THE COLD HEART.

IF ever you should travel through the country of Suabia you should take a peep at the Black Forest, not only that you may admire the magnificent pine-trees, but that you may study the people living there, for they are quite unlike any of their neighbours. The inhabitants of the Black Forest near the town of Baden are tall and broad and it would almost seem as though the invigorating scent of the pine-trees had strengthened their bodies and their characters too, for they are fearless, frank and honest. Their principal industries are glass-making and clock-making. The costume they wear, too, is different from the ordinary run of peasants, and gives them a strange and somewhat dignified appearance.

An old man smoking a pipeThe Little Glass-man.

The Little Glass-man.

On the other side of the Forest, although of the same race, the inhabitants are, on account ofthe different occupations they pursue, somewhat different in their manners and customs. These people work chiefly in the Forest as wood-cutters and timber-merchants. They fell their pine-trees and then float them down the Nagold to the Neckar, down the Neckar to the Rhine, even travelling as far as Holland, the rafts of the Black Forest being known upon the sea-coast. They stop their rafts at every town they come to, so that folks may buy their timber if they have a mind to; but the broadest and tallest beams and masts are sold to the Dutch ship-builders for a good round sum of money. These men, accustomed to a rough, wandering life, are as different in character from the people living in the other part of the Forest as their costumes differ.

The men living in the neighbourhood of Baden wear black jackets, closely pleated trousers, red stockings, and peaked hats; the woodmen, however, wear jackets of dark coloured linen, broad green braces, black leather breeches, from one of the pockets of which a brass foot rule protrudes, but their chief pride is in their boots, which reach nearly to their middle, so that the raftsmen can wade through fairly deep water without wetting their feet.

At one time it was believed that two spirits inhabited the Black Forest; the one, known as “The Little Glass-man,” was a good little spirit, and but three feet and a half in height, and was always to be seen dressed in the same costume as the glass-makers or clock-makers wore; but DutchMichael, who haunted the further side of the Forest, was a broad-shouldered giant and was dressed like a raftsman. Some of the wood-cutters who had seen him declared his boots were so big that an ordinary full-grown man could have stood upright in one of them and yet not have reached to the top of it.

A young Black Forester, named Peter Munk, is said to have had a very extraordinary adventure with these two wood-spirits. Peter lived with his mother, who was a widow, in the very heart of the Forest. His father had been a charcoal burner and after his death the mother trained her son to the same employment.

At first Peter was content to follow his father’s occupation and to sit by his sooty kiln, as black as soot himself, and now and again to drive into the towns and villages to sell his charcoal. But he had plenty of time for reflection and it gradually began to occur to him that his lot was not a very happy one. He thought how smart the glass-makers and clock-makers looked, decked out in their best clothes on Sunday. “But,” said he to himself, “if I were to put on my father’s jacket with its silver buttons, and encase my legs in bright red stockings and swagger down the street, folks would say, ‘’Tis only Peter Munk, the charcoal burner, after all.’”

The wood-cutters, raftsmen and timber-merchants were also objects of his envy. Whenever these forest giants came into the village in their splendidcostumes, decked out with silver buttons and buckles and chains, and stood with their great legs wide apart, watching the dance perhaps, using strange Dutch oaths, and smoking long pipes from Cologne, he would say to himself—“Ah! what happiness to be a man like that!” Sometimes one of these fortunate beings would lunge a hand into his pocket and bring out a handful of florins and commence to gamble with them; six batzen at a time they would risk at dice, and Peter had seen one of the richest timber-merchants lose in a night more money than he or his father had ever earned in a year, and yet not seem greatly upset over the loss of the money.

At these times Peter would feel half beside himself and would steal away to his lonely hut consumed with rage and jealousy.

There were three men in particular who excited his admiration and envy. One was a tall stout man, with a very red face, who was said to be the richest man in the country. He was called “Fat Ezekiel.”

Twice a year he journeyed to Amsterdam and was always lucky in getting a better price for his timber than anyone else, so that he could travel back in state, whilst his neighbours had to get back as best they could.

The second man was the tallest and thinnest man in the whole Forest and was nicknamed the Long-legged Lounger, and Peter Munk envied him his extraordinary impudence, for he would flatly contradictthe most important personages, and no matter how crowded the inn might be he would take up four times as much room as the fattest men; he would plant his elbows on the table, or stretch his long legs upon a bench, and no one ventured to expostulate, because he was so immensely rich.

