“Certainly I am,” said Leo, with more spirit than he had ever put into words.

“And you care to go on?”

“Very much.”

“Prepare then for great exertion.  As you are so large it will be necessary for you to creep through many passages.  I am going to take you to see our water-work.  The visit may be tiresome, but I think you will be repaid.  It is generally supposed that giants have greater power than we.  It may be that it is true, but I think it is doubtful.  But you may wonder why I speak now of giants.  It is because they have originated the opinion among men that the great water-falls and cataracts, such as those of the Nile and Niagara, are entirely of their producing, but we all know the familiar adage, ‘Great oaks from little acorns grow.’  I am going to show you where the little springs and rivulets have their rise.”

Leo’s attention had flagged during this speech—­he was so unaccustomed to many words—­now his interest revived.

“Do you remember a certain shady spot about half a mile from the monastery, beneath a group of birch-trees, and overhung with alders?” asked Knops.

“Do I not, indeed?” responded Leo, eagerly.  “It is the sweetest, coolest water on the estate.  The moss around that spring is just like green velvet.  Many a time I have plunged my whole head in it.  The birds know it too, and always come there to drink.  I sometimes find four or five of them dipping in at once; it is a pretty sight to see them bathe; they throw the water up under their wings until they drip, and then they are hardly satisfied.”

“Well,” said Knops, “we have the supplying of that spring.”

All the time they had been talking, Knops had been leading the way through long passages and down steep steps, of which Leo’s long legs had to compass several at a stride.

Now they came to a low tunnel through which Leo had to creep for what seemed to him miles.  Strange to say, the weariness which so often compelled him to rest or doze seemed to be leaving him.  He felt an altogether new impulse, a desire to explore these recesses, and a great respect for Knops’s learning also made him desirous of conversation, which was something he had always avoided by answering questions in the shortest possible way.

The tunnel was not only long and low, but it was dripping with moisture, and the air oppressive with what seemed to be steam.  Leo heard wheezing and groaning sounds, which, though not frightful, were very peculiar, and then the thump-thump, as of engines.

Very glad was he when the tunnel opened into another large cavern, at the bottom of which was a lake.  He could not have seen this had it not been for the electric fluid which blazed like daylight from a great globe overhead.  On the margin of the lake were all kinds of hydraulic machines, small as toys, but of every conceivable form; derricks and wheels and screws and pumps, and all under the management of busy little elves, who panted and puffed and tugged at ropes and wheels and pipes as they worked, and kept up a constant chant not unlike the song of the wind on a stormy night.