CHAPTER 6

The Little Miner

The next day the great cloud still hung over the mountain, and the rain

poured like water from a full sponge. The princess was very fond of

being out of doors, and she nearly cried when she saw that the weather

was no better. But the mist was not of such a dark dingy grey; there

was light in it; and as the hours went on it grew brighter and

brighter, until it was almost too brilliant to look at; and late in the

afternoon the sun broke out so gloriously that Irene clapped her hands,

crying:

'See, see, Lootie! The sun has had his face washed. Look how bright

he is! Do get my hat, and let us go out for a walk. Oh, dear! oh,

dear! how happy I am!'

Lootie was very glad to please the princess. She got her hat and

cloak, and they set out together for a walk up the mountain; for the

road was so hard and steep that the water could not rest upon it, and

it was always dry enough for walking a few minutes after the rain

ceased. The clouds were rolling away in broken pieces, like great,

overwoolly sheep, whose wool the sun had bleached till it was almost

too white for the eyes to bear. Between them the sky shone with a

deeper and purer blue, because of the rain. The trees on the roadside

were hung all over with drops, which sparkled in the sun like jewels.

The only things that were no brighter for the rain were the brooks that

ran down the mountain; they had changed from the clearness of crystal

to a muddy brown; but what they lost in colour they gained in sound--or

at least in noise, for a brook when it is swollen is not so musical as

before. But Irene was in raptures with the great brown streams

tumbling down everywhere; and Lootie shared in her delight, for she too

had been confined to the house for three days.

At length she observed that the sun was getting low, and said it was

time to be going back. She made the remark again and again, but, every

time, the princess begged her to go on just a little farther and a

little farther; reminding her that it was much easier to go downhill,

and saying that when they did turn they would be at home in a moment.

So on and on they did go, now to look at a group of ferns over whose

tops a stream was pouring in a watery arch, now to pick a shining stone

from a rock by the wayside, now to watch the flight of some bird.

Suddenly the shadow of a great mountain peak came up from behind, and

shot in front of them. When the nurse saw it, she started and shook,

and catching hold of the princess's hand turned and began to run down

the hill.

'What's all the haste, nursie?' asked Irene, running alongside of her.

'We must not be out a moment longer.'

'But we can't help being out a good many moments longer.'

It was too true. The nurse almost cried. They were much too far from

home. It was against express orders to be out with the princess one

moment after the sun was down; and they were nearly a mile up the

mountain! If His Majesty, Irene's papa, were to hear of it, Lootie

would certainly be dismissed; and to leave the princess would break her

heart. It was no wonder she ran. But Irene was not in the least

frightened, not knowing anything to be frightened at. She kept on

chattering as well as she could, but it was not easy.

'Lootie! Lootie! why do you run so fast? It shakes my teeth when I

talk.'

'Then don't talk,' said Lootie.

'But the princess went on talking. She was always saying: 'Look, look,

Lootie!' but Lootie paid no more heed to anything she said, only ran on.

'Look, look, Lootie! Don't you see that funny man peeping over the

rock?'

Lootie only ran the faster. They had to pass the rock, and when they

came nearer, the princess saw it was only a lump of the rock itself

that she had taken for a man.

'Look, look, Lootie! There's such a curious creature at the foot of

that old tree. Look at it, Lootie! It's making faces at us, I do

think.'

Lootie gave a stifled cry, and ran faster still--so fast that Irene's

little legs could not keep up with her, and she fell with a crash. It

was a hard downhill road, and she had been running very fast--so it was

no wonder she began to cry. This put the nurse nearly beside herself;

but all she could do was to run on, the moment she got the princess on

her feet again.

'Who's that laughing at me?' said the princess, trying to keep in her

sobs, and running too fast for her grazed knees.

'Nobody, child,' said the nurse, almost angrily.

But that instant there came a burst of coarse tittering from somewhere

near, and a hoarse indistinct voice that seemed to say: 'Lies! lies!

lies!'