The third man, however, was young and handsome, and was the best dancer in the district, so that he was known far and wide as the King of the Dancers. He had at one time been very poor and acted as servant to one of the timber merchants, but suddenly he had become enormously rich. Some said he had found a pot of gold, others affirmed he had fished up a parcel of gold pieces from the bottom of the river, which had been part of the lost Nibelungen treasure; but, no matter how he had attained it, the fact remained that he had suddenly become very rich indeed and was looked upon as little short of a prince by his less lucky friends and companions.

Peter Munk’s mind was often occupied by the good fortune of these three men, as he sat alone in the forest or by his fire!

It is true that all three of them were hated by their neighbours on account of their unnatural avarice and their want of feeling for those who owed them money, or for the poor, but though they were hated they were treated with respect on account of their money, for they could afford to scatter it about as the pine-trees scattered their needles.

“Alas!” sighed Peter one day, “I can stand mypoverty no longer; would that I were as rich and respected as Fat Ezekiel, or as impudent and powerful as the Long-legged Lounger, or as fine a dancer as the Dance King and be able to throw florins to the fiddlers instead of pence. Wheredothese fellows get their money from?”

In thinking of ways and means by which he might amass money, he at length remembered the stories the people used to tell of the little Glass-man and Dutch Michael. In his father’s lifetime they had frequently been visited by folks as poor as themselves, and the conversation would turn to rich folks and how they had acquired their money, and the little Glass-man had not infrequently played a prominent part in the conversation. He even thought he could remember the little verse it was necessary to recite in the Forest if one wished to summon the little man; it began:

Owner of all in the pine woods green,Many a hundred years thou hast seen,Thine all the land where the pine-trees grow—

Owner of all in the pine woods green,

Many a hundred years thou hast seen,

Thine all the land where the pine-trees grow—

But there he stopped short, and strive as he would he could not remember the rest of the verse.

He thought about asking some of the old men who had been his father’s friends, but a certain shyness prevented his mentioning the little Glass-man and so betraying perhaps what was in his mind. There were very few rich people in the Forest and he wondered why some of them had not tried their luck with the wood-spirits. At last he persuaded his mother to talk about the little man; but she couldtell him little more than he knew already. Moreover, she could only remember the first line of the verse; but finally she said the spirit only showed himself to folks born on a Sunday between the hours of eleven and two.

“Had you but known the charm,” said she, “you might have summoned the Little Man yourself, for you were born at mid-day on a Sunday.”

On hearing this Peter Munk was nearly beside himself with impatience to set out upon this adventure. Surely the portion of the verse he knew would prove sufficient to summon the little Glass-man to a Sunday’s child like himself.

Peter Munk sat alone in the forest.(P.211.)

So one day when he had managed to sell all his charcoal, instead of kindling a new fire he dressed himself in his father’s best jacket and red stockings, put the pointed hat upon his head and, taking his five foot blackthorn staff in his hand, bade good-bye to his mother. “It will soon be time to draw lots and decide who is to go for a soldier, and I amgoing to the magistrate to remind him that as you are a widow and I your only son I am exempt from serving in the army,” said he.

His mother praised him for his thoughtfulness and he set out towards a particular clump of black pines.

This spot was the highest point in the Black Forest and there was not a village nor a hut for some miles around it, for the superstitious people thought it was haunted. Although the trees there grew thick and tall they were never felled, for it was said that when anyone had attempted to do so terrible accidents occurred. Sometimes the axe had sprung from the haft and buried itself in the man’s foot, or a stubborn tree trunk that seemed to defy the stroke of the axe fell suddenly and crushed the wood-cutter, injuring him severely and even killing him. Even the finest tree could but be used for fuel, for the raftsmen would not take a single log from this particular clump, for it was said that it would bring them bad luck and that raft and raftsmen would sink.

And so it chanced that the trees grew thicker and taller, excluding every ray of sunshine, so that even in the daytime it was dark as night there, and Peter Munk’s courage began to fail him as he reached the spot, for there was not a sound to be heard, no voice, no footstep except his own, the stroke of no axe resounded, and even the birds seemed to have deserted the place.

