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“Peter Munk, what are you doing in the Tannenbuehl?” inquired the King of the Wood, in a deep threatening voice.

“Good morning, neighbor,” replied Peter, with an effort to hide his uneasiness: “I was going back home through the Tannenbuehl.”

“Peter Munk,” returned the giant, darting a piercing look at him, “your way does not lie through this grove.”

“Well, no, not directly,” said Peter; “but it is warm to-day, and I thought it would be cooler up here.”

“Don’t tell a lie. Charcoal Pete!” cried Dutch Michel, in a voice of thunder, “or I will beat you to the ground with my pole. Do you think I didn’t hear you pleading with the Little Glass-Man?” continued he more gently. “Come, come, that was a foolish thing to do, and it is fortunate that you did not know that verse; he is a niggard, the little churl, and doesn’t give much, and those to whom he does give don’t enjoy life very much. Peter, you are a poor simpleton, and it grieves me to the soul to see such a lively, handsome fellow, who might do something in the world, burning charcoal. While others are throwing about great thalers or ducats, you can hardly raise a sixpence: ’tis a miserable life.”

“That’s all true, and you are right; it is a miserable life.”

“Well, I shouldn’t mind giving you a lift,” continued the terrible Michel. “I have already helped many a brave fellow out of his misery, so you would not be the first. Speak up, now; how many hundred thalers do you want to start with?”

With these words, he shook the gold pieces in his immense pocket, and they jingled as Peter had heard them last night in his dream. His heart beat wildly and painfully; he was warm and cold by turns, and Dutch Michel did not look as if he was in the habit of giving away money in compassion without receiving something in return. The mysterious words of the old man in the hut recurred to his mind, and driven by unaccountable anxiety and terror, he cried: “Best thanks, master; but I won’t have any dealings with you, for I know you too well,” and ran off at the top of his speed.

But Dutch Michel strode after him muttering in a hollow, threatening voice: “You will regret it, Peter; it is written on your forehead and can be read in your eye, you will not escape me. Don’t run so fast; listen to just one word of reason. There is my boundary line now.” But when Peter heard this, and saw not far ahead of him a small trench, he increased his speed in order to get beyond the line, so that Michel, too, had to run much faster and followed him with curses and threats. The young man made a desperate leap over the trench, as he saw Dutch Michel raise his pole to destroy him. He landed safely on the other side, and saw the pole shattered in the air as though it had struck an invisible wall, and a long splinter fell at Peter’s feet. He picked it up triumphantly with the intention of hurling it back at Michel; but at that moment he felt it moving in his hand, and discovered, to his horror, that it was an enormous snake, which with darting tongue and glistening eyes reared its head to strike at him. He let go his hold, but the reptile had coiled itself tightly about his arm, and its fangs were already close to his face, when of a sudden a blackcock swooped down, seized the snake’s head in its bill and flew up into the air with its prey, while Dutch Michel, who had seen all this from the boundary line, howled and stormed as the snake was carried off by its more powerful enemy.

Trembling and staggering, Peter continued on his way. The path became steeper, the region wilder, and soon he found himself at the base of the large pine tree. He made his obeisance as yesterday to the invisible Little Glass-Man, and then recited his verse: