“Yes,” the goblin nodded, “and the forenoon was short, too. You must remember we’re moving east very rapidly—running away from the sun, running to meet the night. It’ll be dark soon. I wish we’d sight the coast; it seems to me it’s about time we were doing so.”

“What’s that wavy blue line ahead of us?” Bob inquired.

“I don’t see anything,” Fitz answered.

“I do,” the boy insisted positively. “Give me the glass.”

“It must be land, then,” the goblin suggested.

“It is land!” Bob cried joyfully. “We’re going to be all right, Fitz.”

“I—I hope so,” Fitz made answer; “I hope we’ll make it.”

Warned by his companion’s tone and manner that danger was imminent, the lad jerked the binocular from his eyes and dropped his gaze to the ocean. One glance was sufficient; the car was threatening to dip into the water at any moment.

“Oh, Fitz!” the boy wailed. “What are we to do?”

“I don’t know!” Fitz whimpered, wringing his hands and wriggling about upon the locker. “We can’t do anything—oh, we can’t do anything! We’re lost—lost!”

“Look here, Fitz Mee, you old Convulsions!” Bob cried angrily. “You got me into this thing; now you’ve got to help get me out. Wake up! You’re playing the baby. And you called me a coward! You’re the coward! Wake up!” roughly shaking him, “We’ve got to throw something overboard; and I’ll throw you, in about a minute.”

Just then the car hit the water a glancing spat that threw a blinding cloud of brine over the two aËronauts. The balloon rebounded from the impact and continued its mad speed.

“Whee!” screamed Fitz Mee. “You’re right, Bob. We must lighten the balloon some way; one more lick like that will tear the car loose from the bag. Raise the lids of the locker, and throw out a lot of the old stuff we won’t need.”

Frantically they began to lighten ship, flinging into the sea odds and ends of various kinds—the accumulation of many voyages. It availed them little, however; the balloon ascended but a few feet, and skimmed dangerously near to the water, into which it threatened to take a final plunge at any moment.

Now the coast line was plainly visible to the naked eye; and now it was but a few miles away, the hills and rocks standing out distinctly. Yet how far off it seemed to the despairing aËronauts! Neither spoke; each held his breath and his tongue, expecting to have to make a final struggle and swim for life.

Lower and lower sank the balloon. Once more the car spatted the water, and this time it did not rebound, but went tearing along at railroad speed, deluging and almost drowning its occupants. For a few minutes the two lost all sense of their surroundings, nearly lost consciousness. Then the car struck the shelving, sandy shore with a smart bump, and the balloon came to a full stop. The wild and dangerous ride was over!

“Saved!” sputtered Fitz Mee, jumping from the car and dancing up and down.

“Saved!” coughed Bob, indulging in similar antics.

Then they tearfully embraced, whirling round and round, their saturated garments dripping a circle of wet upon the yellow sands.

The sun was gone from sight; the shades of night were stealing in upon them.

“We can’t do anything to-night toward resuming our voyage,” the goblin remarked; “it’s almost dark now. Then you’re wet and weak and I’m famished and faint. We’ll spend the hours of darkness here upon the warm sands, and in the morning we’ll look around us.”

“All right,” the boy agreed; “I guess that’s the best we can do.”

By dint of a deal of tugging and grunting, they drew the balloon up out of reach of wave and tide. Then they wrung their garments, swallowed a number of food-tablets and drink-pellets and lay down to sleep under the shelter of an overhanging cliff.

The sun was an hour high when they awoke. Simultaneously they opened their eyes and sprang to their feet. Sleep had much refreshed them; the warm air and sand had dried their garments. After partaking of a hearty but hasty breakfast, they began to look around them.

At their feet lay their balloon, a sorry wreck. But close examination made plain the fact that it could be easily repaired and put in shape. A short distance to the north a river put into the sea. They sauntered to the mouth of it, and took in the view of the broad fertile valley. A mile or two up the stream lay a small village.

“I’ll tell you what we’ve got to do, Bob,” Fitz remarked reflectively, scratching his head.

“Well, what?” inquired the boy.

“We’ve got to go into that town.”

“What for?”

“For cord and goose feathers. We need the cord to splice the broken ropes of our car, and we need the feathers to refill our bag.”

“Yes,” the lad mumbled, “we need those articles all right, Fitz; but maybe the people of the village don’t have such things.”

“Of course they do,” the goblin sneered superiorly.

“How do you know?” the boy said tauntingly.

“Well, I know.”

“No, you don’t; you just guess.”

“A goblin never guesses at anything.”

“I guess he does; you guessed we’d get drowned—but we didn’t.”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“I won’t!”