Peter examines the pine treeTHE COLD HEART“This” thought he “must surely be the abode of the Glass-man”(p.217)

THE COLD HEART“This” thought he “must surely be the abode of the Glass-man”(p.217)

Peter reached the highest point of the mountain and stood before a pine-tree of tremendous girth, forwhich a Dutch ship-builder would have given many a hundred florins. “This,” thought he, “must surely be the abode of the Glass-man,” and so he drew his hat from his head, bowed low, and said with a trembling voice:—

“Good-evening, Master Glass-man,” but there was not a sound in reply. “Perhaps I had better try the little verse,” he thought, and began in flattering tones:

“Owner of all in the pine woods green,Many a hundred years thou hast seen,Thine all the lands where the pine-trees grow—”

“Owner of all in the pine woods green,

Many a hundred years thou hast seen,

Thine all the lands where the pine-trees grow—”

As he spoke he saw to his terror a strange little figure peeping out from behind the big tree trunk. It seemed to be dressed exactly as he had heard in the black vest, red stockings, and pointed hat. Even the pale, clever little face he seemed to see for a moment; but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Master Glass-man,” cried Peter in trembling tones, “I pray you do not make sport of me. If you think I did not see you you are mistaken.” But there was no reply, beyond a faint chuckle from behind the tree.

At length his impatience overcame his fear—“Wait awhile, my fine fellow,” he cried angrily, “I will soon catch you.” He made a bound towards the tree and darted round to the other side. But there was no Glass-man there, only a dainty little squirrel that scampered up the trunk of the tree.

Peter Munk shook his head. He perceived clearlythat his failure was on account of his not knowing the concluding line of the verse, but ponder as he might he could not call it to memory. The squirrel showed itself upon the lower branches of the pine-tree and appeared to mock and make sport of him. It dressed its fur, waved its bushy tail, gazed at him with its bright clever eyes, but at length he was half afraid of it, for one moment it seemed to have a man’s head and to wear a pointed hat, the next moment it was like any ordinary squirrel, then suddenly its hind legs became clothed with red stockings and black shoes. In short it was quite the strangest little creature Peter Munk had ever seen and he was afraid of it, and so he turned and left the spot quicker than he had gone there.

It seemed to him that the woods grew darker and thicker as he ran, until he became possessed of an absolute terror, and it was not until he heard the barking of dogs in the distance that he slackened his pace, then, as a peasant’s hut burst on his astonished gaze, he found that in his fright he had been running in the opposite direction to that which he had intended, and instead of arriving at the dwellings of the glass-makers he had come out amongst the wood-cutters and raftsmen.

The people who lived in this particular cottage were wood-cutters, and the family consisted of an old man, his son, the master of the house, and his family.

Peter Munk approached them and asked if they could give him a night’s lodging, and they received him kindly and hospitably, never so much as askingfor his name or where he came from. They gave him cider to drink and in the evening they roasted a large woodcock for his supper, one of the daintiest morsels to be had in the Black Forest.

When they had made a good meal the housewife and her daughters seated themselves round a big blaze of light, which the youths kindled from the resinous pine-wood, and commenced plying their distaffs, the old grandfather, the guest, and the master sat smoking and watching the women at their work, but the young men of the family busied themselves fashioning wooden spoons and forks.

Out in the woods a storm raged and howled amongst the pine-trees. Now and again there was the sound of a falling tree or the cracking of branches as they were torn from the parent stem. The fearless youths would have run out into the wood in order to watch the fearful but grand spectacle, but their grandfather forbade them.

“No one wandering in the wood to-night would ever return,” said he. “Without doubt Dutch Michael is abroad and seeks a new raft-load in the forest.”

The boys had heard many a time of Dutch Michael; but nevertheless they begged their grandfather to tell them a story about him. Peter Munk, too, who had only heard vague reports about him in his own part of the country, joined his requests to that of the boys and asked him to tell him who he really was and where he lived.

“Why, to think you don’t know that now,” said the old man. “You must have come from the otherside of the forest then, if not further away. I will tell you all I know of Dutch Michael.

“Some hundreds of years ago, so the story goes, there were no more honest and respectable folks to be found far and wide than the Black Foresters. It is only since so much money came into the country that folks have become dishonest and wicked. Nowadays on a Sunday young men dance and smoke, and swear, enough to make one’s hair stand on end, but in those days it was different, and even though he stands at the window and hears me say it, I maintain that Dutch Michael is at the root of all the evil.

“More than a hundred years ago there lived a rich timber merchant, who had many work-people and whose business was carried on from here to far down the Rhine. He was a good pious man and a blessing rested on all his ventures.

“One evening there came to his door a man the like of whom he had never seen before. He wore the dress of a Black Forester, but he was a great deal taller than the tallest man and one could scarcely believe it possible for there to be such a giant.

“He asked for work and the merchant, seeing that he looked so strong and likely to be able to carry heavy burdens, asked what wages he required and soon came to terms with him.

