"But I must run errands; I am so poor, and I have to earn my living somehow," he replied. "Surely so rich a lady as yourself can never know how hard it is to be poor, and how welcome would be a fresh drink on such a hot day."
Hearing this, she hurried indoors, took down a jug and filled it with water; but as she was returning, and was only a few paces away from him, she noticed how wretched and miserable the little man looked, and how he had sunk in exhaustion on his sack. This filled her with pity for him, and, the thought occurring to her that her husband was not at home, she put down the jug of water, took a goblet and filled it with wine, and carried it, with a loaf of good rye-bread, out to the old man. "There!" she said, "as you are so very old a draught of wine will do you much more good than water. But don't drink it so quickly, and eat a little of the bread with it."
The little man looked at her in astonishment, then great tears gathered in his eyes, and he spoke: "I am very old, but I have seen few people who were so compassionate and who have known so well how to dispense charity as you, Dame Elspeth. And therefore it will go well with you on this earth, such a heart as yours shall not lack its reward."
"Nay, and her reward she shall have on this very spot," cried a terrible voice. Both turned, and there stood Peter, his face crimson with rage.
"Not only do you offer my best wine to beggars, but you bring it out in my own goblet so that it may be contaminated by the lips of vagabonds! There--take your reward!" Elspeth fell at his feet, imploring pardon; but the stony heart knew no mercy; he swung the whip which he held in his hand, and with the ebony handle of it struck the beautiful forehead uplifted to him. Elspeth sank lifeless into the old man's arms.
When he saw her fall, Peter bent over her to see if she still lived. It was as if he repented the deed for a moment. And as he looked, the little man spoke to him in a well-known voice: "Don't trouble yourself, Charcoal-Peter; this was the most beautiful and most lovable flower in the forest; you have struck it down, and it will never bloom again."
All the blood left Peter's face as he replied: "So, it is you, Master Guardian? Well, what has been done cannot be undone, and it was bound to happen thus. But I hope you won't accuse me before the justices as a murderer."
"Wretch!" answered the Glassmanikin. "What profit could it be to me to bring your mortal body to the gallows? It is no earthly judge that you have to fear, but another and sterner Judge; for you have sold your soul to the Evil One."
"And if I have sold my heart," shrieked Peter, "then nobody is to blame but yourself and your illusory gifts. Malicious spirit that you are, you led me on to my destruction; it was you who drove me to seek help of that other, and you will have to answer for it."
But scarcely had he uttered these words than the Glassmanikin suddenly began to increase in size and stature, his eyes became as big as soup-plates, and his mouth was as a glowing furnace, flames darting from between his lips. Peter sank to his knees, and even his stone-heart did not prevent his limbs from trembling like an aspen. With vulture-like claws the forest spirit seized Peter by the neck, swung him round like dried leaves in a whirlwind, and flung him to earth with such force that all his ribs cracked.