Part 10 (1/2)

'Thank you,' said Hildegarde respectfully. 'I daresay we should. But will you kindly explain about lucky pennies. Is that one he is making?'

'Yes,' replied the gnome. 'You good, near-sighted people,' and he jerked his thumb upwards, 'don't see the difference. You don't know when you get hold of a lucky penny or not--but a great many are sent up to your world, all the same, and that is why some folk seem to succeed with you and some not. _Partly_ the reason, that is to say, for the holders of lucky pennies must be honest, otherwise our coins do them more harm than good.'

'How wonderful!' said Leonore. 'But if you make such a great many, where do you send the others to? _All_ our pennies are not lucky pennies.'

The gnome screwed up his eyes and looked at her.

'That's all I am at liberty to tell you,' he said. 'There are other worlds besides yours that _we_ know about though you don't,' and Leonore saw that she was not to question him further.

'Perhaps,' she thought to herself, 'there are people in the moon after all, and some of the lucky pennies go there.'

The gnome seemed pleased by her respectful manner. He said something in a low voice to the little man they had been watching, who thereupon handed him two bright copper pieces.

'Here,' he said, 'here is a souvenir for each of you--a real lucky penny. Never part with them except in direst need, which with them in your possession is not likely ever to befall you.'

The children were very pleased, and thanked him most politely.

'And now,' he said, 'as we pa.s.s on, you may glance at the other side of the manufactory, where we are employed on horse-shoes,' and he crossed between the rows of little men, each at his table, to where several were seated together at a larger one.

Hildegarde gave an exclamation of disappointment.

'What are they doing?' she cried. 'Mending _old_ horse-shoes? What ugly things!'

'You foolish child,' said the gnome. 'How little you appreciate our skill! Of course the work they are doing is much more difficult than making pretty things. They are copying old horse-shoes after the clumsy earth fas.h.i.+on. Who would use a _new_ one for luck, I should like to know, and how little do you people up there think when you pick up an old cast-off horse-shoe, as you think, what it really is, and where it has come from.'

Hildegarde felt rather snubbed. It was the first time she had forgotten the fairy's warning.

'How _very_ clever!' she said.

'Yes, indeed,' Leonore agreed. 'I shall always pick up horse-shoes when I see them now. And if you please, Mr. Gnome----'

But her sentence was never finished, for just as she had got so far, their guide suddenly clapped his hands. There came a rush of cold air in the children's faces, so sharply, that without knowing it, they both shut their eyes. And when they opened them again, the big chamber and the busy workers had disappeared--they found themselves--still in the under-world, but in quite a different part of it.

Here the light was no longer red, but a pale pretty green--a green which did not make things or people look pale and sickly, but only cast a soft radiance, such as one sees in the woods in the early spring. And to add to this impression there was a faint sound of running or trickling water near at hand.

Hildegarde and Leonore rubbed their eyes and looked at each other; they almost felt as if they were dreaming.

'Where have we got to?' said Leonore; but as she looked about her a little she saw that they were still surrounded by the high rocks which seemed to be the walls and boundaries of the under-world.

'And how did we get here?' added Hildegarde laughing. 'It felt as if we were _blown_ here.'

'And so you were,' said a voice beside them, and turning, they caught sight of their old friend the gnome again. 'There was no object in tiring you with walking all through our domains--what brought you was one of our little inventions--the simplest in the world--for those who understand such things,' he added with condescension.

'And if you please where are we, and what are you going to show us now?'

they inquired.

'You are at the entrance to our gardens, where I am going to show you our flower designs. You have doubtless never been told how many of your upper-world plants and flowers owe their existence to _us_.'

'Really!' exclaimed Hildegarde; and then, as a sudden thought struck her, 'oh, I _wonder_,' she cried, 'if those very, very queer flowers that we see in hot-houses and sometimes in gardens too--what do they call them--or--or--? I wonder if _they_ are invented by your gardeners.'

The gnome smiled condescendingly.