“Michael was the man’s name, and such a workman his master had never had before. When it came to hewing trees, he was worth three other men, and when the timber had to be carried away, though there were six men at the end of a trunk he would takethe other end by himself and make no labour of it at all.

“At the end of half a year he came to his master and said he was tired of felling timber and would like to go with the rafts and see the places the timber went to.”

“‘Well,’ said his master, ‘I will not stand in your way. It is true that you are more useful to me as a wood-cutter, for strong men are needed for such hard work, whereas one has need of skill and dexterity rather than strength upon a raft. However, this once you shall go.’

“And so it came to pass, and he was to set out with a raft consisting of eight portions, all being connected. But on the evening before they were to start Michael brought down to the river’s edge eight more huge trees, the biggest and longest that had ever been seen, and each one he carried upon his shoulder as easily as though it had been his raft-pole. To this day no one knows where they had been felled.

“The timber merchant’s heart rejoiced, for he reckoned this timber would fetch a vast sum; but Michael only said—‘They are for a raft for myself. I could not very well manage on the other little rafts.’

“His master offered him a pair of raftsmen’s boots, in return for the service he had done him, but Michael thrust them aside and produced a pair such as never were seen before. My grandfather assured me they must have weighed a hundred pounds at least and were five or six feet high.

“The raft set out and, just as he had astonishedthe wood-cutters, now he made the raftsmen open their eyes.

“They had believed, when they saw the huge additional portion Michael had attached to the raft, that it would travel much slower on that account. But not so, as soon as it reached the Neckar it darted ahead like an arrow. When they came to a sharp bend in the river, whereas the raftsmen would formerly have had some trouble to keep the raft in the middle of the stream, and not to run it aground, now, Michael just sprang into the water and with one mighty push turned the raft either to left or right until the danger was past.

“When they came to a straight stretch he would run along the different portions of the raft until he came to the front one, and then, bidding all the men put by their poles he would stick his own enormous pole into the gravelly river-bed and send the raft rushing forward at such a pace that trees, country, villages, all seemed flying past. And so it came about that they reached Cologne in less than half the time it usually took. Here the raftsmen had been wont to sell all their timber; but Michael now dissuaded them from doing this.

“‘You are fine merchants,’ said he, ‘you don’t know how to protect your own interests. Do you suppose the people of Cologne need all the wood they purchase from the Black Forest for themselves? Not they! They give you about half what it is really worth and sell it again at a dearer rate in Holland. Let us sell the smaller timber here and take the largertrees to Holland, and whatever we make over and above the usual price will be our profit.’

Michael propels the raft alongMichael made the raftsmen open their eyes.(P.222.)

Michael made the raftsmen open their eyes.(P.222.)

“So spoke the crafty Michael, and his companionswere only too ready to follow his advice, some because they wanted to go to Holland to see the country and some because they liked the idea of the extra money. Only one man amongst them remained honest, and he begged the rest not to endanger his master’s property risking the troublesome journey to Holland, or at least if they went there not to cheat the merchant out of the better price that they sold the wood for. But they would not listen to him and soon forgot his words, that is to say, with the exception of Michael. So they floated down the Rhine, Michael steering the raft, and very soon they reached Rotterdam.

“Here they obtained four times the usual price for the wood, the huge trunks Michael had added fetching in particular a very high price. The Black Foresters were delighted at the sight of so much gold. Michael divided it, one portion for the master and three portions to be divided between the raftsmen.

“The men at once began to waste their money in the inns, drinking and gambling with sailors and all sorts of rabble and dishonest folks. The one honest man amongst them Dutch Michael sold to a press-gang man and he was carried off and never heard of again. From that time Holland became the Black Foresters’ Paradise and Dutch Michael was their king. It was some time before the timber merchants discovered the truth of the matter, and so it gradually came about that riches, oaths, bad habits, drinking and gambling were introduced from Holland into the Black Forest.

“When the whole story did come out, however,Dutch Michael was nowhere to be found. But he is not dead, and for over a hundred years he has haunted our forest, and it is said he has helped many a one to become rich, but at the cost of his poor soul. I will say no more about that, still it is very certain that on stormy nights such as the present, he seeks out the finest trees from the portion of the forest where it is forbidden to fell timber; my own father saw him break one that was full four feet thick as though it had been a reed. This timber he gives to those who have left the straight path of honesty and gone to him for help. At midnight he helps them to carry the wood to the river, and steers the rafts down the streams for them until they reach Holland.

