soul, and by hook and crook had laid by
enough money to fill a small pot, and then he had to bethink himself of
some safe place to hide it. So one night he took a spade and a lamp and
went out in the garden to bury his money. He drove his spade into the
ground--and click! He struck something hard that rang under his foot
with a sound as of iron. "Hello!" said he, "what have we here?" and if
he had known as much as you and I do, he would have filled in the earth,
and tramped it down, and have left that plate of broth for somebody else
to burn his mouth with.

As it was, he scraped away the soil, and then he found a box of adamant,
with a ring in the lid to lift it by. The Tailor clutched the ring and
bent his back, and up came the box with the damp earth sticking to it.
He cleaned the mould away, and there he saw, written in red letters,
these words:

"Open not."

You may be sure that after he had read these words he was not long in
breaking open the lid of the box with his spade.

Inside the first box he found a second, and upon it the same words:

"Open not."

Within the second box was another, and within that still another, until
there were seven in all, and on each was written the same words:

"Open not."

Inside the seventh box was a roll of linen, and inside that a bottle
filled with nothing but blue smoke; and I wish that bottle had burned
the Tailor's fingers when he touched it.

"And is this all?" said the little Tailor, turning the bottle upside
down and shaking it, and peeping at it by the light of the lamp. "Well,
since I have gone so far I might as well open it, as I have already
opened the seven boxes." Thereupon he broke the seal that stoppered it.

Pop! out flew the cork, and--puff! out came the smoke; not all at once,
but in a long thread that rose up as high as the stars, and then spread
until it hid their light.

The Tailor stared and goggled and gaped to see so much smoke come out of
such a little bottle, and, as he goggled and stared, the smoke began to
gather together again, thicker and thicker, and darker and darker, until
it was as black as ink. Then out from it there stepped one with eyes
that shone like sparks of fire, and who had a countenance so terrible
that the Tailor's skin quivered and shrivelled, and his tongue clove to
the roof of his mouth at the sight of it.

"Who are thou?" said the terrible being, in a voice that made the very
marrow of the poor Tailor's bones turn sof