'I think I should like most of all to go to the sea-fairies,' said Leonore. 'I do so love stories of mermaids, though they are nearly always rather sad. But oh, Hildegarde, that must be the gate into gnomeland--I am so glad it does not feel any hotter; it is quite nice and cool, isn't it?'

Just before them stood a wrought-iron gate or door; it had bars across and was beautifully worked in all sorts of curious patterns and designs.

On the top of each gate-post sat a bird--one was like an owl, and at first the little girls thought it must be really alive, for its eyes seemed to blink and its feathers to move softly. And opposite it was an eagle, whose keen eyes gleamed redly, while its wings sparkled like burnished gold. But neither was a living bird, and soon the children discovered that it was only the reflection of the light on the polished metal that gave the look of life to the eyes and plumage. The birds were placed sideways as if to see both inside the gate and outwards along the pa.s.sage, and from the claw of the eagle hung a chain, ending in a fawn's foot also in bronze, or some such metal.

'That must be the gnomes' front-door bell,' said Hildegarde. 'Shall I ring it, or will you?'

Leonore was creeping behind Hildegarde a little.

'Oh you, please,' she replied, and Hildegarde took the fawn's foot in her hand and pulled it--gently and carefully, for she remembered the fairy's warning--and a good thing it was that she did so, for softly though she had touched it, the result was rather startling. It rang out at once with a deep clang, which, strange to say, went sounding on and on, very loudly at first, then by degrees more faintly, till it was lost in the distance--it was as if hundreds of bells or echoes of bells had been pulled instead of one.

Even Hildegarde looked a little alarmed.

'I hope they won't think us rude,' she said, 'I really scarcely----' but before she had time to say more, a face appeared behind the bars of the gate. It was a gnome--a regular, proper sort of gnome--about half the height of the children, with a pointed cap and a mantle tossed over one shoulder, a queer wrinkled-up face, a big nose, and black bead-like eyes. He did not look particularly good-natured; he was evidently not one of the laughing order of gnomes, not at any rate at the present moment. But neither did he seem exactly surly; his expression was rather as if he were waiting to see what kind of beings were these audacious visitors!

But his first words were a great surprise, for instead of asking what they wanted, or any natural question of that kind, he tilted back his head, so that if his peaked cap had not been firmly fitted it would certainly have fallen off, and peering up into Hildegarde's face--Leonore by this time had crept well behind her companion--said sharply--

'What's o'clock?'

CHAPTER VI

GNOMELAND

He appeared, sniffed, and sneered, In a fairy pet.--_Child Nature._

For a moment or two Hildegarde stared down at the little man without speaking. Then her face lighted up again, and she replied--

'I am very sorry, sir, that I can't tell you, for I have no watch and I don't know.'

Something like a smile broke over the gnome's countenance.

'All right,' he said, 'you don't know, and you don't pretend you do. And _I_ don't want to know. Here in our country,' and he waved his hand in a lordly fashion, 'we have nothing to do with clocks and watches, and time and hours, and all such fiddle-faddle. We leave that to the poor folk who can't settle things for themselves, but have to be ruled by the sun and the moon, and the stars too, for all I know. Some people up there, where you come from, fancy we make the cuckoo-clocks down here, but that's all nonsense--we wouldn't waste our time over such rubbish.'

'I thought you said----' began Leonore impulsively. She was getting over her alarm a little by now--'I thought you said you didn't trouble about time,' she was _going_ to have added, but a touch from Hildegarde came, luckily, quickly enough to stop her, and to remind her of the fairy's warning.

The gnome did not seem to have heard her; he was unfastening the gates.

When he had got them ajar, he stood right in the middle, his head c.o.c.ked on one side and his feet well apart, and surveyed the children coolly.

'And who sent you?' he said at last.

'The fairy of the spinning-wheel,' Hildegarde replied.

'Humph--I thought as much,' he remarked. 'And what for, if you please?'

'To pay you and your wonderful country a visit, if you will kindly allow us to do so,' Hildegarde answered.

'That means that I am to----' he cleared his throat and hesitated for a moment, then went on again, 'to tire myself out doing showman; I suppose?' he said rather grumpily.

'I hope not to tire yourself out, sir,' Hildegarde returned in her politest tone. 'We shall give you as little trouble as possible, but we are of course very anxious to see all you will kindly show us.'