“But if I were King in Holland, I would have them sunk with shot to the bottom of the stream, for every ship that carries but a single board or beam sold by Dutch Michael is bound to sink. That is why one hears of so many shipwrecks. How else could it be that a fine ship, as large as a church should go to the bottom of the sea? Every time Dutch Michael fells a tree in the forest, a plank in some ship bursts, the water penetrates and the good ship is lost with all hands.

“That is the story of Dutch Michael, and it is quite true that it was he who introduced everything that is bad in the Black Forest. He can make one as rich as a dream,” he added mysteriously, “but I would rather be without his wealth, and not for the whole world would I stand in the shoes of Fat Ezekiel or the Long-legged Lounger, and it is said that the Dance King had given up his soul to him also.”

The storm had blown over during the old man’s recital and now the maidens timidly lit their lamps and crept away to bed, and the men placed a sack of leaves for a pillow for Peter Munk upon the bench in the chimney corner, and wishing him good-night, left him to himself.

Charcoal Peter, as he was usually called, had terrible dreams that night. He thought that the grim gigantic form of Dutch Michael came to the window and, forcing it open, stretched a long arm through the space and shook a purse of gold pieces at Peter. The money clinked musically in his ears. The next moment however, who should appear but the little Glass-man. He rode here and there in the air upon a huge green glass bottle and Peter thought he could hear the low chuckling he had heard in the clump of black pines; then suddenly he caught the sound of a hoarse voice booming in his left ear these words:

“In Holland there’s gold to be hadFor the asking, so wherefore be sad?Dutch Michael has gold, glitt’ring gold,Come to him, then, for riches untold.”

“In Holland there’s gold to be had

For the asking, so wherefore be sad?

Dutch Michael has gold, glitt’ring gold,

Come to him, then, for riches untold.”

Then in his right ear he heard the three lines of the little Glass-man’s verse recited and a soft voice whispered, “Foolish Charcoal Peter, foolish Peter Munk, can’t you think of a word to rhyme with ‘grow’ and you born at mid-day on a Sunday, too? For shame, Peter, come try for a rhyme, try for a rhyme.” Peter groaned and sighed in his sleep and tried his hardest to make a rhyme, but as he hadnever made a single one when awake he did not succeed any better in his dreams.

Peter tapped his forehead with his fingers.(P.227.)

He awoke as the first streaks of dawn appeared and sat up, placed his elbows on the table and rested his head upon his hands. As he remembered the whispering in his ears he said to himself: “Rhyme foolish Charcoal Peter, for goodness sake make a rhyme.” He tapped his forehead with his fingers, but no rhyme would come, and as he sat there sad and disturbed in his mind, trying hard to find a rhyme to “grow,” the young fellows passed the cottage and one of them was singing at the top of his voice:

“I stood beside a little hut,Just where the pine-trees grow,Peeped in for my beloved,But her face she would not show.”

“I stood beside a little hut,

Just where the pine-trees grow,

Peeped in for my beloved,

But her face she would not show.”

The words rushed through Peter’s ears like lightning; but like lightning they were gone again. He jumpedup, ran from the cottage, pursued the three men, and seized the singer roughly by the arm. “Stop, friend,” he cried, “what did you rhyme with ‘grow’? Be good enough, please, to tell me what you were singing.”

“What’s that to you, fellow?” replied the Black Forester. “I can sing what I like, I suppose? Let go my arm, or——”

“No, no,” screamed Peter, clinging all the tighter to him, “I will not let you go until you have told me what you were singing.” But the singer’s two companions fell upon Peter and gave him such a drubbing he was forced to let go the singer’s clothing, and fell fainting to his knees.

“Now you have your deserts,” they said, laughing, “and perhaps you will know better another time than to molest honest folk on an open road.”

“I will certainly remember not to do so any more,” replied Charcoal Peter with a sigh, “but now that you have given me a good beating be so good as to tell me slowly and clearly the words of the song.”

They laughed at him and mocked him, but the singer repeated the words to him and then, laughing and singing, the three young men went on their way.

Peter raised himself painfully to his feet. “Ah,” he said, “so ‘show’ rhymes with ‘grow.’ Very well, Master Glass-man, we will have a word to say to each other by-and-by.” He went back to the cottage, took leave of his host, and with his staff in his hand set out once more for the clump of black pine-trees.

He walked slowly, for he had to compose a last line to the verse, and although he now had a wordto rhyme he found it a difficult matter to make up the whole line. But by the time he was close to the place and the pines began to grow taller and thicker, he had his line quite complete, and so overjoyed was he that he made a bound forward and nearly bounded up against a huge giant of a man, dressed as a raftsman, and carrying a pole in his hand the size of a ship’s mast, who stepped suddenly from out of the clump of pine-trees.

