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Herr Schatzhauser sat under the pine tree, smoking a small pipe, but looking more cheerful than before.

“Why do you weep, Charcoal Pete?” asked he. “Did you not get your heart? Does the cold one still lie in your breast?”

“Alas, Master!” sighed Peter, “when I had the cold stone heart, I never wept. My eyes were as dry as the earth in July; but now the old heart is nearly broken in thinking of what I have done. I drove my debtors into misery and want, set my dogs on the poor and sick, and–you yourself saw how my whip fell on her beautiful forehead!”

“Peter, you were a great sinner!” said the Little Glass-Man. “Money and idleness ruined you, until your heart, turned to stone, knew neither joy nor sorrow, remorse nor pity. But repentance brings pardon, and if I were only sure that you were very sorry for your past life, I might do something for you.”

“I do not want any thing more,” replied Peter, with drooping head. “It is all over with me. I shall never know happiness again. What can I do, now that I am alone in the world? My mother will never pardon my behavior toward her; and perhaps I, monster that I am, have already brought her to the grave. And Lisbeth, my wife! No; rather kill me, Herr Schatzhauser, and make an end of my miserable life at once.”

“Very well,” replied the little man, “if you will have it so; my ax is close by.” He took his pipe quietly from his mouth, knocked out the ashes, and stuck it in his pocket. Then he rose slowly and went behind the tree. Peter sat weeping on the grass, caring nothing for his life, and waiting patiently for the death-blow. After some time he heard light steps behind him, and thought: “Now he is coming.”

“Look round once more, Peter Munk!” shouted the little man. Peter wiped the tears from his eyes and looked about him, and saw–his mother, and Lisbeth, his wife, who both looked at him pleasantly. He sprang up joyfully saying:

“Then you are not dead, Lisbeth? And you too, mother, have you forgiven me?”

“They will forgive you,” said the Little Glass-Man, “because you feel true repentance, and every thing shall be forgotten. Return home now to your father’s hut, and be a charcoal burner as before, and if you are honest and just you will honor your trade, and your neighbors will love and esteem you more highly than if you had ten tons of gold.” Thus spake the Little Glass-Man, and bade them farewell.

The three praised and blessed him, and then started home. The splendid house of the rich Peter Munk had vanished. The lightning had struck and consumed it, together with all its treasures. But it was not far to his mother’s hut; thence they took their way, untroubled by the loss of Peter’s palace.

But how astonished were they on coming to the hut to find that it had been changed into a large house, like those occupied by the well-to-do peasants, and every thing inside was simple, was good and substantial.

“The good Little Glass-Man has done this!” exclaimed Peter.

“How beautiful!” cried Lisbeth; “and here I shall feel much more at home than in the great house with so many servants.”

From this time forth, Peter Munk was a brave and industrious man. He was contented with what he had, carried on his trade cheerfully, and so it came to pass that through his own efforts he became well-to-do and was well thought of throughout the Black Forest. He never quarreled again with his wife, honored his mother, and gave to the poor who passed his door. When, in due course of time, a beautiful boy was born to him, Peter went to the Tannenbuehl and spoke his verse. But the Little Glass-Man did not respond. “Herr Schatzhauser,” cried Peter, “hear me this time; I only want to ask you to stand as godfather to my little boy!” But there was no reply; only a puff of wind blew through the pines and threw some cones down into the grass. “I will take these with me as a memento, since you will not show yourself,” said Peter. He put the cones in his pocket, and went home; but when he took off his Sunday jacket and gave it to his mother to put away, four large rolls of coin fell from the pockets, and when they were opened they proved to be good, new Baden thalers, with not a counterfeit among them. And this was the godfather’s gift from the little man in the Tannenbuehl to the little Peter.