Now the coast line was plainly visible to the naked eye; and now it was but a few miles away, the hills and rocks standing out distinctly. Yet how far off it seemed to the despairing aëronauts! Neither spoke; each held his breath and his tongue, expecting to have to make a final struggle and swim for life. Lower and lower sank the balloon. Once more the car spatted the water, and this time it did not rebound, but went tearing along at railroad speed, deluging and almost drowning its occupants. For a few minutes the two lost all sense of their surroundings, nearly lost consciousness. Then the car struck the shelving, sandy shore with a smart bump, and the balloon came to a full stop. The wild and dangerous ride was over! “Saved!” sputtered Fitz Mee, jumping from the car and dancing up and down. “Saved!” coughed Bob, indulging in similar antics. Then they tearfully embraced, whirling round and round, their saturated garments dripping a circle of wet upon the yellow sands. The sun was gone from sight; the shades of night were stealing in upon them. “We can’t do anything to-night toward resuming our voyage,” the goblin remarked; “it’s almost dark now. Then you’re wet and weak and I’m famished and faint. We’ll spend the hours of darkness here upon the warm sands, and in the morning we’ll look around us.” “All right,” the boy agreed; “I guess that’s the best we can do.” By dint of a deal of tugging and grunting, they drew the balloon up out of reach of wave and tide. Then they wrung their garments, swallowed a number of food-tablets and drink-pellets and lay down to sleep under the shelter of an overhanging cliff. The sun was an hour high when they awoke. Simultaneously they opened their eyes and sprang to their feet. Sleep had much refreshed them; the warm air and sand had dried their garments. After partaking of a hearty but hasty breakfast, they began to look around them. At their feet lay their balloon, a sorry wreck. But close examination made plain the fact that it could be easily repaired and put in shape. A short distance to the north a river put into the sea. They sauntered to the mouth of it, and took in the view of the broad fertile valley. A mile or two up the stream lay a small village. “I’ll tell you what we’ve got to do, Bob,” Fitz remarked reflectively, scratching his head. “Well, what?” inquired the boy. “We’ve got to go into that town.” “What for?” “For cord and goose feathers. We need the cord to splice the broken ropes of our car, and we need the feathers to refill our bag.” “Yes,” the lad mumbled, “we need those articles all right, Fitz; but maybe the people of the village don’t have such things.” “Of course they do,” the goblin sneered superiorly. “How do you know?” the boy said tauntingly. “Well, I know.” “No, you don’t; you just guess.” “A goblin never guesses at anything.” “I guess he does; you guessed we’d get drowned—but we didn’t.” “Shut up!” “_You_ shut up!” “I won’t!” “Neither will I!”