Peter Munk’s knees shook with fright as he saw the giant taking slow steps alongside of him, in order to accommodate himself to Peter’s pace. “Without doubt it is Dutch Michael,” thought he, but the huge figure paced silently on.

Peter glanced sideways at him from time to time. He was certainly taller than the tallest man he had ever seen, his face was neither young nor old, but was covered with lines and creases innumerable. He wore a linen vest and the enormous boots which were drawn up over his leather breeches Peter recognised at once from the old man’s story.

“Peter Munk, what are you doing in this clump of black pines?” he asked at length in deep threatening tones.

“Good morning, sir,” answered Peter, trying to appear unconcerned, although he was trembling violently. “I am only on my way home.”

“Peter Munk,” replied the Forest King, glaring at the unfortunate young man, “your way does not lie through this clump of trees.”

“Well, not exactly,” said Peter, “but it is sohot to-day that I thought it would be cooler here beneath the pine-trees.”

Peter and the giant face each otherPeter nearly bounded up against a huge giant.(P.229.)

Peter nearly bounded up against a huge giant.(P.229.)

“Don’t lie to me, Charcoal Peter,” thundered the giant, “or I will strike you to the earth with my pole. Do you suppose I did not see you begging from the little Glass-man?” Then in milder tones Dutch Michael went on. “It was a foolish thing to do, Peter, and it was lucky for you you could not remember the lines of the verse, for the little fellow is a terrible miser, and only gives grudgingly; moreover, whoever accepts money from him is never happy again his whole life long. You are a simpleton, Peter, and I am sorry for you from the bottom of my heart. To think that a fine handsome fellow like you should be nothing better than a charcoal burner! When other folks jingle fat ducats in their pockets you have only a few copper coins to show. It is a wretched life to lead.”

“You are right there, it is a wretched life,” said Peter.

“Well, well,” proceeded Dutch Michael, “I have helped many a poor fellow in distress and you would not be the first. Just say how many hundred florins you would like to have to begin with?”

As he spoke he jingled the money in his enormous pockets and it sounded just as it had done in Peter’s dream.

Peter’s heart beat fast with fear and he was hot and cold by turns, for Dutch Michael had not the appearance of one who gave money out of charity alone. He remembered the mysterious words of the old man regarding the men who had enriched themselves at the Forest King’s expense, and overcome with terror he cried out: “Many thanks, sir, for your kind offer, but I would rather have nothing to do with you,” and with that he took to his heels and ran for his life.

But the terrible Michael was not to be shaken off. By taking huge strides he kept pace with Peter—“You will regret this,” he said, “mark my words you will regret it. Do not run so fast, yonder is the boundary of my domains and I can go no further.”

On hearing these words Peter hastened on more than ever and as he reached the boundary he made a spring for safety. Dutch Michael hurled his huge pole after him. It missed him, but the force with which it had been thrown caused it to break into splinters. One splinter fell at his feet and Peter stopped to pick it up to throw it back at Michael; but before he could do so he felt the wood turn and twist inhis hand, and to his horror he saw that it had turned into a huge snake, which was about to spring at him. He tried to shake it off, but it had fastened itself round his arm and darted its horrible head towards his face, when suddenly a woodcock flew down and seized the snake’s head in its beak and flew off with it. Dutch Michael raged and bellowed in vain, and Peter, trembling in every limb, once more set out upon his way. The path grew steeper and steeper until at length he found himself before the big pine-tree in the centre of the clump of black pines. As on the previous day, he bowed to the invisible Glass-man and began reciting the verse:

“Owner of all in the pine-woods green,Many a hundred years thou hast seen,Thine all the lands where the pine trees grow—To the Sunday-born thy face now show!”

“Owner of all in the pine-woods green,

Many a hundred years thou hast seen,

Thine all the lands where the pine trees grow—

To the Sunday-born thy face now show!”

“Well, it’s not quite right yet, but as it is you Charcoal Peter, I will let it pass,” said a fine soft voice near him.

Peter turned in surprise and saw, seated beneath a beautiful pine-tree, a little old man. He was wearing a black vest, red stockings, and a large pointed hat. He had a refined, delicate little face and a long white beard as soft as a cobweb; but the most extraordinary thing about him that Peter at first sight noticed was that he was smoking a long pipe of blue glass; but on approaching nearer Peter discovered that everything the little man wore, coat, shoes, stockings, all were made of coloured glass; but it was as flexible as though it were still hot, and went into folds, as clothwould have done, with every movement of the little man’s body.

