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“Schatzhauser im gruenen Tannenwald,
Bist schon viel’ hundert Jahre alt,
Dein is all’ Land, wo Tannen stehen,
Laesst Dich nur Sonntagskindern sehn.”

“You haven’t quite hit it, but seeing it’s you, Charcoal Pete, we’ll let it pass,” said a low soft voice near him. He looked around him in surprise, and beneath a splendid pine sat a little old man, dressed in a black jacket and red stockings, with a large hat on his head. He had a delicate, pleasing face, and a beard as fine as a spider’s web. He smoked from a pipe of blue glass; and on approaching nearer, Peter saw, to his astonishment, that the clothing, shoes, and hat of the little man were all made of colored glass, but it was as flexible as though still hot, for it bent like cloth with every movement of the little man.

“You have met that churl, Dutch Michel?” said the little man, coughing peculiarly after every word. “He meant to scare you badly; but I have taken away his magic pole and he will never recover it again.”

“Yes, Mr. Schatzhauser,” replied Peter, with a low bow. “I was in a pretty bad fix. Then you must have been the blackcock who killed the snake! My best thanks for your kindness. But I have come here to counsel with you. Things are in a bad way with me; a charcoal burner doesn’t get ahead any, and as I am still young I thought that perhaps something better might be made out of me. When I look at others, I see how they have progressed in a short time–the stout Ezekiel for instance, and the King of the Ball; they have money like hay.”

“Peter,” said the little man, gravely blowing the smoke from his pipe to a great distance, “do not talk to me in that way. How much would you be benefitted by being apparently happy for a few years, only to be still more unhappy afterwards? You must not despise your calling; your father and grandfather were honorable people, and followed the same pursuit. Peter Munk! I will not think that it is laziness that brings you to me.”

Peter shrank back before the earnestness of the little man, and reddened. “Idleness, Herr Schatzhauser im Tannenwald, is, I well know, the beginning of all burdens; but you should not think poorly of me for desiring to better my condition, A charcoal burner is of very little account in the world, while the glass-makers and raftsmen and watchmakers are all respectable.”

“Pride often comes before a fall,” replied the master of the pine wood, in a more friendly manner. “You mortals are a strange race. Seldom is one of you contented with the lot to which he was born and brought up. And what would be the result of your becoming a glass-maker? You would then want to be a timber merchant; and if you were a timber merchant, the life of the ranger or the magistrate’s dwelling would seem more attractive still. But it shall be as you wish, provided you promise to work hard. I am accustomed to grant every Sunday child who knows how to find me three wishes; the first two are free, the third I can set aside if it is a foolish one. So announce your wishes, Peter, but let them be something good and useful.”

“Hurrah! You are an excellent Little Glass-Man, and you are rightly called Schatzhauser, for with you the treasures are always at home. Well, if I am at liberty to wish for what my heart longs, my first wish shall be that I could dance better than the King of the Ball, and that I had as much money in my pocket as the Stout Ezekiel.”

“You fool!” exclaimed the little man scornfully; “What a pitiful wish is that, to dance well and have money to gamble with! Are you not ashamed, stupid Peter, to fool away your chance in such a fashion? Of what use will your dancing be to you and your poor mother? Of what use will money be to you, when, as can be seen from your wish, it is destined for the tavern, and like that of the miserable King of the Ball, will remain there? Then you would have nothing for the rest of the week, and will suffer want as before. I will give you another wish free; but look to it that you choose more intelligently?”