“Neither will I!”

Then they stood and silently glared at each other for a full half minute. Finally both began to look foolish, and burst out laughing.

“Fitz, you’re too hot-headed, you old Epilepsy,” Bob giggled.

“I know it,” tittered the goblin; “but so are you, Roberty-Boberty.”

“I know it,” the boy admitted; “but I can’t stay mad at you, Fitz.”

“I can’t stay mad at you, either, Bob. Now let’s stop our foolishness and go to that village, and see about the cord and feathers we need.”

“All right. But how are we to get the things, Fitz? Have you any money?”

“I’ve got gold; that’s just as good.”

“Gold?”

“Yes. Look here.”

The goblin took a bag of yellow nuggets from his pocket and emptied them out and shook them before the boy’s eyes.

“Is that gold?” Bob inquired, interested and not a little excited.

“Yes, to be sure,” Fitz Mee answered.

“Where did you get it?”

“In Goblinland.”

“Is there much of it there?”

“Bushels of it. These nuggets are as common there as pebbles are in your country.”

“Indeed!” the lad exclaimed, in wide-eyed wonder and admiration. “You goblins must be mighty rich.”

“We don’t put any value upon gold,” was the complacent reply; “we never use it at home.”

Bob was thoughtfully silent for some seconds.

“What’re you thinking about?” his companion inquired with a shrewd and cunning smile.

“Thinking how rich I can be when I go back home,” was the a frank admission. Then abruptly: “What’s that coming down the road yonder, Fitz?”

“Hello!” the goblin ejaculated delightedly. “We won’t have to tramp to the village. That’s a gooseherd. See; he has the geese tethered together with twine and is guiding them with a crook. We’ll wait here and buy them of him.”

The gooseherd and his flock drew near. He was a tall, angular young man, ragged and barefoot. His merry whistle rose above the strident quacks of his charges, and his flat feet softly spatted the dust of the highway in time to his own music.

Fitz Mee stepped forward, politely lifted his cap and said in greeting:

“Good morning, Sir Gooseherd.”

The young man stopped in his tracks and dropped his crook and his jaw at the same time. Plainly he was startled at the sudden appearance of the little green sprite and his companion, and just as plainly he was greatly frightened.

“We desire to purchase your geese,” the goblin ventured, boldly advancing. “How much gold will buy them?”

The gooseherd let out a shrill yell of terror and turned and fled up the road as fast as his long legs could carry him. The geese attempted to flee also, but, being tethered together, became hopelessly and helplessly entangled and fell to the ground, a flapping, quacking mass.

Bob and Fitz laughed heartily.

“Hurrah!” the goblin whooped. “The geese and cord are ours, anyhow.”

“But we didn’t pay the fellow,” Bob objected.

“I’ll fix that,” his comrade assured him. “When we’ve plucked the feathers off the geese, I’ll tie the bag of nuggets around the neck of one, and then we’ll turn ’em loose. The young fellow’ll find ’em and get the gold. And now we must hurry up and get through with this job and be off from this coast; the gooseherd may come back and bring his friends with him.”

The two diminutive aËronauts laboriously disentangled the geese and drove them to the immediate vicinity of the wrecked balloon. There they plucked the feathers off the quacking, quaking fowls, and refilled the balloon-bag and closed the rent. Then they turned the stripped and complaining birds loose, one meekly bearing the bag of gold; and finally they spliced the broken ropes of the car and were ready to resume their voyage.

“Jump in and pump up the tank a little, Bob,” Fitz cried joyfully. “I’ll be ready to weigh anchor when you say the word.”

But at that moment came the patter of many feet upon the dry sand, followed by a shower of clubs and stones that rattled about the car and the heads of its occupants, and instantly the balloon was surrounded by a crowd of gaping, leering villagers!

“Captured!” groaned Fitz Mee.

“Captured!” echoed Bob.

The villagers began to close in upon them, brandishing rude weapons and uttering hoarse cries of rage.

In sheer desperation the goblin squirmed and grimaced, and ended his ridiculous performance by uttering a blood-curdling “boo!”

The startled villagers fell back in indecision and alarm, tumbling over one another in frantic efforts to get out of reach of the little green sprite. Taking instant advantage of the respite, Bob whipped out his knife and cut the anchor rope, and with a smart jerk the balloon sprang aloft.

“Saved!” murmured the boy. “Saved, Fitz Mee!”

He received no answer; and he hurriedly turned to look for his companion who, a moment before, had been at his side. Then he sank back upon the locker, overcome with wonder and dismay. Fitz Mee was not in the car; Bob was alone!