THE COLD HEART.Charcoal Peter and the Glass-man.

“And so you met that rascal Dutch Michael,” said the little man. “He would have done you an injury had I not taken his magic wand from him. Moreover, he will not easily get it again.”

“Yes, Master Glass-man,” replied Peter, bowing low. “I had a terrible fright. And so you were the woodcock that pecked the snake to death? Very many thanks. But I have come to you for advice. Things are not very flourishing with me. A charcoal-burner does not get on in the world, and, as I am young and strong, I should like to be in a better position, especially when I see others like Fat Ezekiel and the Dance King with as much money as they can spend.”

“Peter,” said the little man sternly, as he blew a cloud of smoke from his pipe, “Peter, don’t let me hear you speak of these men. Just for a few years’ happiness, or perhaps only the appearance of happiness they will pay by an eternity of misery. You should not be-little your trade. Your father and grandfather before you pursued it. I trust it is not the love of idleness that has led you to me.”

Peter was alarmed by the little man’s earnestness and blushed. “No, no,” he faltered, “I know full well that idleness is the root of all trouble; but you cannot wonder that I should wish to better myself. A charcoal-burner is thought so little of, the glass-makers, clock-makers and raftsmen are all of higher standing.”

“Pride goes before a fall,” said the little man in more friendly tones. “You men are a strange race! It is seldom that any one of you is content with his position. If you were a glass-worker you would no doubt wish to be a timber merchant, and if you were a timber merchant you would want to be the Keeper of the Forest, or even a magistrate. I am accustomed to grant three wishes to every Sunday-child that knows how to find his way to me. The first two are free to be granted; but I can refuse to grant the third if I think it is a foolish one. So wish something for yourself, Peter, but take care that it is something good and useful.”

“Hurrah! you are without doubt a first-rate little fellow, Master Glass-man. And so as I may wish what I will, I wish that I may dance as well as the Dance King, and when I am with Fat Ezekiel I may always have as much money in my pockets as he has.”

“Fool!” cried the little man angrily, “what an idiotic wish to make, to be able to dance and to have a supply of money with which to gamble. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Peter, to cheat yourself of your good fortune in such a manner. Of what use will it be to your poor mother that you can dance well? And of what use your money if you only spend it in the ale house? When you are with Fat Ezekiel and the Dance King your pockets will be as full as theirs, but you will leave your money behind you, and be as poor and hungry the rest of the week as you were before. I will grant you one other wish, but see that you make better use of it.”

Peter scratched his head and spoke after some deliberation. “Very well, I wish for the finest glass factory in the Black Forest and sufficient money to carry on my business.”

“Nothing else?” asked the little man earnestly. “Nothing else, Peter?”

“Well,” said Peter, “whilst I am about it you might as well add a horse and a little carriage.”

“Oh! you stupid, you stupid!” cried the little man, and in his wrath he flung his glass pipe at the nearest pine-tree and smashed it into a hundred pieces. “A horse and carriage indeed! Why couldn’t you wish for knowledge and common sense. But there, there, no need to look so sad, the second wish was not altogether so foolish as the first. A glass factory is not a bad thing to possess and will certainly provide its owner with a living, but had you wished for knowledge and common sense with it, the horse and carriage would have followed as a natural consequence.”

“But, Master Glass-man,” replied Peter, “I have still one wish left and I will wish for knowledge and common sense if you think it so necessary for me to possess it.”

“No, no, mark my words you will find yourself in such a dilemma one of these fine days that you will be thankful to have a remaining wish to help you out, and now go home. Here are two thousand golden crowns, see that you use them to the best advantage, and don’t come here asking for more money or I will hang you from the top of the tallest tree. Three days ago old Winkfritz died. He owned thelargest glass factory in the forest. Go first thing to-morrow morning and make a bid for the business. See that you are industrious and behave yourself well, and I will visit you from time to time and give you good advice to make up for your not having wished for common sense, but I must tell you seriously that your first wish was an evil wish. Be careful how you take to frequenting ale-houses, for never yet did they do anyone anything but harm.”

Whilst speaking the little man had taken out another pipe made of the very finest glass, filled it with dried fir cones, and stuck it in his little toothless mouth. He now drew forth an enormous burning glass and, stepping out into the sunlight, lighted his pipe by means of the glass.

