Curdie was too polite to say he did not believe there was any thread there at all. What he did say was-- "Well, I can make nothing of it." "I can though, and you must be glad of that, for it will do for both of us." "We're not out yet," said Curdie. "We soon shall be," returned Irene confidently. And now the thread went downward, and led Irene's hand to a hole in the floor of the cavern, whence came a sound of running water which they had been hearing for some time. "It goes into the ground now, Curdie," she said, stopping. He had been listening to another sound, which his practised ear had caught long ago, and which also had been growing louder. It was the noise the goblin miners made at their work, and they seemed to be at no great distance now. Irene heard it the moment she stopped. "What is that noise?" she asked. "Do you know, Curdie?" "Yes. It is the goblins digging and burrowing," he answered. "And don't you know for what purpose they do it?" "No; I haven't the least idea. Would you like to see them?" he asked, wishing to have another try after their secret. "If my thread took me there, I shouldn't much mind; but I don't want to see them, and I can't leave my thread. It leads me down into the hole, and we had better go at once." "Very well. Shall I go in first?" said Curdie. "No; better not. You can't feel the thread," she answered, stepping down through a narrow break in the floor of the cavern. "Oh!" she cried, "I am in the water. It is running strong--but it is not deep, and there is just room to walk. Make haste, Curdie." He tried, but the hole was too small for him to get in. "Go on a little bit," he said, shouldering his pickaxe. In a few moments he had cleared a large opening and followed her. They went on, down and down with the running water, Curdie getting more and more afraid it was leading them to some terrible gulf in the heart of the mountain. In one or two places he had to break away the rock to make room before even Irene could get through--at least without hurting herself. But at length they spied a glimmer of light, and in a minute more, they were almost blinded by the full sunlight into which they emerged. It was some little time before the princess could see well enough to discover that they stood in her own garden, close by the seat on which she and her king-papa had sat that afternoon. They had come out by the channel of the little stream. She danced and clapped her hands with delight. "Now, Curdie!" she cried, "won't you believe what I told you about my grandmother and her thread?" For she had felt all the time that Curdie was not believing what she had told him. "There!--don't you see it shining on before us?" she added. "I don't see anything," persisted Curdie. "Then you must believe without seeing," said the princess; "for you can't deny it has brought me out of the mountain."