Dimple was so surprised he said nothing this time, but dug away, almost scared. Pretty soon he found a mouth, a large funny mouth, close up under the nose, and the mouth was dreadful live and quirky.
“Why-ee-ee!” said Dimple. “I fink it is somebody, and he’s waking up!”
For now the eyes did seem to twinkle, and the little bare skull to wink and move its wrinkles up and down.
Dimple dug away again, and found a chin and some straggling beard.
“I fink what it is now,” said Dimple. “Mamma readed about him yes’day. He lives down in the mines. He’s a Kobold, and he wants to get out.”
It was so bad to be stuck fast in the dirt, Dimple dug now just as hard as he could. The little old man himself didn’t help at all to loosen up his two long, slim legs. Finally Dimple, with a mighty effort, and by shutting both eyes hard, pulled them out, and he tumbled over on his back, and the little old man tumbled over on his back, and lay like one dead.
Then Dimple saw he had no arms. “Dee-me!” said he. “I be’eve he started to bring up some gold, and the other Kobolds ran after him and cut off his arms. Dee-me! I fink what if he has got up so far and beed-ed to deff!”
Dimple scampered in, and his face was so white, and his story so wild, that Mrs. Dumpling managed to walk up into the garden.
Dimple took her to the place; the little old man was there, sure enough. Mrs. Dumpling saw him herself, in a glimmering dazed kind of way, for just one moment,—his twinkling eyes, his bald skull, his Roman nose, his long moustaches, and his straggling beard.
Then she sat down on the grass and laughed.