down at the window, he saw the rocks of the
mountain tops, all crimson and purple with the sunset; and there were
bright tongues of fiery cloud burning and quivering about them; and the
river, brighter than all, fell, in a waving column of pure gold, from
precipice to precipice, with the double arch of a broad purple rainbow
stretched across it, flushing and fading alternately in the wreaths of
spray.

"Ah!" said Gluck aloud, after he had looked at it for a while, "if that
river were really all gold, what a nice thing it would be."

"No, it wouldn't, Gluck," said a clear metallic voice, close at his ear.

"Bless me! what's that?" exclaimed Gluck, jumping up. There was nobody
there. He looked round the room, and under the table, and a great many
times behind him, but there was certainly nobody there, and he sat down
again at the window. This time he didn't speak, but he couldn't help
thinking again that it would be very convenient if the river were really
all gold.

"Not at all, my boy," said the same voice, louder than before.

"Bless me!" said Gluck again; "what _is_ that?" He looked again into all
the corners, and cupboards, and then began turning round, and round, 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. Upstairs,
and downstairs. 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