Down and down the path
went, then up, and then down and then up again, getting rugged and
more rugged as it went; and still along the path went the silvery
thread, and still along the thread went Irene's little rosy-tipped
forefinger. By and by she came to a little stream that jabbered
and prattled down the hill, and up the side of the stream went both
path and thread. And still the path grew rougher and steeper, and
the mountain grew wilder, till Irene began to think she was going
a very long way from home; and when she turned to look back she saw
that the level country had vanished and the rough bare mountain had
closed in about her. But still on went the thread, and on went the
princess. Everything around her was getting brighter and brighter
as the sun came nearer; till at length his first rays all at once
alighted on the top of a rock before her, like some golden creature
fresh from the sky. Then she saw that the little stream ran out of
a hole in that rock, that the path did not go past the rock, and
that the thread was leading her straight up to it. A shudder ran
through her from head to foot when she found that the thread was
actually taking her into the hole out of which the stream ran.
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