“I don’t like this,” he muttered. For the place was pitch-dark. “I’m liable to tumble into some pitfall, or maybe slide head first down one of those beastly hills of glass.”
There was nothing to do, though, but feel his way along in a very stealthy, uncanny fashion that made the cold creeps course up and down his backbone.
“Gracious! this is perfectly awful!” he exclaimed, as his hand touched a specially cold spot on the rock, that felt like something slimy and alive. “I thought it was a snail, or something!”
He stopped, and wiped the cold perspiration from his forehead.
“Pshaw!” he continued, “what a big fool I am! Afraid of the dark! I’m a brave one to rescue Wamby!” and mustering up courage, he went on more boldly.
Presently a faint light appeared in the distance ahead, causing him to renew his wariness and slacken his pace. As he softly advanced, he descried an elf sitting in the passage, with a lantern-box on the floor beside him. Harry hesitated an instant, but thinking he had nothing to fear from one Pin Elf, he advanced openly. Upon hearing the footsteps the elf immediately shut his lantern-box, but as he leaned over to do so, the light flashed in his face brightly, and showed Harry that it was his old friend Kitey.
“Halloa, Kitey, old fellow, what are you doing here?” exclaimed Harry.
“Is it you, Prince Harry?” said Kitey, in a tone of delight; and opening his lantern-box again, he ran forward and embraced Harry’s feet.
“Why, little chap, what’s the trouble?” inquired the boy.
“How did you get down here?” asked the elf in return. “Don’t talk loud, or we may be overheard.”