As he spoke, he rattled the money in his huge pockets, so that it chinked as Peter had heard it in his dream. But the lad’s heart fluttered painfully as he listened to the tempter’s words, and he grew hot and cold all at once, for Dutch Michael did not look the sort of person who would give away money out of sheer kindness of heart and ask for nothing in return. The mysterious words of the old grandfather, about the men who had grown suddenly rich, returned to his mind, and urged by a strange uneasiness and fear, he cried out:
“My best thanks to you, sir; but I would rather have nothing to do with you, and I know well enough who you are;” and ran off as fast as his legs could carry him.
But the wood-spirit still kept alongside of him with mighty strides, muttering in hollow, threatening tones: “Thou wilt yet repent it, Peter. I see it written on thy brow—I read it in thine eyes—that thou art not to escape me. Do not run so fast; give heed to one more sensible word of advice, for yonder is my boundary-line.”
But when Peter heard this, and caught sight of a small ditch not far off, he hurried faster than ever towards it, so that Michael was obliged to go faster too, and pursued him with threats and curses. With a desperate leap Peter cleared the ditch, just as he saw his enemy raising the great staff to crush him. It fell with a crash, but Peter was already safe, and the staff broke into splinters, as upon an invisible wall, so that a long piece of it fell over close to the lad. He picked it up in triumph, to throw it back to its churlish owner, but as he did so, he felt it writhe in his hand, and saw, to his horror, that it had changed into a great snake, which was already shooting out its forked tongue, and with glittering eyes, prepared to dart up into his face. He let the creature go, but it had twisted about his arm, and he could scarcely have escaped being attacked by it, but that a large hawk suddenly swooped down from above, seized the serpent by the head, and rose with it into the air.
Dutch Michael, who was looking on from the other side of the ditch, raged and swore worse than ever, as he beheld his snake carried off by a more powerful enemy. Exhausted and trembling, Peter went on his way. The path grew steeper, the landscape wilder, and after a bit he found himself once more on the mountain-top, under the huge fir-tree. He again made his bow to the invisible Glass-man, and then began immediately:
“O Treasure-keeper in the forest green,
Thine age is many hundred years—this land
Is all thine own, wherever pine-trees stand;
By none save Sunday children art thou seen.”