king held her close to his bosom.\nThen he turned to Sir Walter, and said:\n\n'Bring Curdie's father and mother here.'\n\n'I wish,' said the king, when they stood before him, 'to take your son\nwith me.  He shall enter my bodyguard at once, and wait further\npromotion.'\n\nPeter and his wife, overcome, only murmured almost inaudible thanks.\nBut Curdie spoke aloud.\n\n'Please, Your Majesty,' he said, 'I cannot leave my father and mother.'\n\n'That's right, Curdie!' cried the princess.  'I wouldn't if I was you.'\n\nThe king looked at the princess and then at Curdie with a glow of\nsatisfaction on his countenance.\n\n'I too think you are right, Curdie,' he said, 'and I will not ask you\nagain.  But I shall have a chance of doing something for you some time.'\n\n'Your Majesty has already allowed me to serve you,' said Curdie.\n\n'But, Curdie,' said his mother, 'why shouldn't you go with the king?\nWe can get on very well without you.'\n\n'But I can't get on very well without you,' said Curdie.  'The king is\nvery kind, but I could not be half the use to him that I am to you.\nPlease, Your Majesty, if you wouldn't mind giving my mother a red\npetticoat!  I should have got her one long ago, but for the goblins.'\n\n'As soon as we get home,' said the king, 'Irene and I will search out\nthe warmest one to be found, and send it by one of the gentlemen.'\n\n'Yes, that we will, Curdie!' said the princess.  'And next summer we'll\ncome back and see you wear it, Curdie's mother,' she added. 'Shan't we,\nking-papa?'\n\n'Yes, my love; I hope so,' said the king.\n\nThen turning to the miners, he said:\n\n'Will you do the best you can for my servants tonight?  I hope they\nwill be able to return to the house tomorrow.'\n\nThe miners with one voice promised their hospitality. Then the king\ncommanded his servants to mind whatever Curdie should say to them, and\nafter shaking hands with him and his father and mother, the king and\nthe princess and all their company rode away down the side of the new\nstream, which had already devoured half the road, into the starry night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 32\n\nThe Last Chapter\n\n\nAll the rest went up the mountain, and separated in groups to the homes\nof the miners.  Curdie and his father and mother took Lootie with them.\nAnd the whole way a light, of which all but Lootie understood the\norigin, shone upon their path.  But when they looked round they could\nsee nothing of the silvery globe.\n\nFor days and days the water continued to rush from the doors and\nwindows of the king's house, and a few goblin bodies were swept out\ninto the road.\n\nCurdie saw that something must be done.  He spoke to his father and the\nrest of the miners, and they at once proceeded to make another outlet\nfor the waters.  By setting all hands to the work, tunnelling here and\nbuilding there, they soon succeeded; and having also made a little\ntunnel to drain the water away from under the king's house, they were\nsoon able to get into the wine cellar, where they found a multitude of\ndead goblins--among the rest the queen, with the skin-shoe gone, and\nthe stone one fast to her ankle--for the water had swept away the\nbarricade, which prevented the men-at-arms from following the goblins,\nand had greatly widened the passage.  They built it securely up, and\nthen went back to their labours in the mine.\n\nA good many of the goblins with their creatures escaped from the\ninundation out upon the mountain.  But most of them soon left that part\nof the country, and most of those who remained grew milder in\ncharacter, and indeed became very much like the Scotch brownies. Their\nskulls became softer as well as their hearts, and their feet grew\nharder, and by degrees they became friendly with the inhabitants of the\nmountain and even with the miners.  But the latter were merciless to\nany of the cobs' creatures that came in their way, until at length they\nall but disappeared.\n\nThe rest of the history of The Princess and Curdie must be kept for\nanother volume.","title":"The Princess and the Goblin","tradition":"folklore-oral-tradition","translated_text":null,"word_count":50960}