But Wendell found no need to use the spell, for the little old Kobold was out in plain sight, at least in plain sight of Wendell, though no one else appeared to notice him in the dusk of evening. His eye lit up mockingly as Wendell approached. “I’ve got it this time,” said Wendell. “I found it in the _Transcript_.” “Oh, did you?” said the little old chap with less assurance than he had shown before. “What made you think of looking there?” Wendell decided not to tell him. “Oh, I read the _Transcript_ pretty regularly,” he said. “This is the answer:--‘Boston is a center of gravity almost entirely surrounded by Newtons.’” “You are right!” groaned the Kobold. “You are right!” and gnashed his teeth. Wendell was much interested, as he had heard of gnashing one’s teeth, but had never seen it done before; besides it cleared up that doubtful point in his mind as to whether the white-bearded Kobold had any teeth. When the Kobold had finished gnashing, he asked Wendell very respectfully, “By the way, can you tell me what it means?” “It’s perfectly clear,” said Wendell. “You know the Newtons around Boston, West Newton, and Newton Center, and so on. And Isaac Newton was the man who discovered the law of gravity--of falling, you know. And some people do think there’s a lot of gravity in Boston--grave conversation, I mean. I have a cousin from New York who thinks so. So it’s a fairly good joke, you see.” “No, I do not see,” returned the Kobold, grasping his head in both hands, “but it does not matter, I assure you. I shall not use it again under any circumstances. It is too ultra-modern. You may not have guessed it but I am a conservative.” “I guessed the riddle, anyway,” maintained Wendell, “so where’s the Maiden?” “She is here,” said the Kobold, looking down at the rustling leaves, where Wendell now made out the ugly shape of the frog. “Maiden, you are free.” And there she stood, slim and beautiful in the dusk, and looked at Wendell with the utmost gratitude. “My deliverer!” she breathed softly. “I suppose you will have to marry her now,” said the Kobold to Wendell. “It is always customary.” Wendell was sure there was malice in the old fellow’s eye this time. “Why--why--” he stammered, “we didn’t plan that.” And the Beauteous Maiden added quickly, “Not yet. There are my cruel stepmother and the giant to consider. Come, sit with me on yonder bench, and we will discuss the matter.” So they moved away and left the Kobold standing there, and that was the last that Wendell saw of _him_, though for all I know, the old fellow may still be living under Flag Staff Hill on Boston Common to this very moment. “The first thing I must do,” said the Beauteous Maiden, “is to hunt up that moving picture man and sign the contract. Then I shall be independent in case you shouldn’t succeed with my family.” “Succeed with your family--how do you mean?” asked Wendell.