'Oh!' cried the nurse with a sigh that was almost a scream, and ran on

faster than ever.

'Nursie! Lootie! I can't run any more. Do let us walk a bit.'

'What am I to do?' said the nurse. 'Here, I will carry you.'

She caught her up; but found her much too heavy to run with, and had to

set her down again. Then she looked wildly about her, gave a great

cry, and said:

'We've taken the wrong turning somewhere, and I don't know where we

are. We are lost, lost!'

The terror she was in had quite bewildered her. It was true enough

they had lost the way. They had been running down into a little valley

in which there was no house to be seen.

Now Irene did not know what good reason there was for her nurse's

terror, for the servants had all strict orders never to mention the

goblins to her, but it was very discomposing to see her nurse in such a

fright. Before, however, she had time to grow thoroughly alarmed like

her, she heard the sound of whistling, and that revived her. Presently

she saw a boy coming up the road from the valley to meet them. He was

the whistler; but before they met his whistling changed to singing.

And this is something like what he sang:

'Ring! dod! bang!

Go the hammers' clang!

Hit and turn and bore!

Whizz and puff and roar!

Thus we rive the rocks,

Force the goblin locks.--

See the shining ore!

One, two, three--

Bright as gold can be!

Four, five, six--

Shovels, mattocks, picks!

Seven, eight, nine--

Light your lamp at mine.

Ten, eleven, twelve--

Loosely hold the helve.

We're the merry miner-boys,

Make the goblins hold their noise.'

'I wish YOU would hold your noise,' said the nurse rudely, for the very

word GOBLIN at such a time and in such a place made her tremble. It

would bring the goblins upon them to a certainty, she thought, to defy

them in that way. But whether the boy heard her or not, he did not

stop his singing.

'Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen--

This is worth the siftin';

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen--

There's the match, and lay't in.

Nineteen, twenty--

Goblins in a plenty.'

'Do be quiet,' cried the nurse, in a whispered shriek. But the boy,

who was now close at hand, still went on.

'Hush! scush! scurry!

There you go in a hurry!

Gobble! gobble! goblin!

There you go a wobblin';

Hobble, hobble, hobblin'--

Cobble! cobble! cobblin'!

Hob-bob-goblin!--

Huuuuuh!'

'There!' said the boy, as he stood still opposite them. 'There!

that'll do for them. They can't bear singing, and they can't stand

that song. They can't sing themselves, for they have no more voice

than a crow; and they don't like other people to sing.'

The boy was dressed in a miner's dress, with a curious cap on his head.

He was a very nice-looking boy, with eyes as dark as the mines in which

he worked and as sparkling as the crystals in their rocks. He was

about twelve years old. His face was almost too pale for beauty, which

came of his being so little in the open air and the sunlight--for even

vegetables grown in the dark are white; but he looked happy, merry

indeed--perhaps at the thought of having routed the goblins; and his

bearing as he stood before them had nothing clownish or rude about it.

'I saw them,' he went on, 'as I came up; and I'm very glad I did. I

knew they were after somebody, but I couldn't see who it was. They

won't touch you so long as I'm with you.'

'Why, who are you?' asked the nurse, offended at the freedom with which

he spoke to them.

'I'm Peter's son.'

'Who's Peter?'

'Peter the miner.'

'I don't know him.'

'I'm his son, though.'

'And why should the goblins mind you, pray?'

'Because I don't mind them. I'm used to them.'

'What difference does that make?'

'If you're not afraid of them, they're afraid of you. I'm not afraid

of them. That's all. But it's all that's wanted--up here, that is.

It's a different thing down there. They won't always mind that song

even, down there. And if anyone sings it, they stand grinning at him

awfully; and if he gets frightened, and misses a word, or says a wrong

one, they--oh! don't they give it him!'

'What do they do to him?' asked Irene, with a trembling voice.

