The Kobold chuckled grimly--an exclusive sort of chuckle that made Wendell feel very much out of the joke. “If you wish to win the Maiden’s freedom,” he said slowly, “you will first have to guess a riddle. You may have three chances to give the answer. If you guess correctly on any one of those trials, the Maiden shall be restored to her original form. If [Illustration: “WHO SUMMONS ME?” SAID THE KOBOLD] you fail, she shall still remain a frog, and you too shall be transformed into another shape at my will.” “Good gracious!” cried Wendell. “Is there as much to it as all that? I’m not going to be changed into anything at anybody’s will. You can keep your old riddle and your frog, too, for all of me.” He turned to go. “Stay!” cried the Kobold, so he stayed to listen. “I might add,” said the Kobold, “that while the above terms are my regular ones, I might make a slight reduction in your case, as business is particularly dull just now. Indeed, to be candid, it is nearly a hundred years since I have had any opportunity to hold this guessing contest.” “Well, how much of a reduction?” asked Wendell. “Will you leave out the part about transforming me? Say, if I win, the frog changes back to the Maiden, and if I lose, it stays a frog?” “No, no,” returned the Kobold. “Such is not my method of doing business. The princes that have entered this contest in times past have at least agreed to be transformed for a limited time.” “Not for a moment, for me,” said Wendell. “Times have changed.” “A week, say,” urged the Kobold. “I tell you frankly I shall not release the Maiden for less, and if she is not released before one more year is run, she will be turned into a loathly dragon for life.” “Well, make it a week, then,” said Wendell sulkily. “Agreed!” said the Kobold. “Here, then, is the riddle you must answer:--_What is Boston?_” Without a moment’s hesitation, just as promptly as if he had been asked his own name, Wendell replied in Dr. Holmes’ words, as any Boston boy would, “Boston is the Hub of the Universe.” “Wrong! Wrong!” chuckled the Kobold maliciously. “I knew you’d say that. But there is another answer.” “Well,” said the crestfallen Wendell, “I’ll go home and think it over. And say, do I have to come at midnight every time? It’s mighty hard to sneak out just then.” “No, I will make an appointment with you for any time you say,” returned the Kobold obligingly. “Morning, evening, whatever you wish.” “Let’s make it eight o’clock in the morning,” said Wendell. “I could drop in here on the way to school.” “To-morrow?” asked the Kobold. “N-no,” hesitated Wendell. “I’ll need a little time on this thing.” “I’ll wager you will,” chuckled the old Kobold, growing almost slangy in his dignified glee. “Say the day after to-morrow,” suggested Wendell. “Agreed!” said the Kobold. “You will find me here outside the hill. And mind you bring back that frog. It is not your property, you must remember.”