One evening, as he was coming home from the ale-house, and thinking with shame and distress—despite all the wine he had drunk to cheer himself up—of the failure of his fortunes, he perceived that some one was walking beside him, and when he looked round, behold, it was the little Glass-man!
Then Peter broke out in anger against him, and with boastful, daring words, swore that the little man was to blame for all his troubles.
“What use are my horse and cart to me now?” he cried. “What use are my hut and all my glass? Even when I was only a poor charcoal-burner’s lad, I had a happier life and fewer cares. Now I do not even know at what hour the sheriff will come and value my goods, and sell me up because of my debts!”
“So,” answered the little man, “so! I am to blame if thou art unhappy? Are these the thanks I get for all my benefits? Was it I who told thee to make such foolish wishes? Thou wouldst be a glass-maker, and didst not even know whither to sell thy wares! Did I not warn thee to frame thy wishes carefully? Common sense, Peter, common sense and knowledge were lacking to thee.”
“Sense and knowledge, indeed!” shouted Peter. “I am as sensible a lad as any, and I will prove it to thee, little Glass-man!” And with these words he seized the little man by the collar, and yelled: “I have thee now, have I not, thou Treasure-keeper! And now I will wish my third wish, and thou shalt grant it. I wish, then, this moment, for two hundred thousand hard thalers, and a house, and—ah!” he screamed, for the little man of the woods had changed into burning glass, and was scorching Peter’s hand like a flaming fire. But of the little man himself no trace was to be seen.
For several days Peter’s swollen hand reminded him unpleasantly of his ingratitude and folly. But after a time he stifled the voice of conscience, and said to himself: “What matter though they should sell my glass-hut, and all I have? I still have fat Ezekiel, and as long as he has money on Sundays, I cannot want for it.”
Yea, Peter, but if he should have none?
And so it happened one day, as a strange and wonderful judgment upon them both. For one Sunday he drove up to the inn, and the people stretched their heads out of window, and said: “There goes gambling Peter—there goes the ‘dancers’ emperor,’ the rich glass-man!” And others rejoined: “Who knows about the riches? They do say his debts are many, and that it will not be long before the sheriff appears to seize his goods!”
But meanwhile Peter dismounted, and greeted them all pompously, and called out to the host: “Good-evening, mine host of the Sun Inn! Is fat Ezekiel here?” And a voice from within replied: “Here we are, Peter, at the cards already, and thy place is kept for thee.”