Contrary to his expectations, however, the lad, really wearier than he realized, soon fell asleep. He slept through the day and far into the hours of darkness; and it was almost dawn of the next day when he awoke. He quietly arose and began to inspect his surroundings. A soft white radiance flooded the room. He drew aside the window-blind and peeped out. Darkness reigned, but bright lights twinkled here and there. He dropped the blind and again turned his attention to the things within. “I wonder if Fitz is awake,” he mumbled; “I’m hungry. I suppose he slept on the couch in the next room. I wonder where all this brightness comes from; I don’t see a lamp of any kind. Huh! It comes from that funny little black thing on the stand there. What kind of lamp can it be—hey?” He walked over and looked at the strange object—a small perforated cone, from the many holes of which the white light streamed. Noticing a projecting button near the top of the black cone, he made hold to touch it and give it a slight turn. Instantly the holes had closed and the room was in darkness. He turned the button back again; and the holes were open and the room was light as day. “Well, that beats _me_!” muttered Bob. “It looks like an electric light; but I don’t see any wires. There aren’t any wires. I must find Fitz and learn about this thing.” He peeped into the adjoining room, which was in darkness, and called: “Fitz! Oh, Fitz! Are you asleep, Fitz?” “Huh?” was the startled reply. “Yes—no, I guess so—I guess not, I mean.” Bob laughed. “Well, get up and come in here,” he said. “Why, it isn’t morning yet,” the goblin objected. “I’ve had my sleep out, anyhow.” “_I_ haven’t.” “Well, get up and come in here, won’t you?” “I suppose I might as well,” grumbled Fitz; “you won’t let me sleep any more.” Then, appearing in the doorway and rubbing his pop eyes and blinking: “Now, what do you want?” “First, I want to know what kind of a light this is,” indicating the little black cone. “Why, it’s an electric light, of course,” Fitz Mee made answer, in a tone that showed his wonder and surprise that Bob should ask such a question. “I don’t see how it can be, I don’t see any wires.” “Wires?” chuckled Fitz. “We don’t need any wires.” “Well, where does the electricity come from, then?” “From the bug under the cone.” “The bug?” “Yes, the electric firefly. Didn’t you ever see one?” Bob shook his head—half in negation, half in incredulity. “Well, I guess they’re peculiar to Goblinland, then,” Fitz went on, grinning impishly. “We raise them here by thousands and use them for lighting purposes. The electric firefly is a great bug. Like the electric eel, it gives one a shock if he touches it; and like the ordinary firefly, it sheds light—but electric light, and very bright. I’ll show you.” He gingerly lifted the perforated cone. There lay a bug, sure enough, a bug about the size of a hickory-nut, and so scintillant, so bright, that the eye could hardly gaze upon it.