'Don't go frightening the princess,' said the nurse.

'The princess!' repeated the little miner, taking off his curious cap.

'I beg your pardon; but you oughtn't to be out so late. Everybody knows

that's against the law.'

'Yes, indeed it is!' said the nurse, beginning to cry again. 'And I

shall have to suffer for it.'

'What does that matter?' said the boy. 'It must be your fault. It is

the princess who will suffer for it. I hope they didn't hear you call

her the princess. If they did, they're sure to know her again: they're

awfully sharp.'

'Lootie! Lootie!' cried the princess. 'Take me home.'

'Don't go on like that,' said the nurse to the boy, almost fiercely.

'How could I help it? I lost my way.'

'You shouldn't have been out so late. You wouldn't have lost your way

if you hadn't been frightened,' said the boy. 'Come along. I'll soon

set you right again. Shall I carry your little Highness?'

'Impertinence!' murmured the nurse, but she did not say it aloud, for

she thought if she made him angry he might take his revenge by telling

someone belonging to the house, and then it would be sure to come to

the king's ears. 'No, thank you,' said Irene. 'I can walk very well,

though I can't run so fast as nursie. If you will give me one hand,

Lootie will give me another, and then I shall get on famously.'

They soon had her between them, holding a hand of each.

'Now let's run,' said the nurse.

'No, no!' said the little miner. 'That's the worst thing you can do.

If you hadn't run before, you would not have lost your way. And if you

run now, they will be after you in a moment.'

'I don't want to run,' said Irene.

'You don't think of me,' said the nurse.

'Yes, I do, Lootie. The boy says they won't touch us if we don't run.'

'Yes, but if they know at the house that I've kept you out so late I

shall be turned away, and that would break my heart.'

'Turned away, Lootie! Who would turn you away?'

'Your papa, child.'

'But I'll tell him it was all my fault. And you know it was, Lootie.'

'He won't mind that. I'm sure he won't.'

'Then I'll cry, and go down on my knees to him, and beg him not to take

away my own dear Lootie.'

The nurse was comforted at hearing this, and said no more. They went

on, walking pretty fast, but taking care not to run a step.

'I want to talk to you,' said Irene to the little miner; 'but it's so

awkward! I don't know your name.'

'My name's Curdie, little princess.'

'What a funny name! Curdie! What more?'

'Curdie Peterson. What's your name, please?'

'Irene.'

'What more?'

'I don't know what more. What more is my name, Lootie?'

'Princesses haven't got more than one name. They don't want it.'

'Oh, then, Curdie, you must call me just Irene and no more.'

'No, indeed,' said the nurse indignantly. 'He shall do no such thing.'

'What shall he call me, then, Lootie?'

'Your Royal Highness.'

'My Royal Highness! What's that? No, no, Lootie. I won't be called

names. I don't like them. You told me once yourself it's only rude

children that call names; and I'm sure Curdie wouldn't be rude. Curdie,

my name's Irene.'

'Well, Irene,' said Curdie, with a glance at the nurse which showed he

enjoyed teasing her; 'it is very kind of you to let me call you

anything. I like your name very much.'

He expected the nurse to interfere again; but he soon saw that she was

too frightened to speak. She was staring at something a few yards

before them in the middle of the path, where it narrowed between rocks

so that only one could pass at a time.

'It is very much kinder of you to go out of your way to take us home,'

said Irene.

'I'm not going out of my way yet,' said Curdie. 'It's on the other

side of those rocks the path turns off to my father's.'

'You wouldn't think of leaving us till we're safe home, I'm sure,'

gasped the nurse.

'Of course not,' said Curdie.

'You dear, good, kind Curdie! I'll give you a kiss when we get home,'

said the princess.

