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.