When he had succeeded he offered his hand to Peter in friendly fashion, gave him a little more good advice, smoked faster and faster, and at length disappeared in a cloud of smoke, which circled higher and higher until it reached the tree tops, leaving a scent of genuine Dutch tobacco behind it.

When Peter reached home he found his mother in great trouble about him, for the good woman quite supposed he had been made to enlist for a soldier.

He told her he had met a good friend in the Forest who had given him enough money to start a different business. Although his mother had lived for thirty years in the charcoal-burner’s hut and had become as accustomed to the sooty faces of her men-folk as a miller’s wife to her husband’s floury face, she had still sufficient vanity at once to despisetheir former position as soon as she saw a chance of bettering it.

The little man disappeared in a cloud of smoke.(P.236.)

“As the mother of a man who owns a glass factory,” said she, “I shall be a degree above my neighbours, and in future I shall take a foremost seat in church amongst the well-to-do people.”

Peter soon made a bargain with Winkfritz’s heirs for possession of the glass factory. He retained all the workmen employed there and worked hard, makingglass night and day. At first he liked his new trade. He walked about the factory with his hands stuck in his pockets, looking at this and that and making his workmen laugh at his queer questions. His greatest pleasure was to watch the glass-blowing; he liked to take the soft material and fashion it into all sorts of queer figures. But he soon tired of the work and by degrees he came less often to the factory; first it fell to passing only an hour a day there, then he would come in every other day, finally only once a week, and all this came of frequenting the ale-house. The Sunday after he had met the little Glass-man, he went to the inn and there he found the Dance King, already dancing, and Fat Ezekiel, with a can of beer beside him, playing pitch and toss for crown pieces. He put his hand in his pocket to be sure the little Glass-man kept good faith, and found his pockets bulging with gold and silver. In his limbs he felt a strange and unaccustomed twitching, as though he wanted to dance, and as soon as the first dance was over he took his partner out and placed himself close to the Dance King. For every skip the Dance King made Peter made two. If the Dance King bounded a foot into the air Peter bounded twice as high, and no matter what complicated steps the Dance King made, Peter’s dancing was twice as complicated. He bounded, he pranced, he twisted until all who beheld him were in a whirl of wonder.

As soon as it became known that Peter had purchased a glass factory, and when folks saw the careless way in which he flung a handful of coppers at a timeto the musicians, their astonishment knew no bounds. Some said he must have found buried treasure in the forest, others said he had inherited a big sum of money, and everyone paid him great respect and attention because it was apparent he was a monied man. The same evening he lost twenty crowns, but in spite of that his money still chinked in his pockets as though he had plenty left.

When Peter saw how much he was looked up to he scarcely knew how to contain himself for pride and joy. He threw his money about with a free hand and gave a goodly portion to the poor, remembering the times when he had suffered for want of money.

The Dance King’s art having been quite supplanted by that of Peter, the latter was nicknamed “Dance Emperor,” but this nickname soon gave place to another and a worse one. On Sundays in the inn there was no worse gambler than he, for no one could afford to lose as much as he could, but as he always played with Fat Ezekiel, who won his money easily, he had still, just as the little Glass-man had promised, as much money in his pockets as his opponent.

If he lost twenty or thirty crowns one minute, no sooner had Fat Ezekiel slipped them into his pocket than the same sum appeared in Peter’s. He took to gambling every day in the week, and what with drinking and playing he soon became one of the worst characters in the Black Forest, and so he came to be called “Gambling Peter” instead of “Dance Emperor.”

It was on account of this that his glass factory soon began to show signs of decay. He ordered glass to be made as before; but as he had no business capacity he did not know how to dispose of it to the best advantage, and soon had such an accumulation of glass goods that he was obliged to sell to pedlars or anyone who would buy it at half price, so that he might have the money to pay his workmen.

One evening as he was going home from the inn he could not help thinking of the terrible muddle he had made of his affairs and worrying himself over the loss of his fortune, when suddenly he became aware that someone was walking beside him, and behold it was the little Glass-man.

Peter flew into a terrible rage and accused the little man of being the cause of all his misfortunes. “Of what use to me is a horse and a carriage?” he cried. “Of what use my factory and all my glass? I was happier as a poverty-stricken charcoal-burner than I am now, for I never know when the bailiffs may come and seize my goods to pay my debts.”

“Oh!” replied the little Glass-man, “so it is my fault, is it, that you are unhappy? Is this the thanks you offer me for my generosity? Why did you wish so foolishly? You wished to be a glass manufacturer and yet knew nothing about the business. Did I not warn you to be careful what you wished for? It was knowledge and common sense you wanted.”

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