The nurse gave her a great pull by the hand she held. But at that

instant the something in the middle of the way, which had looked like a

great lump of earth brought down by the rain, began to move. One after

another it shot out four long things, like two arms and two legs, but

it was now too dark to tell what they were. The nurse began to tremble

from head to foot. Irene clasped Curdie's hand yet faster, and Curdie

began to sing again:

'One, two--

Hit and hew!

Three, four--

Blast and bore!

Five, six--

There's a fix!

Seven, eight--

Hold it straight!

Nine, ten--

Hit again!

Hurry! scurry!

Bother! smother!

There's a toad

In the road!

Smash it!

Squash it!

Fry it!

Dry it!

You're another!

Up and off!

There's enough!--

Huuuuuh!'

As he uttered the last words, Curdie let go his hold of his companion,

and rushed at the thing in the road as if he would trample it under his

feet. It gave a great spring, and ran straight up one of the rocks

like a huge spider. Curdie turned back laughing, and took Irene's hand

again. She grasped his very tight, but said nothing till they had

passed the rocks. A few yards more and she found herself on a part of

the road she knew, and was able to speak again.

'Do you know, Curdie, I don't quite like your song: it sounds to me

rather rude,' she said.

'Well, perhaps it is,' answered Curdie. 'I never thought of that; it's

a way we have. We do it because they don't like it.'

'Who don't like it?'

'The cobs, as we call them.'

'Don't!' said the nurse.

'Why not?' said Curdie.

'I beg you won't. Please don't.'

'Oh! if you ask me that way, of course, I won't; though I don't a bit

know why. Look! there are the lights of your great house down below.

You'll be at home in five minutes now.'

Nothing more happened. They reached home in safety. Nobody had missed

them, or even known they had gone out; and they arrived at the door

belonging to their part of the house without anyone seeing them. The

nurse was rushing in with a hurried and not over-gracious good night to

Curdie; but the princess pulled her hand from hers, and was just

throwing her arms round Curdie's neck, when she caught her again and

dragged her away.

'Lootie! Lootie! I promised a kiss,' cried Irene.

'A princess mustn't give kisses. It's not at all proper,' said Lootie.

'But I promised,' said the princess.

'There's no occasion; he's only a miner-boy.'

'He's a good boy, and a brave boy, and he has been very kind to us.

Lootie! Lootie! I promised.'

'Then you shouldn't have promised.'

'Lootie, I promised him a kiss.'

'Your Royal Highness,' said Lootie, suddenly grown very respectful,

'must come in directly.'

'Nurse, a princess must not break her word,' said Irene, drawing

herself up and standing stock-still.

Lootie did not know which the king might count the worst--to let the

princess be out after sunset, or to let her kiss a miner-boy. She did

not know that, being a gentleman, as many kings have been, he would

have counted neither of them the worse. However much he might have

disliked his daughter to kiss the miner-boy, he would not have had her

break her word for all the goblins in creation. But, as I say, the

nurse was not lady enough to understand this, and so she was in a great

difficulty, for, if she insisted, someone might hear the princess cry

and run to see, and then all would come out. But here Curdie came

again to the rescue.

'Never mind, Princess Irene,' he said. 'You mustn't kiss me tonight.

But you shan't break your word. I will come another time. You may be

sure I will.'

'Oh, thank you, Curdie!' said the princess, and stopped crying.

'Good night, Irene; good night, Lootie,' said Curdie, and turned and

was out of sight in a moment.

'I should like to see him!' muttered the nurse, as she carried the

princess to the nursery.

'You will see him,' said Irene. 'You may be sure Curdie will keep his

word. He's sure to come again.'

'I should like to see him!' repeated the nurse, and said no more. She

did not want to open a new cause of strife with the princess by saying

more plainly what she meant. Glad enough that she had succeeded both

in getting home unseen, and in keeping the princess from kissing the

miner's boy, she resolved to watch her far better in future. Her

carelessness had already doubled the danger she was in. Formerly the

goblins were her only fear; now she had to protect her charge from

Curdie as well.