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“Can we hold revel here to-night?” asked the little green man.

“That indeed you cannot,” answered the other; “we have hardly room to turn round as it is, with all Amelia’s dirty frocks.”

“Ah, bah!” said the dwarf; and he walked on to the next haycock, Amelia cautiously following.

Here he blew again, and a head was put out as before; on which he said,

“Can we hold revel here to-night?”

“How is it possible,” was the reply, “when there is not a place where one can so much as set down an acorn cup, for Amelia’s broken victuals?”

“Fie! fie!” said the dwarf, and went on to the third, where all happened as before; and he asked the old question,

“Can we hold revel here to-night?”

“Can you dance on glass and crockery sherds?” inquired the other. “Amelia’s broken gimcracks are everywhere.”

“Pshaw!” snorted the dwarf, frowning terribly; and when he came to the fourth haycock he blew such an angry blast that the grass stalk split into seven pieces. But he met with no better success than before. Only the point of a hat came through the hay, and a feeble voice piped in tones of depression–“The broken threads would entangle our feet. It’s all Amelia’s fault. If we could only get hold of her!”

“If she’s wise, she’ll keep as far from these haycocks as she can,” snarled the dwarf, angrily; and he shook his fist as much as to say, “If she did come, I should not receive her very pleasantly.”

Now with Amelia, to hear that she had better not do something, was to make her wish at once to do it; and as she was not at all wanting in courage, she pulled the dwarf’s little cloak, just as she would have twitched her mother’s shawl, and said (with that sort of snarly whine in which spoilt children generally speak)–“Why shouldn’t I come to the haycocks if I want to? They belong to my papa, and I shall come if I like. But you have no business here.”

“Nightshade and hemlock!” ejaculated the little man, “you are not lacking in impudence. Perhaps your Sauciness is not quite aware how things are distributed in this world?” saying which he lifted his pointed shoes and began to dance and sing,

“All under the sun belongs to men,
And all under the moon to the fairies.
So, so, so! Ho, ho, ho!
All under the moon to the fairies.”

As he sang “Ho, ho, ho!” the little man turned head over heels; and though by this time Amelia would gladly have got away, she could not, for the dwarf seemed to dance and tumble round her, and always to cut off the chance of escape; whilst numberless voices from all around seemed to join in the chorus, with

“So, so, so! Ho, ho, ho!
All under the moon to the fairies.”

“And now,” said the little man, “to work! And you have plenty of work before you, so trip on, to the first haycock.”

“I shan’t!” said Amelia.

“On with you!” repeated the dwarf.

“I won’t!” said Amelia.

But the little man, who was behind her, pinched her funny-bone with his lean fingers, and, as everybody knows, that is agony; so Amelia ran on, and tried to get away. But when she went too fast, the dwarf trod on her heels with his long-pointed shoe, and if she did not go fast enough, he pinched her funny-bone. So for once in her life she was obliged to do as she was told. As they ran, tall hats and wizened faces were popped out on all sides of the haycocks, like blanched almonds on a tipsy cake; and whenever the dwarf pinched Amelia, or trod on her heels, the goblins cried “Ho, ho, ho!” with such horrible contortions as they laughed, that it was hideous to behold them.

“Here is Amelia!” shouted the dwarf when they reached the first haycock.