He was a very nice-looking boy, with eyes as dark as the mines in
which
he worked, and as sparkling as the crystals in their rocks. He was about
twelve years old. His face was almost too pale for beauty, which came
of
his being so little in the open air and the sunlight--for even
vegetables grown in the dark are white; but he looked happy, merry
indeed--perhaps at the thought of having routed the goblins; and his
bearing as he stood before them had nothing clownish or rude about it.
"I saw them," he went on, "as I came up; and I'm very glad I did. I knew
they were after somebody, but I couldn't see who it was. They won't
touch you so long as I'm with you."
"Why, who are you?" asked the nurse, offended at the freedom with
which
he spoke to them.
"I'm Peter's son."
"Who's Peter?"
"Peter the miner."
Madhuri Noah
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