beneath the forehead--almost lost
there. Its breast was sunken, and the head settled down between the
shoulders, created an impression of weakness, as if, for example, it
should speak, that a small piping voice would come struggling up from
below. Baba looked up with alarm, but the goblin greeted him with a
smile, and said, "Merry Christmas, Nick," in a deep, strong and not
unmusical voice, which came boldly up and out from its parted lips.

"How do you know my name?" inquired the cobbler, "and why do you mock
me by such a greeting?"

"Baba, my friend," replied the Goblin, "I was just thinking that if
all the acts of your life had been as good and as humane as your
mechanical skill is perfect, you would not now be floundering in the
meshes of vice and dissipation. You are making a good pair of shoes
there."

The shoemaker worked away without raising his head, but responded
spitefully, "Where is the use of making them good?--I get no pay for
them."

"Why, who," inquired the occupant of the three-legged stool, "is so
ungenerous as to want such shoes without paying for them?"

"They are," answered the busy workman, "for the owner of this
miserable shanty, and he complains because I am only six months behind
with my rent--a most unreasonable man. If he does not get his shoes
to-morrow, he will turn me out; I must have some place to work, and so
am forced to do the bidding of this grasping landlord."

"Ah, it is you who are unreasoning," exclaimed Baba's visitor,
sorrowfully; "it is you who are in fault. If you would but remain away
from the tavern and the vile associates whom you meet there, all would
be well with you, you might redeem yourself."

Nick felt this rebuke so very keenly that he turned savagely toward
the one who had dared to tell him so plainly of his degradation, and
demanded. "Who are you, and why have you disturbed the quiet of this
mean hovel to insult me in my misery?"

"Because I wish to serve you," answered it of the waving brown hair.

"You cannot serve me. I will drive you out," threatened the now
infuriated cobbler; "I will throw you from the window--I will kill
you."

The red eyes of the Goblin danced and twinkled in their caverns; a
merry, careless laugh came bubbling forth as it answered, "I will not
leave your shop, nor will you throw me from the window, nor yet kill
me, Nick Baba. Why, you silly fellow, the sharpest tool on your bench
cannot draw blood from me, and that blackened la