"Certainly I do!"
"Do you know what is on top of the ground? We are searching for a golden key—"
"O, that golden key!" exclaimed the gnome. "What a to-do there has been about that key!"
"O, Sir, if you know anything about it," exclaimed Pierre, "do tell us. The birds told us that you were the Wise Man and sent us down to see you. They felt you could help us."
The gnome nodded slowly, and closed one of his little potato eyes in a knowing wink.
"Trust the birds for that," he said. "They have their own reasons for sending you down here. Anything to make you believe the key was on the ground, or in it."
"Are you sure it isn't, dear Mr. Wise Man?" asked Iona.
"Perfectly sure. We go upstairs in the twilight when the sun won't hurt our eyes. We know everything that lies on the ground in this forest."
"And the key isn't there?" asked Pierre.
"Do you know where it is—you who know everything?" cried Iona, grasping the edge of the gnome's earthy smock with beseeching hands.