iends of the singer lost all patience, and
started punching the wretched Peter with all their might until the pain
he suffered forced him to loose his hold and to sink to his knees.

"Have you had enough?" they asked him, while laughing at him. "Take
care, you foolish fellow, that in future you do not molest people on
the public highway."

"Ah, I will be careful enough as to that," replied Charcoal-Peter,
dismally. "But now that you have beaten me, be so good as to repeat
slowly and distinctly what that friend of yours was singing."

At which all three once more burst out laughing, making game of him;
but the singer repeated the words of his song for him, and, laughing
and singing, they went their way.

"Then _know_ is the word," said Peter Munk, getting once more on to his
legs. "_Know_ rhymes with _grow_--and now Master Glassmanikin we will
have another little chat together."

[Illustration: "Have you had enough?" they asked him.]

He returned to the cottage, took his hat and long stick, bade farewell
to the cottagers, and strode away in the direction of the pine-grove.
Becoming engrossed in thought, he slackened his speed, for it had
occurred to him that, now he had found a rhyme, he must complete the
verse. At length, approaching the Pine-grove, and reaching the part
where the trees grow taller and denser, he completed the missing line,
and his delight caused him to bound into the air. At the same moment
there stepped from behind a pine a gigantic man, dressed as a raftsman,
and with a pole as big as a ship's mast in his hand. Peter Munk sank in
terror to his knees, as he saw the stranger striding slowly towards
him. He felt that this could be none other than Dutch Michael. No sound
came from the terrible apparition, while Peter stole fearful glances at
him every now and then. He towered a full head above the tallest man
whom Peter had ever seen; his features were not youthful in appearance,
neither did he look old, though his face was a mass of wrinkles and
furrows. He wore a linen jerkin, and his huge boots, which were drawn
up well over his leather knee-breeches, were exactly as they had been
described to Peter.

"Peter Munk! what are you doing in the Pine-grove?" asked the lord of
the forest, at last, in deep, threatening tones.

"Good morning, countryman," answered Peter, trying to conceal his
terror, but trembling violently all the same. "I am going home through
the Pine-grove."

"Peter Munk," rejoi