"Ah! he can make you rich enough!" continued the old man, confidentially. "But I would receive nothing at his hands, not for all the gold in the world would I stand in the shoes of Fat Ezekiel or the Lanky Schlurker. And it is also thought that the Dance-King is one of his familiars."
The storm had abated during the recital of the old man's story; the girls lit the lamps, and stole away; the men gave Peter Munk a sack full of leaves to serve as a pillow, and left him to sleep on the hearth, wishing him good-night as they went.
Never in his life had Charcoal-Peter dreamed so heavily as during that night. First there appeared to him the dark gigantic form of Dutch Michael, who wrenched open the window and stretched an enormously long arm into the room, in the hand of which was a purse full of gold pieces, which he shook so that the money jingled temptingly. Then he saw the little, friendly Glassmanikin riding round the room on a huge green bottle, and he seemed again to hear that hoarse chuckle he had heard in the Pine-grove. Then it was as if someone was murmuring in his left ear:
"From Holland comes Gold!
Canst have it, if bold.
For payment soon told!
Gold! Gold!"
Then again in his right ear he heard the little rhyme beginning:
"Guardian of gold in the pine tree wold!"
and a soft voice whispered: "Stupid Charcoal-Peter! silly Peter Munk! cannot you find a rhyme to 'grow,' and yet you were born at noon on a Sunday! Rhyme, stupid Peter, rhyme!"
Peter's dream in thee woodman's cottage.
He sighed and groaned in his sleep, he tried hard to find a rhyme; but as he had never been able to make one when awake, to do so in a dream was equally beyond him. But when he awoke with the first flush of dawn, his dream seemed to have been very wonderful; he sat with folded arms at the table, and thought of the whispered exhortation which still resounded in his ear: "Rhyme, stupid Charcoal-Peter, rhyme!" he repeated to himself, pressing his finger to his forehead; but no rhyme was forthcoming. But while he sat there, staring despondently in front of him and trying to think of a rhyme to "grow," three lads passed the house on their way through the forest, and one of them was singing as he trudged along: