The Prince of the Pin Elves

When they arrived at the opposite side of the lake they found the fifty soldiers seated on the exact spot where they had left them.

A number of Gnomes had been brought over in order that they might take their own vessels back, and the first thing Wamby did was to order the wind turned on, and start the fleet of the Gnomes on their homeward way. Next, he commanded the soldiers to arise, proceed a little distance up the passageway, and take their station at the entrance of another passageway leading off towards the right, which Harry had not noticed before.

“It leads up to the Grand Royal Reception Hall,” explained Wamby, in answer to an inquiry from Harry. “Of course you know it is impossible to go back the way we came down.”

Then Wamby led Kitey aside from the other elves, and whispered to him long and earnestly. As Kitey listened he looked first amazed and then delighted, and finally a broad grin overspread his face, and with a knowing nod he ran off and began in a low voice to address the various groups of elves scattered about.

“Did you tell Kitey everything?” inquired Harry.

“Yes,” replied Wamby, “and he is telling the others. We can trust them all.”

“How about the soldiers? do they know?” asked Harry.

Wamby shook his head. “I am doubtful about that Smithkin. I don’t know whether to trust him or not.”

“Do you think he smells a rat?” queried Harry.

“Think he does what?”

“Suspects—mistrusts something,” explained Harry.

“Oh!” said Wamby. “Yes, I do. You see, he knows well enough that the King would never release all these elves from the mines, and ever since we came back he has been casting suspicious glances at us, as if he were trying to find out what we were about. He’s a treacherous fellow. I’m afraid of him.”

“Then,” said Harry, “don’t tell him anything. Wait until we get arms for all these fellows, and we can defy those fifty soldiers.”

“But the trouble is,” observed Wamby, “that Smithkin is the only one who knows the way back, and where the armory is.”

Harry pondered a moment. “It seems to me the best plan is this,” said he. “You order Smithkin to lead us to the King. You, Kitey, and I will go ahead with Smithkin, the released elves will come next, and the soldiers bring up the rear. Then Smithkin can’t communicate with his men, and we can watch him closely, and easily disarm and bind him at the least sign of treachery.”

The plan impressed Wamby favorably. He gave orders to that effect, and they were soon hastening on the way to the Grand Royal Reception Hall. They traversed a number of passages, and climbed many long flights of steps. All went well for a time. Although Smithkin was glum and sullen, he certainly was leading them in the right direction, and they saw no reason to suspect him.

At length they came to a place where the passageway expanded into a long and rather narrow room. When they reached the further end of the room, Smithkin examined the wall closely, and then a disconcerted look came into his face.

“I can’t find any door here,” said he. “One of my men knows where it is, though; I’ll go back and ask him.”

Harry followed him through the throng to the other end of the room. All of the released elves were in the room, but the soldiers had halted in the passageway. Calling one of them to him, Smithkin asked, “Where is the lower door?”

“There is the place,” replied the soldier, pointing to the wall on one side of the passageway behind where Harry was standing.

Smithkin drew forth a pin, and said to Harry, “Will your honor please step aside a moment?”

Harry drew back a few steps into the room; thus there was no one in the passageway but the soldiers. As soon as Harry was well in the room, Smithkin inserted the pin in a hole, pressed upon it thrice, and said:

Instantly the whole floor of the room swung downwards, like an immense trap-door, and dumped all but the soldiers upon a slippery incline below. Away they went, sliding and rolling and tumbling over one another, until they landed in a confused heap at the bottom. Then the trap-door swung shut, and left them in darkness.

Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt, though a number of them were bruised and scratched considerably. After order was restored Harry and Wamby talked over the situation, and came to the conclusion that this room and trap-door were mainly intended to prevent the Gnomes from ever invading the domains of the Pin Elves; and that Smithkin, suspecting all was not right, made up his mind it would be a good plan to imprison them until he could find out from the King the real state of affairs.

“We are literally caught in a trap,” said Harry.

Just then one of the elves exclaimed, “I’ve found a little box on the floor.”

“Bring it here!” shouted Wamby. “It’s my lantern-box. It flew out of my hands when I fell.”

The light thus found cheered their spirits not a little. They could see that they were in a large chamber, with apparently no other mode of exit than the way by which they had entered.

“There must be some way to get out,” said Wamby. “You fellows sound the floor and walls, and see if you cannot discover a door somewhere.”

But their search proved vain. Not a sign of a door was to be found, though they examined carefully every square inch of the floor and of the walls, as high up as they could reach.

“There’s nothing for us to do, then,” said Wamby, “but wait and see what will happen.”

And wait they did, for some time, and then what happened was the most unlooked-for thing that could possibly occur. The trap-door above opened an instant; there was a sound of mocking laughter, the door closed again, and a moment after Smithkin himself came sliding and rolling down the hill of glass, and landed in a heap in the centre of the room.

Such a crushed and crestfallen Smithkin as he was! They gathered about him and asked what was the matter.

“Matter!” growled the discomfited soldier, rising and stamping his foot in a rage, “mutiny is the matter! Rebellion is the matter! My soldiers have defied me. The King shall know of it, and every one of them shall be sent to the Gnomes!”

“Here, leave him to me,” said Wamby, taking Smithkin by the arm and drawing him aside.

After a long talk with him, Wamby returned to the others, and said, “He has had some trouble with his men, and they dumped him down here out of revenge. But it will turn out to our advantage, for he knows where the door is that leads out of this hole. Give me your pin, Harry. Smithkin’s is in possession of the soldiers above.”

Harry drew a pin from the lapel of his coat and handed it to him. “Now show me the place,” said Wamby. Smithkin led him to the foot of the hill of glass, and pointed to a little pin-hole in the incline, about a foot from the bottom.

“Well!” muttered Wamby, “no wonder we couldn’t find it! Who would ever think of looking for a door there?”

He inserted the pin, and pressing upon it thrice, repeated:

But no door opened. Again he pressed the pin and repeated the words, and again there was no response.

“Are those the right words for this door, Smithkin?” he asked of the soldier.

“Yes,” said Smithkin; “try again.”

He did so a number of times, but all in vain. At last he turned to Smithkin with a suspicious look, and cried, “You are deceiving us, you villain!”

The other elves began to gather around the unfortunate soldier, with menacing looks and muttered threats of vengeance, but he protested that he told the truth. “The door is there, for I have seen it opened,” he said. “Something must be wrong.”

Wamby thereupon drew forth the pin, and after one glance at it, said to Harry, “Why, you gave me a common pin!”

“Won’t it do?” asked Harry; “what difference does it make?”

“A great deal,” answered Wamby; “only a door-pin, made for the purpose, will open doors. Why need I ask for your pin, if any common one will do? And how do you suppose it would be possible to keep any Pin Elf in prison, when each one’s clothes are fastened on with dozens of common pins?”

“Sure enough,” replied Harry; “I never thought of that.”

He searched one lapel of his coat, and then the other, and then looked at Wamby with a blank countenance, and said, “The door-pin is gone!”

“Gone!” cried Wamby, as a look of despair settled on his face; “then we are lost!”

He was silent a moment. Then he smote his little hands wildly together, and cried, “It’s the work of some of those mean, ugly, thievish, tricky Gnomes! They must have taken the pin when you left your coat in the boat.” He suddenly felt in his belt, and said to Harry in a hoarse whisper, “They have stolen the hat-pin also!”