“A miracle!” seconded his people, following his example. Taking advantage of the momentary respite in his favor, Bob jumped into the car. Fitz released the air; and away the balloon soared—up through the treetops—to the fleecy clouds far, far above the earth. Cries and wails of disappointment and chagrin followed the daring aëronauts. “Saved again!” yelled Bob. “Saved again!” croaked Fitz. “They came near catching us!” the boy panted. “Yes, and it was all your fault,” the goblin grumbled. “How do you make that out?” Bob cried sharply. “Why, you wouldn’t take the gob-tabs, and that delayed us—that’s how,” Fitz Mee retorted. “Yes, and _you_ lay down and laughed in the old woman’s door-yard; and that delayed us, too.” “It didn’t!” “It did!” “It _didn’t_, I say!” “It _did_, I say!” “Bob, you’re a contrary boy, that’s what _you_ are!” “And, Fitz, you’re a stubborn goblin, that’s what _you_ are!” Then they sat upon the locker and glared at each other—and burst out laughing. “Well, we got away, anyhow,” Fitz said. “That’s what we did,” Bob replied. “Let’s be off.” “All right.” “Here’s for Goblinland!” waving his arms. “Hurrah!” waving his cap. Fitz began to manipulate the selector. “You haven’t set that needle right,” the boy objected. “Huh?”—sharply. “No, you haven’t.” “Why haven’t I?” “Goblinland’s east from here, isn’t it?” “Of course.” “Well, you’ve set that needle pointing west.” “I haven’t.” “You have, too.” “Why, Bob, the sun rises in the east, doesn’t it?” “To be sure.” “Well?” “Well, it’s afternoon now, and the sun’s in the west; and you’ve set the indicator pointing straight toward it.” “I tell you it’s forenoon; and the sun’s in the east.” “Fitz, you’re _wrong_.” “Bob, I’m _not_.” “You’ll _see_.” “_You’ll_ see.” “Fitz Mee, you don’t know anything.” “Bob Taylor, I know everything.” “_Yes_, you do!” “I _do_!” “Bah!” the boy sneered. “You didn’t know enough to loose the latch of a parrot cage and let yourself out.” “And _you_ didn’t know enough to take gob-tabs when you needed ’em.” “Yeah!” “Yeah!” Both remained sullenly silent for some seconds. Then Bob said grumblingly: “All right, Fitz Mee, have your way. You’ll see, though.” The goblin made no reply; he simply turned the thumb-screw of the selector, and the balloon sailed away upon its course rapidly and gracefully. Presently, however, Fitz gave a start and muttered: “Why, we’re out over the water again; and we ought to be crossing the mountains. I wonder what’s the matter—eh, Bob?” “Oh! there’s nothing the matter,” snickered Bob, “except we’re going west, as I told you—going back to America.” [Illustration] “Bob, I—I guess you’re right,” Fitz admitted, reluctantly. “Of course I’m right,” the boy said, swelling with supreme self-satisfaction. “Well,” muttered the goblin, “we can turn around and go the other way; and we _will_.” With that he again began to busy himself with the selector. But in a moment he mumbled peevishly: