uld gladly have buried himself for ever in the
earth.

"Well, I will say," continued the unfeeling boor, "the rich Klaus has
become the very careful and thrifty. I wonder if the churchwarden means
to give him the bell-purse money for ever!"[1] Well, Liar, how gets on
the stick trade? Will you soon be able to patch your coat out of your
earnings? If you happen now to have a sixpence more than you want, I
think we may do a little business together. I have some four-year-old
straw that will come in well for your palace. It is eaten away a little
by the mice, but that doesn't matter. Why, what are you thinking of,
you nincompoop? Don't you know when Klaus wants straw, or money, or an
honest name, he has only to go to his couch-grassed stubble-fields, and
sneeze three times into the Dwarf's wall, and then he gets directly
what he asks for? Who wouldn't have a Dwarf for his godfather! a fellow
just three cheeses high, and a fiddle-scrapper A pretty scrape he has
made of it for you--only scraped your precious soul into hell, as he
would have done if Holy Peter had bound it three times round his
key-bit. It is a great pity though, that Dwarf-piper don't fiddle money
into his darling's pocket, as well as out of it. Kick the blackguard
out, pull his ears for him--I say he isn't honest. He can't be, for he
has dealings with the devil!'

[1] The churchwardens go about the church during the service, and
collect alms from the congregation _in a purse with a bell_.--TRANSLATOR.

"Many sinewy arms were stretched out at the moment to grasp the weak
defenceless man, who sat gnashing his teeth, and awaiting the assault,
whilst in his heart he cursed himself and all the world besides. The
miller called upon the company to desist, and they retreated a stop or
two, whilst he stepped forth, and placed himself at the side of the
unprotected wanderer.

"'Come, come!' said the unexpected friend, 'this isn't fair. Klaus is a
very worthy fellow, though things are going against him, because, as I
believe, his old father bore too hard upon that imp Stringstriker. If
Klaus were only a clever fellow, and knew how to say a private word or
so to his godfather, he would soon make it all right with him again.
Dwarfs must be managed. Bless you, I have one in my own mill. Every
ninth night he hammers away on the twenty-first cog of the third wheel;
and as soon as he begins, three honey cells must be put upon the
millstone for him, if I don't wish the mi