'All right,' the gnome replied. 'Enter, children of the upper world, and be welcome,' and he flung open the gates with a flourish, while Hildegarde and Leonore pa.s.sed through.

It had seemed to them as they stood waiting that within the entrance was much the same as outside, but no sooner had they stepped across the boundary, the doors clanging behind them as they did so, than they found everything quite different. They were no longer in a rather narrow pa.s.sage, but on a broad road, bordered on each side by magnificent rocks which stretched up so high that they could not see their summit or the roof. The ground was covered with very fine gravel or white silvery sand, firm and pleasant to walk upon, and which glistened like pale pink tinsel in the light. For everywhere was flooded with the soft red or rosy brilliance they had noticed before they entered, though whence it came they could not see.

'Why is the light so red?' asked Leonore, gaining some courage again, though since her last attempt she had not dared to speak. 'We noticed it outside, and we thought perhaps it came from big fires--furnaces you know, or forges--like what blacksmiths have.'

The gnome was walking a little in front--at this he turned round.

'And why should we have "big fires," or furnaces, or whatever you call the clumsy things?' he said, fixing his small bright eyes, which gleamed redly themselves, on Leonore.

'Oh,' said Leonore, dreadfully afraid that he thought her rude, 'because--because--everybody says you make things like--like blacksmiths do--with iron and metal stuffs like that.'

'Indeed,' said the gnome, 'and what then? Do you think we denizens of the under-world are as stupid as your clumsy workmen up above? Wait a bit; you shall soon see for yourselves.'

'You mustn't think Leonore meant to be rude,' said Hildegarde. 'You see we are only children, and we don't understand about wonderfully clever things.'

'Humph,' said the gnome, but he seemed pleased.

They had walked some little way by now, and once or twice their guide had stopped at what looked like a narrow pa.s.sage between the rocks, as if uncertain if he should turn down it or not. Just then they came to another of these pa.s.sages, and he looked back at the children.

'Follow me,' he said, 'and you shall see how we work. I am going to show you the manufacturing of the lucky pennies and horse-shoes.'

'What are lucky pennies?' whispered Leonore to Hildegarde. 'I think I have heard of them, but I'm not sure.'

'Never mind,' Hildegarde replied in the same tone. 'The gnomes won't be vexed with us for not knowing things if we are polite and admire their cleverness, and I am sure they _are_ very clever.'

Then they followed their guide in silence, which soon, however, came to be broken by the sound of tapping, light sharp tapping, and in another moment or two, there was added to this a whizzing sound, and now and then short clear whistles. But the little girls asked no questions and made no remarks, till suddenly, the pa.s.sage along which they were walking coming to an end, they found themselves in a very large rock-chamber--the sides of which towered up so high that their tops could not be seen, though everywhere the same clear rose-coloured light penetrated.

The air was fresh and pleasant, though not cold. The gnomes evidently possessed the secret of warming their habitation as well as lighting it!

And now were explained the several sounds the children had heard as they approached the 'manufactory' as their guide had called it.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MANUFACTURING LUCKY PENNIES.]

For the great room--one would have called it a cave perhaps, except that no cave ever was so lofty--was filled with a crowd of busy workers.

Gnomes of course, some smaller, some a little bigger than the one who was guiding the children, but all as like each other as a lot of Chinese seem to us--and all apparently of the same age. A few were standing, but most were sitting, and in front of each was a small rock-table, on which lay tools of glistening silver. There were tiny hammers which explained the tapping, and little wheels revolving so rapidly that when in motion they could not be seen. And every now and then a gnome lifted a kind of tube or pipe to his mouth, through which he blew with a whistling sound, on to the piece of metal he was working at. None of them spoke; they all seemed absorbed in what they were doing.

The guide-gnome signed to the children to come close up to one little earth-man and watch what he was doing.

He was beating a round piece of copper with his fairy-like hammer, and blowing upon it between times through his whistling tube.

'There now,' said the first gnome, speaking at last. 'Is not that better than your scorching furnaces? That tube is a heat-tube--every time he blows through it, it melts, or at least softens the metal, without any fuss or trouble.'

'Really!' exclaimed Hildegarde, 'what a good plan! I wish we had heat-tubes to warm our fingers with in winter.'

'Better not wish for anything of the kind,' replied their guide. 'You up-above people are a long way from such things yet. You'd only burn your fingers off.'