“So thou art come!” said he, with a laugh. “Would they fain have skinned thee and sold thee to thy creditors? Well, make thy mind easy. All thy troubles, as I said before, come from the little Glass-man, that canting bit of piety, who is too good to mix with other folk. If one gives at all, one should give freely, and not like yon miser. But come,” he continued, turning toward the forest, “follow me to my house, and we will see whether we can strike a bargain.”
“A bargain!” thought Peter. “What can he ask of me, or what have I to barter? Am I to be his servant, or what?”
They went for a bit down a steep woodland path, that led suddenly to the brink of a dark, deep, and precipitous ravine. Dutch Michael swung himself down the cliff as though it had been a flight of smooth marble steps; but Peter nearly lost his senses for terror when the giant, having reached the bottom, suddenly grew up as tall as a steeple, and reaching out an arm as long as a weaver’s beam, with a hand at the end of it as big as the table at the tavern, called up in tones as deep and muffled as a funeral bell: “Sit thee down on my hand, and hold on by one of the fingers, that thou mayst not fall.”
Peter tremblingly did as he was told, and taking his seat upon the giant’s hand, held firmly on by one of his thumbs. They went down a long way, deeper and deeper; yet to Peter’s surprise it grew no darker, but rather the daylight brightened as they descended into the chasm, only his eyes could not endure that light for long together.
Dutch Michael’s size decreased the farther Peter got down, until he had shrunk to his usual height, and they stood at the door of a house, that was neither better nor worse than that of any rich peasant in the forest. The sitting-room which Peter now entered was no different from other people’s, except that it seemed very lonely; the tall wooden clock, the great earthenware stove, the broad benches, and the household utensils on the shelves, were just the same here as elsewhere. Michael motioned him to a seat by the centre table, and then went out, returning with a pitcher of wine and some glasses. He filled them up, and began chatting with his guest, telling him so much about the pleasures of the world, and the beauties of foreign countries, towns, and rivers, that Peter at last confessed to a great desire to see all these fine things.
“But,” said Dutch Michael, “though thy body might be full of strength and courage, enough to venture upon any undertaking, yet one or two throbs of thy foolish heart would be enough to make thee tremble and grow weak! And then again, what you call sorrow, or wounded honour, what are these, that a sensible lad should trouble about them? Was it in thy head thou didst feel it, when a while ago some one called thee an impostor and a scoundrel? When the sheriff came to turn thee out of house and home, was it thy belly that pained thee? Nay, but where, tell me, where didst thou feel the pain?”
“In my heart,” said Peter, as he pressed his hand to his throbbing side, for he felt, indeed, as though his heart were leaping to and fro in alarm.
“Well, in past days—do not take it amiss—but in past days, I say, thou hast thrown away many hundred guldens to good-for-nothing beggars, and other ragamuffins, and what use has it been to thee? They wished thee health and every blessing—art thou any the healthier for it? For half that wasted money thou couldst have paid for a doctor all to thyself. Blessings! A fine blessing it is to be sold up and turned adrift, eh? And what was it that made thee thrust thy hand in thy pocket as often as a dirty beggar stretched out his ragged cap? Thy heart, always thy heart; not thine eye, thy tongue, or thy leg, but thy heart—thou didst always take it, as they rightly say, too much to heart!”
“But how can a man get to feel differently? I am taking a deal of trouble, this very moment, to keep my heart quiet, and yet it is throbbing and aching.”
“Thou!” laughed the other. “Thou, poor wretch, canst do nothing to prevent it, I know. Yet only give me the feebly beating thing, and thou shalt see what ease will be thine.”