me. He
would lock the door of his room, and for days the fire would be poked
and raked; but of this he did not talk much--the forces of nature must
be conquered in silence; and soon he would discover the art of making
the best thing of all--the red gold.

"That is why the chimney was always smoking, therefore the flames
crackled so frequently. Yes, I was there too," said the Wind. "Let it
go, I sang down through the chimney: it will end in smoke, air, coals
and ashes! You will burn yourself! Hu-uh-ush! drive away! drive away!
But Waldemar Daa did _not_ drive it away."

"The splendid black horses in the stable--what became of them? what
became of the old gold and silver vessels in cupboards and chests, the
cows in the fields, and the house and home itself? Yes, they may melt,
may melt in the golden crucible, and yet yield no gold.

"Empty grew the barns and store-rooms, the cellars and magazines. The
servants decreased in number, and the mice multiplied. Then a window
broke, and then another, and I could get in elsewhere besides at the
door," said the Wind. "'Where the chimney smokes the meal is being
cooked,' the proverb says. But here the chimney smoked that devoured
all the meals, for the sake of the red gold.

"I blew through the courtyard-gate like a watchman blowing his horn,"
the Wind went on, "but no watchman was there. I twirled the
weathercock round on the summit of the tower, and it creaked like the
snoring of the warder, but no warder was there; only mice and rats
were there. Poverty laid the tablecloth; poverty sat in the wardrobe
and in the larder; the door fell off its hinges, cracks and fissures
made their appearance, and I went in and out at pleasure; and that is
how I know all about it.

"Amid smoke and ashes, amid sorrow and sleepless nights, the hair and
beard of the master turned grey, and deep furrows showed themselves
around his temples; his skin turned pale and yellow, as his eyes
looked greedily for the gold, the desired gold.

"I blew the smoke and ashes into his face and beard: the result of his
labour was debt instead of pelf. I sung through the burst window-panes
and the yawning clefts in the walls. I blew into the chests of drawers
belonging to the daughters, wherein lay the clothes that had become
faded and threadbare from being worn over and over again. That was not
the song that had been sung at the children's cradle. The lordly life
had changed to a life of penury. I was the only