e value the fisherman knew not--pearls larger
than ever a diver had gathered--emeralds and rubies, that would have
made the jewellers of the world wonder.

The merman then said: "This is my eldest daughter's dowry."

"Good luck attend her!" said Civil. "It is the dowry of a queen."

But the merman led him on to another room. It was filled with heaps of
gold coin, which seemed gathered from all times and nations. The images
of all the kings that ever reigned were there.

The merman said: "This is my second daughter's dowry."

"Good luck attend her!" said Civil. "It is a dowry for a princess."

"So you may say," replied the merman. "But make up your mind which of
the maidens you will marry, for the third has no portion at all, because
she is not my daughter; but only, as you may see, a poor silly girl
taken into my family for charity."

"Truly, my lord," said Civil, whose mind was already made up, "both your
daughters are too rich and far too noble for me; therefore I choose the
third. Since she is poor she will best do for a poor fisherman."

"If you choose her," said the merman, "you must wait long for a wedding.
I cannot allow a girl of lower estate to be married before my own
daughters." And he said a great deal more to persuade him. But Civil
would not change his mind, and they returned to the hall.

There was no more attention for the fisherman, but everybody watched him
well. Turn where he would, master or guest had their eyes upon him,
though he made them the best speeches he could remember, and praised all
their splendid things. One thing, however, was strange--there was no end
to the fun and feasting. Nobody seemed tired, and nobody thought of
sleep.

When Civil's very eyes closed with weariness, and he slept on one of the
marble benches--no matter how many hours--there were the company
feasting and dancing away; there were the thousand lamps within, and the
cold moonlight without. Civil wished himself back with his mother, his
net, and his cobbled skiff. Fishing would have been easier than those
everlasting feasts; but there was nothing else among the sea-people--no
night of rest, no working day.

Civil knew not how time went on, till, waking up from a long sleep, he
saw, for the first time, that the feast was over, and the company gone.
The lamps still burned, and the tables, with all their riches, stood in
the empty halls; but there was no face to be seen, no sound to be heard,
only a low voice si