Gaspar told her how he had carved it of heart of oak when he was a boy, and had changed it to steel in fighting with the magician.
“I must see that magician; let us go and find him,” said the girl. So away they went. As they walked along Gaspar told her about the ivory show box, and regretted that he had lost his flask of water, and exchanged his apple for the cantering horse, because they had now nothing to give the little gray man for a peep into it.
“Wait a moment,” said the girl; and running into her house, which they were passing, she brought out a golden cup full of red wine. “I think he will like this better than the water—do not you?”
When they came to the milestone, there sat the gray man, cracking away as inveterately as ever. “I should think he would be tired to death,” said Gaspar. “Think how much I have seen of the world while he has been cracking those old nuts.”
The little man overheard him, and smiled to himself, as much as to say, “I know;” but when he saw the young girl, he rose up and made quite a profound bow. “He never bowed to me,” thought Gaspar.
“Will you let me look into your ivory show box, and I will give you a drink of red wine,” said the girl.
“It is a poor thing,” answered the magician, “not worthy of your attention; but if you will vouchsafe me a sip of the wine, I have been cracking these dry nuts so long. Ah, I do begin to be weary!” The girl peeped into the show box. “All very pretty, but rather stiff and monotonous,” she said. “Not so good as you can paint, Gaspar. Come, let us go home.”
She made the gray man a pleasant little courtesy, took her vase of wine, and she and Gaspar went back to the village to paint their own pictures, leaving the little magician to crack his nuts and look into his show box as long as he pleased.