“Yes, I do,” said the goblin, nodding gravely; but his twinkling pop eyes belied his words. “You see, Bob, you’re the first human being that has ever come to Goblinland. Now, the secrets of the country—including the secret of its whereabouts, have always been carefully guarded. I don’t know what his honor, the mayor, will say about letting you go.” “I won’t tell anything, Fitz, I won’t—I won’t!” “Not a thing?” questioned Fitz Mee. “No, sir—not a thing.” “W-e-ll, I—I don’t know. What will you do, Bob, if the mayor won’t let you go back home?” “I’ll just die—that’s what!” The goblin slapped his thin thighs and laughed and whooped, and laughed some more. Out of patience, the lad screamed: “Laugh! Laugh till you burst, you old Convulsions! You old Spasms! You old Hysterics! Yeah! Yeah!” And Fitz Mee did laugh—till he was entirely out of breath and panting and wheezing like a bellows. When at last he had regained control of himself, he whispered brokenly: “Bob, we’ll—we’ll go and see—the mayor.” And they caught up their caps and were off. “So you wish to go home, boy—eh?” said the mayor, the august ruler of Goblinville and all adjacent territory, as soon as the two were ushered into his presence. “Yes, sir,” Bob answered humbly. Then, with boyish inquisitiveness: “But how did you know it?” “Never mind,” was the gruff reply. “It will please you to return home will it?” “Yes, sir, indeed it will.” “Then you must go. Be off at once.” “But—but—” Bob began. “I’ll fix all that,” his honor interrupted, quickly divining what the boy meant to say. “I’m as anxious to be rid of you as you are to be gone. You’ve stirred up a pretty rumpus here—_you_ have. You’re the first human boy that ever came into my domain; and you’ll be the last. But I trust your experience has done you good—eh?” Bob nodded. “Very well, then. Sign this pledge that you won’t reveal what you’ve seen and learned, and that you’ll take the lesson to heart.” Bob gladly signed the pledge. “Now,” continued the mayor, his eyes snapping humorously, “these are the conditions under which you must leave my domain: I’ll call in the chemists and have them restore you to normal size; I’ve already communicated with them, and they assure me they can do it. Then I’ll let the honorable and worthy Fitz Mee take my state balloon and carry you back to Yankeeland. You will set out this afternoon at one o’clock. But one other thing I exact: you must bear nothing away with you that you did not bring here with you.” And the mayor gave the boy a keen, meaningful look that the urchin could not interpret. [Illustration] The chemists came in, three aged and bewhiskered goblins wearing long, black robes and silk skull caps. “My good chemists,” said the mayor, “are you ready for the experiment?” “All ready, your honor,” the eldest of the three made answer, bowing profoundly. “To work, then,” the mayor commanded.