e,
flute, and clarinet like an angel. They put him up to the art of
manufacturing wonderful clocks--of eclipsing the sun and moon, and all
that kind of thing. They once had a dwarf king, a shoemaker, and that
fellow never had his equal. Whenever he took it into his head, he would
sit down, call for seventy thousand skins, and then set to work. How
long do you suppose he was getting them out of hand? Why, in just one
hour and a half the whole stock was manufactured. Shoes, gaiters,
spatterdashes, jack-boots and bluchers for five hundred thousand men,
and all their wives and children. You may believe it. There never was a
chap that flung the things about as he did. And you may take my word for
it, Klaus Stringstriker could do something too, if he chose. Why do you
think he is so insolent and conceited, and presumes so much upon his
playing and smoking? Why--just because these little earthmen are his
familiars, and back him up in every thing!'

"'Oh, that's it--is it?' said Simon dryly. 'Klaus is King of the Dwarfs,
is he? Then if that's the case, he shall perform a trick for us
directly. Now I give you all warning, young and old, not to stop his
pipe, or fill his glass again, till he fiddles himself into a fit, and
glass and pipe replenish themselves!'

"Klaus remonstrated against the proceeding--but the guests were brimful
of fun and mischief, and wouldn't listen to him. It was evident that
nothing would satisfy the company but the exhibition of the misery to
which they resolved to subject the unhappy knave forthwith. The Dwarf
implored, threatened, cursed; he struck about him like a madman,
screamed, roared, and struggled to escape; all in vain. The untractable
little fellow was held fast, and then, amidst the jokes and gibes of the
assembly, securely tied, with his fiddle in his hand, against the
roof-tree of the room. Once pinned, there was no use in further
resistance. The poor deformed creature had nothing better to do than to
play, as commanded.

"And he did play, so touchingly and heartbreakingly, that the listeners
were very soon in agonies before him. The eyes of the Dwarf rolled like
little fire-balls in their cells--his cheeks grew paler and paler, and
cold sweat poured down in a stream from his forehead. Nevertheless, he
fiddled away incessantly--now merrily, now mournfully, now slowly, now
quicker than ever. Every dancer had reason that night to thank his
stars, if he left off without having thrown himsel