he went out but once a month. He was,
however, occasionally seen walking on the house-top, and to one looking
up from the street there was presented the singular sight of a head
moving to and fro. My companions and myself were rather bad boys, who
took delight in teasing and making sport of everybody; so it was always
a great holiday for us whenever Little Muck went out. We gathered
before his house on the appointed day, and waited; and when now the
door opened, and the large head, wrapped in a still larger turban,
peeped out, followed by the rest of his little body, done up in a
threadbare cloak, baggy breeches, and a wide sash, from which hung a
dagger so long that it could not be told whether Muck stuck on the
dagger or the dagger on Muck--when he thus made his appearance, the air
echoed with our shouts; we threw up our caps, and danced around him
like mad. Little Muck, however, returned our salute with a grave nod of
the head, and shuffled slowly down the street in such great, wide
slippers as I had never seen before. We boys ran behind him, shouting:
"Little Muck! Little Muck!" We also had a jolly little verse that we
now and then sang in his honor, which ran as follows:

[Illustration]

Little Muck, little Muck,
Living in a house so fair,
Once a month you take the air,
You, brave little dwarf, 'tis said,
Have a mountain for a head;
Turn around just once and look;
Run and catch us, little Muck!

Thus had we often entertained ourselves, and, to my shame be it
confessed, I behaved the worst--often catching him by the cloak, and
once I trod on the heel of his slipper so that he fell down. This
struck me as a very funny thing, but the laugh stuck in my throat as I
saw him go to my father's house. He went right in and remained there
for some time. I hid myself near the front door, and saw Little Muck
come out again, accompanied by my father, who held his hand and parted
from him on the door-step with many bows. Not feeling very easy in my
mind, I remained for a long time in my hiding place; but I was at last
driven out by hunger, which I feared worse than a whipping, and,
spiritless and with bowed head, I went home to my father. "I hear that
you have been insulting the good Little Muck," said he, in a grave
tone. "I will tell you the story of Little Muck, and you will certainly
not want to laugh at him again; but before I begin, an