as
fast as he could in the middle of the room, thinking there was somebody
behind him, when the same voice struck again on his ear. It was singing
now, very merrily, "Lala-lira-la;" no words, only a soft running
effervescent melody, something like that of a kettle on the boil. Gluck
looked out of the window. No, it was certainly in the house. Up stairs,
and down stairs. No, it was certainly in that very room, coming in
quicker time and clearer notes every moment. "Lala-lira-la." All at once
it struck Gluck that it sounded louder near the furnace. He ran to the
opening and looked in; yes, he saw right, it seemed to be coming, not
only out of the furnace, but out of the pot. He uncovered it, and ran
back in a great fright, for the pot was certainly singing! He stood in
the farthest corner of the room, with his hands up and his mouth open,
for a minute or two, when the singing stopped, and the voice became
clear and pronunciative.

"Hollo!" said the voice.

Gluck made no answer.

"Hollo! Gluck, my boy," said the pot again.

Gluck summoned all his energies, walked straight up to the crucible,
drew it out of the furnace, and looked in. The gold was all melted, and
its surface as smooth and polished as a river; but instead of reflecting
little Gluck's head, as he looked in he saw meeting his glance from
beneath the gold, the red nose and sharp eyes of his old friend of the
mug, a thousand times redder and sharper than ever he had seen them in
his life.

"Come, Gluck, my boy," said the voice out of the pot again, "I'm all
right; pour me out."

But Gluck was too much astonished to do anything of the kind.

"Pour me out, I say," said the voice, rather gruffly.

Still Gluck couldn't move.

"_Will_ you pour me out?" said the voice, passionately. "I'm too hot."

By a violent effort, Gluck recovered the use of his limbs, took hold of
the crucible and sloped it, so as to pour out the gold. But, instead of
a liquid stream, there came out, first a pair of pretty little yellow
legs, then some coat tails, then a pair of arms stuck a-kimbo, and
finally the well-known head of his friend the mug; all which articles,
uniting as they rolled out, stood up energetically on the floor, in the
shape of a little golden dwarf, about a foot and a half high.

[Illustration]

"That's right!" said the dwarf, stretching out first his legs, and then
his arms, and then shaking his head up and down, and as far round as it
would go, for five