n how to make thread of pure gold. As night drew on
he tied up the skein, saying to the girl, "Well, do you know my name
yet? Can you tell me what my boots are made of?"

Helen replied that she could not, upon which he grinned and
disappeared through the window. She then sat and looked at the sky,
and thought, and thought, and thought, and lost herself in
conjecturing as to what the little man's name might be, and in trying
to guess what was the stuff his boots were made of. Were they of
leather? or perhaps plaited rushes? or straw? or cast iron? No, they
did not look like anything of that sort. And as to his name--that was
a still more difficult problem to solve.

"What shall I call him?" said she to herself--"John? Or Henry? Who
knows? perhaps it is Paul or Joseph."

These thoughts so filled her mind that she forgot to eat her dinner.
Her meditations were interrupted by cries and groans from outside,
where she saw an old man with white hair sitting under the castle
wall.

"Miserable old man that I am," cried he; "I die of hunger and thirst,
but no one pities my sufferings."

Helen hastened to give him her dinner, and told him to come next day,
which he promised to do.

After again thinking for some time what answers she should give the
little old man, she fell asleep on the hemp.

The little old man did not fail to make his appearance the first thing
next morning, and remained all day spinning the gold thread. The work
progressed before their eyes, and it was only when evening came that
he repeated his questions. Not receiving a satisfactory answer, he
vanished in a fit of mocking laughter. Helen sat down by the window to
think; but think as she might, no answer to these puzzling questions
occurred to her.

While thus wondering the hungry old man again came by, and she gave
him her dinner. She was heart-sick and her eyes were full of tears,
for she thought she would never guess the spinner's name, nor of what
stuff his boots were made, unless perhaps God would help her.

"Why are you so sad?" asked the old man when he had eaten and drunk;
"tell me the cause of your grief, dear lady."

For a long time she would not tell him, thinking it would be useless;
but at last, yielding to his entreaties, she gave a full account of
the conditions under which the gold thread was made, explaining that
unless she could answer the little old man's questions satisfactorily
she feared some great misfortune would befall her