Then he lifted a lid of the locker, took out a small instrument and busied himself with the manipulation of its mechanism. Bob leaned over the edge of the car and devoted his attention to the scene below. Directly beneath lay the sleeping village, its roofs showing white in the bright moonlight. To east and west the hills rolled away, their summits hoary, their bases shadowy and obscure; and among them wound the placid river—a stream of molten silver threading the narrow vale. The roar of the distant mill-dam sounded sullen and indistinct, and the mists rising from it waved as fairy plumes and banners. The lad looked and listened, entranced, enraptured. “How beautiful it all is!” he murmured feelingly to himself, a catch in his voice. “I—I like it; and I rather hate to leave it.” “Homesick already, are you, before you’re out of sight of home?” Fitz Mee queried, his eyes upon the curious instrument he had placed in the bottom of the car. “No, I’m not homesick!” Bob retorted sharply. “You’re not?” Fitz grinned provokingly. “What did you mean by your words, then?” “I was just admiring the beautiful scene, that’s all,” Bob explained. “Oh!” ejaculated the goblin, wagging his head and saucily extruding his tongue. “Uh-huh,” the lad nodded in return. “Well, I’ll show you scenes far more beautiful—in Goblinland.” It was Bob’s turn to sneer. “_Maybe_ you will,” he said. “I will,” Fitz asserted positively. “When?” “When we get there, of course.” “Yes; when we _get_ there.” “Well, we’ll get there.” “We’re not going very fast; we’re still right over the town.” And the boy laughed aloud, scornfully. “We haven’t started yet,” the goblin countered. “No; and we’re not likely to start, as far as I can see—unless a wind storm comes on; and it may blow us in any direction.” “Bosh!” barked the goblin. “Bosh, yourself!” snarled the boy. “Say, Bob?” “What?” “Let’s quit quarreling.” “All right.” “Shake!” They solemnly shook hands. “Now,” the goblin cried briskly, “if you’re ready to say good-bye to home, we’ll be off.” “I’m ready,” the lad answered; “but I don’t see how we’re going to be off.” “I’ll show you. See that little instrument on the floor of the car?” “That compass?” “That’s not a compass.” [Illustration: A broad band of moonlight streamed in at the open window. (See page 11.)] “It isn’t?” “No.” “Well, it looks like one. What is it?” “A wireless selector.” “And what’s that?” “You’ve heard of wireless telegraph instruments?” “Yes.” “And you know they send messages with them without using wires, don’t you?” “Yes.” “Then, too, you’ve heard or read that there are currents of electricity running around the globe in all directions, haven’t you?” “I—I think I have; yes.” “Well, the selector picks up or selects any current the operator desires, and enables him to travel over it in his balloon, using it as a propelling power.” “Well—well!” Bob exploded, in frank admiration. “Just like a trolley car!”