ng voice.

"Good morning, neighbor," replied Peter, with an effort to hide his
uneasiness: "I was going back home through the Tannenbuehl."

"Peter Munk," returned the giant, darting a piercing look at him, "your
way does not lie through this grove."

"Well, no, not directly," said Peter; "but it is warm to-day, and I
thought it would be cooler up here."

"Don't tell a lie. Charcoal Pete!" cried Dutch Michel, in a voice of
thunder, "or I will beat you to the ground with my pole. Do you think I
didn't hear you pleading with the Little Glass-Man?" continued he more
gently. "Come, come, that was a foolish thing to do, and it is
fortunate that you did not know that verse; he is a niggard, the little
churl, and doesn't give much, and those to whom he does give don't
enjoy life very much. Peter, you are a poor simpleton, and it grieves
me to the soul to see such a lively, handsome fellow, who might do
something in the world, burning charcoal. While others are throwing
about great thalers or ducats, you can hardly raise a sixpence: 'tis a
miserable life."

"That's all true, and you are right; it is a miserable life."

"Well, I shouldn't mind giving you a lift," continued the terrible
Michel. "I have already helped many a brave fellow out of his misery,
so you would not be the first. Speak up, now; how many hundred thalers
do you want to start with?"

With these words, he shook the gold pieces in his immense pocket, and
they jingled as Peter had heard them last night in his dream. His heart
beat wildly and painfully; he was warm and cold by turns, and Dutch
Michel did not look as if he was in the habit of giving away money in
compassion without receiving something in return. The mysterious words
of the old man in the hut recurred to his mind, and driven by
unaccountable anxiety and terror, he cried: "Best thanks, master; but I
won't have any dealings with you, for I know you too well," and ran off
at the top of his speed.

But Dutch Michel strode after him muttering in a hollow, threatening
voice: "You will regret it, Peter; it is written on your forehead and
can be read in your eye, you will not escape me. Don't run so fast;
listen to just one word of reason. There is my boundary line now." But
when Peter heard this, and saw not far ahead of him a small trench, he
increased his speed in order to get beyond the line, so that Michel,
too, had to run much faster and followed him with curses and threats.
The young man ma