'Oh, more, far more, than we have any idea of,' she said. 'Just think how many kinds of fairies we have names for even. Gnomes, and pixies, and brownies, and wood-sprites, and water-sprites, and mermaids, and——'
'I think I should like most of all to go to the sea-fairies,' said Leonore. 'I do so love stories of mermaids, though they are nearly always rather sad. But oh, Hildegarde, that must be the gate into gnomeland—I am so glad it does not feel any hotter; it is quite nice and cool, isn't it?'
Just before them stood a wrought-iron gate or door; it had bars across and was beautifully worked in all sorts of curious patterns and designs. On the top of each gate-post sat a bird—one was like an owl, and at first the little girls thought it must be really alive, for its eyes seemed to blink and its feathers to move softly. And opposite it was an eagle, whose keen eyes gleamed redly, while its wings sparkled like burnished gold. But neither was a living bird, and soon the children discovered that it was only the reflection of the light on the polished metal that gave the look of life to the eyes and plumage. The birds were placed sideways as if to see both inside the gate and outwards along the passage, and from the claw of the eagle hung a chain, ending in a fawn's foot also in bronze, or some such metal.
'That must be the gnomes' front-door bell,' said Hildegarde. 'Shall I ring it, or will you?'
Leonore was creeping behind Hildegarde a little.
'Oh you, please,' she replied, and Hildegarde took the fawn's foot in her hand and pulled it—gently and carefully, for she remembered the fairy's warning—and a good thing it was that she did so, for softly though she had touched it, the result was rather startling. It rang out at once with a deep clang, which, strange to say, went sounding on and on, very loudly at first, then by degrees more faintly, till it was lost in the distance—it was as if hundreds of bells or echoes of bells had been pulled instead of one.
Even Hildegarde looked a little alarmed.
'I hope they won't think us rude,' she said, 'I really scarcely——' but before she had time to say more, a face appeared behind the bars of the gate. It was a gnome—a regular, proper sort of gnome—about half the height of the children, with a pointed cap and a mantle tossed over one shoulder, a queer wrinkled-up face, a big nose, and black bead-like eyes. He did not look particularly good-natured; he was evidently not one of the laughing order of gnomes, not at any rate at the present moment. But neither did he seem exactly surly; his expression was rather as if he were waiting to see what kind of beings were these audacious visitors!
But his first words were a great surprise, for instead of asking what they wanted, or any natural question of that kind, he tilted back his head, so that if his peaked cap had not been firmly fitted it would certainly have fallen off, and peering up into Hildegarde's face—Leonore by this time had crept well behind her companion—said sharply—