‘What’s the good o’ that, Sir?’ Said the little bird. ‘Why it’s very Pat, Sir— Plain without a word. ‘Where ’tis all a hole, Sir, Never can be holes: Why should their shoes have soles, Sir, When they’ve got no souls?’ ”
“What’s that horrible noise?” cried the queen, shuddering from pot-metal head to granite shoes.
“I declare,” said the king with solemn indignation, “it’s the sun-creature in the hole!”
“Stop that disgusting noise!” cried the crown prince valiantly, getting up and standing in front of the heap of stones, with his face towards Curdie’s prison. “Do now, or I’ll break your head.”
“Break away,” shouted Curdie, and began singing again:
“Once there was a goblin, Living in a hole—”
“I really can not bear it,” said the queen. “If I could only get at his horrid toes with my slippers again!”
“I think we had better go to bed,” said the king.
“It’s not time to go to bed,” said the queen.
“I would if I was you,” said Curdie.
“Impertinent wretch!” said the queen, with the utmost scorn in her voice.
“An impossible if ,” said His Majesty with dignity.
“Quite,” returned Curdie, and began singing again: