It is not necessary to enter into details in regard to all the boy saw, experienced and learned. Let it suffice to say that at three o’clock that afternoon he was completely worn out with strenuous sight-seeing. The grating, rumbling, thundering sounds had made his head ache; the sights and smells had made his heart sick. He had seen goblins, goblins, goblins—goblins sooty and grimed, goblins wizened and old before their time; goblins grinding out their lives in the cutlery factory; goblins inhaling poisonous fumes in the chemical works; goblins, like beasts of burden, staggering under heavy loads; goblins doing this thing, that thing and the other thing, that played havoc with their health and shortened their lives. And he was disgusted—nauseated with it all! “Oh, Fitz!” he groaned. “I can’t go another step; I can’t stand it to see any more! I thought it would be pleasant; but—oh, dear!” “Sit down here and rest a minute,” Fitz Mee said, not unkindly, indicating a rough bench against the wall of the corridor. “Now, why can’t you bear to see any more?” “Oh, it’s so awful!” the boy moaned. “I can’t bear to see ’em toiling and suffering, to see ’em so dirty and wretched.” The goblin laughed outright. “Bob, you’re a precious donkey!” he cried. “True, the workers in the factories toil hard at dirty work—work that shortens their lives in some cases; but they’re inured to it, and they don’t mind it as much as you think. And what would you? All labor is hard, if one but thinks so; there are no soft snaps, if one does his duty. It’s the way of the goblin world, and it’s the way of the human world. All must labor, all must suffer more or less; there’s no escape for the highest or the lowest. And work has its compensation, has its reward; it—” “Oh, shut up!” the lad muttered petulantly. “I don’t want to hear any more. You talk just like my papa does. I wish I’d never been born, if I’ve got to grow up and work. So there!” “You’ll never grow up, if you stay in Goblinville, Bob,” Fitz Mee said softly; but his pop eyes were twinkling humorously. “And you won’t have to work—not much, anyhow.” Bob sat soberly silent; evidently he was doing some deep thinking. The goblin went on: “If you’re rested now, we’ll resume our sight-seeing.” “I don’t want to see any more,” the lad grunted pugnaciously; “and I’m not going to, either.” “Yes, come on.” “I won’t do it.” “Please do, Bob.” “I won’t, I say.” “You’ll get us both into trouble.” “I don’t care if I do.” “They’ll send us to prison.” “What!” “They will.” “Who will?” “The mayor and his officers.” “Send us both?” “Yes.” “Well,” bristling, “I guess they won’t send _me_—the old meddlers! They won’t dare to; I’m not a citizen of this country.” “That won’t make any difference, Bob!” “It will too. If they send me to prison, the people of my country will come over here and—and lick ’em out of their boots. Now!”