"That's true," said another, and then the Smart-boy spoke up:
"I'll tell you what it is. We're not going up at all. These stairs are turning around and around, as we step on them. It's a kind of tread-mill!"
"Let's stop!" cried some of the boys; but others exclaimed, "Oh, no! Don't do that, or we shall be ground up!"
"Oh, please don't stop!" cried the little fellows below, forgetting their tired legs, "or we shall be ground up first."
So on they kept, stepping up and up, but never advancing, while some of them tried to think of a plan by which they all could turn around and jump off at the same instant. But this would be difficult and dangerous, and those little fellows would certainly be crushed by the others if they were not ground up by the stairs.
Around and around went the stairs, each step disappearing under the floor beneath, and appearing again above them; while the boys stepped up and up, wondering if the thing would ever stop. They were silent now, and they could hear a steady click, click, click, as the great stair-way went slowly around.
"Oh, I'll tell you!" suddenly exclaimed the Smart-boy, "We're winding it up!"
"Winding up what?" cried several of the others.
"Everything!" said the Smart-boy; "we're winding up the city!"
This was true. Directly, sounds were heard outside; a dog barked; some cocks crew, and windows and doors were heard to open. The boys trembled, and forgot their weariness, as they stepped up and up. Some voices were heard below, and then, with a sudden jar, the stairs stopped.
"She's wound!" said the Smart-boy, under his breath, and every aristocrat turned around and hurried off the stairs.
