But Bob was neither convinced nor satisfied, and he resolved to have the nuggets at all hazard. Where was the harm? The gold was of no value to the goblins; it would be of great value to him. And he wouldn’t say a word about where he got it—indeed he wouldn’t. He would take it; and no one would be the wiser or the poorer. So, while his comrade was busy at other things, he slipped out to the brookside and filled his pockets. One o’clock came, the time of departure, and all Goblinville, including the mayor and his officers, was out to see the aëronauts off upon their long voyage. The mayor shook hands with the two and wished them God-speed and the populace gave them three hearty cheers. Then the anchor was weighed, and they were off. Slowly and majestically the great state balloon began to ascend. But when it had risen a hundred feet, Bob, looking over the side of the car, became aware of a disturbance in the crowd beneath. He saw goblins excitedly running this way and that and a number of officers trundling a big black object on wheels across the public square. “What’s the meaning of the rumpus, Fitz?” the lad cried to his companion. “What’s that the officers have?” “Why,” Fitz gasped, taking a hurried look beneath, “the officers are running out the dynamite gun!” “And they’re training it upon our balloon—upon _us_!” Bob whispered hoarsely, his soul a prey to guilty fear. “What—what can it mean, Fitz?” Then arose the voice of the mayor, bellowing: “Fitz Mee, descend! Come back! That boy can’t leave Goblinland with his pockets full of gold! He has deceived us; he can’t leave Goblinland at all. Come down; or we’ll send a dynamite shell through the balloon-bag, and bring you down in a hurry.” Fitz gave a few strokes to the pump, and the big balloon came to a stop. Bob sat silent, speechless at the dread result of his rash act. “You’ve played the mischief—_you_ have, Bob Taylor!” his companion snarled angrily, reproachfully. “And you’ll spend the balance of your days in Goblinland—that’s what!” “Oh, dear!” the boy found voice to moan. “Oh, dear!” “Hello!” Fitz called over the side of the car. “Hello, your honor!” “Hello!” answered the mayor. “If I’ll make the boy throw the gold down to you, will that satisfy you?” “No, it won’t!” came the hoarse and determined reply. “Bring the young scamp back! He shall stay in Goblinville!” “I guess I won’t!” Bob shouted, desperation spurring his courage. And he sprang to the air-tank and opened the cock. The balloon began to rise swiftly. “Oh, Bob—Bob!” Fitz Mee groaned. “What have you done? We’ll both be killed!” “Boom!” went the dynamite gun; and a shell tore through the balloon-bag, rending it asunder and sending goose feathers fluttering in all directions. The car began to drop like a plummet. Its occupants let it out shrill screeches of terror. Then came the proverbial dull, sickening thud! Bob felt the empty balloon—bag fall over him and envelop him; and then he lost consciousness.