lden crown on its head, from out of the same hole. Now
if Claus would catch that white snake in the empty bottle, and bring it
to the master of black-arts, he should have not one thaler, but
two--that was what the master said.

Oh yes, Claus could do that; that was no such hard thing. So he took the
bottle of yellow water and off he went.

By-and-by he came to the place where he had cut his hazel-twig. There he
did as the master of black-arts had told him; he poured the yellow water
over the stump of hazel from which he had cut his staff. Then everything
happened just as the other had said: first there came seven green snakes
out of the hole at the foot of the hazel-bush, and after they had all
gone, there came a white snake, with a little golden crown on its head,
and with its body gleaming like real silver. Then Claus caught the white
snake, and put it into the bottle and corked it up tightly. After he had
done this he went back to the master of black-arts again.

Now this white snake was what the folk call a tomtsnake in that land.
Whoever eats of a broth made of it can understand the language of all
the birds of the air and all the beasts of the field; so nobody need
wonder that the master was as glad as glad could be to have his white
snake safe and sound.

[Illustration: Claus and the White Snake]

He bade Claus build a fire of dry wood, and as soon as there was a good
blaze he set a pot of water upon it to boil. When the water in the pot
began to boil, he chopped up the white snake into little pieces and
threw them into it. So the snake boiled and boiled and boiled, and Claus
stared with wonder as though he would never shut his eyes again.

Now it happened that just about the time that the broth was cooked, the
master was called out of the room for this or for that. No sooner was
his back turned than Claus began to wonder what the broth was like. "I
will just have a little taste," said he to himself; "surely it can do no
harm to the rest of the soup." So he stuck his finger first into the
broth and then into his mouth; but what the broth tasted like he never
could tell, for just then the master came in again, and Claus was so
frightened at what he had done that he had no wits to think of the taste
of anything.

Presently the master of black-arts went to the pot of broth, and, taking
off the lid, began smelling of it. But no sooner had he sniffed a smell
of the steam than he began thumping his head with his