paths, in the hope of finding his way out of the garden, when he suddenly caught sight of a small figure standing a little distance from him.

He was the strangest-looking creature Davy had ever seen, not even excepting the Goblin. In the first place he was as flat as a pancake, and about as thick as one; and, in the second place, he was so transparent that Davy could see through his head and his arms and his legs almost as clearly as though he had been made of glass. This was so surprising in itself that when Davy presently discovered that he was made of beautiful, clear lemon candy, it seemed the most natural thing in the world, as explaining his transparency. He was neatly dressed in a sort of tunic of writing-paper, with a cocked hat of the same material, and he had under his arm a large book, with the words "Hole-keeper's Vacuum" printed on the cover. This curious-looking creature was standing before an extremely high wall, with his back to Davy, intently watching a large hole in the wall about a foot from the ground. There was nothing extraordinary about the appearance of the hole (except that the lower edge of it was curiously tied in a large bow-knot, like a cravat); but Davy watched it carefully for a few moments, thinking that perhaps something marvellous would come out of it. Nothing appeared, however, and Davy, walking up close behind the candy man, said very politely, "If you please, sir, I dropped in here"—

Before he could finish the sentence the Hole-keeper said snappishly, "Well, drop out again—quick!"

"But," pleaded Davy, "you can't drop out of a place, you know, unless the place should happen to turn upside down."

"I don't know anything about it," replied the Hole-keeper, without moving. "I never saw anything drop—except once. Then I saw a gum-drop. Are you a gum?" he added, suddenly turning around and staring at Davy.

"Of course I'm not," said Davy, indignantly. "If you'll only listen to me you'll understand exactly how it happened."

"Well, go on," said the Hole-keeper, impatiently, "and don't be tiresome."

"I fell down ever so far," said Davy, beginning his story over again, "and at last I broke through something"—

"That was the skylight!" shrieked the Hole-keeper, dashing his book upon the ground in a fury. "That was the barley-sugar skylight, and I shall certainly be boiled!"

This was such a shocking idea that Davy stood speechless, staring at the Hole-keeper, who rushed to and fro in a convulsion of distress.

"Now, see here," said the Hole-keeper, at length, coming up to him and speaking in a low, trembling voice. "This must be a private secret between us. Do you solemsy promilse?"

"I prolemse," said Davy, earnestly. This wasn't at all what he meant to say, and it sounded very ridiculous; but somehow the words wouldn't come straight. The Hole-keeper, however, seemed perfectly satisfied, and, picking up his book, said, "Well, just wait till I can't find your name," and began hurriedly turning over the leaves.

Davy saw, to his astonishment, that there was nothing whatever in the book, all the leaves being perfectly blank, and he couldn't help saying, rather contemptuously:—

"How do you expect to find my name in that book? There's nothing in it."

"Ah! that's just it, you see," said the Hole-keeper, exultingly; "I look in it for the names that ought to be out of it. It's the completest system that ever was invented. Oh! here you aren't!" he added, staring with great satisfaction at one of the blank pages. "Your name is Rupsy Frimbles."

"It's nothing of the sort," said Davy, indignantly.

"Tut! Tut!" said the Hole-keeper. "Don't stop to contradict or you'll be too late;" and Davy felt himself gently lifted off his feet and pushed head-foremost into the hole. It was quite dark and rather sticky, and smelt strongly of burnt sugar, and Davy had a most unpleasant time of it crawling through on his hands and knees. To add to his distress, when he came out at the further end, instead of being, as he had hoped, in the open country, he found himself in a large room, with a lofty ceiling, through which a brilliant light was mysteriously shining. The floor was of tin, and greased to such a slippery degree that Davy could hardly keep his feet, and against the walls on all sides were ranged long rows of little tin chairs glistening like silver in the dazzling light.

The only person in the room was a little man, something like the Hole-keeper in appearance, but denser and darker in the way of complexion, and dressed in a brown paper tunic and cocked hat.

This little creature was carrying a pail, and apparently varnishing the chairs with a little swab as he moved swiftly about the room; and, as he came nearer, Davy determined to speak to him.

"If you please," he began.

The little man jumped back apparently in the greatest alarm, and, after a startled look at Davy, shuffled rapidly away and disappeared through a door at the further end of the room. The next moment a confused sound of harsh voices came through the door, and the little man reappeared, followed by a perfect swarm of creatures so exactly like himself that it seemed to Davy as if a thousand of him had come back. At this moment a voice called out, "Bring Frungles this way;" and the crowd gathered around him and began to rudely hustle him across the room.

"That's not my name!" cried Davy, struggling desperately to free himself. "It isn't even the name I came in with!"