“Flaxius looked at the rolling river which went rushing by at his feet, and said:
“‘Arno mio, you are in a tremendous hurry to get to the sea, and all the more so because you have just had an accessit—a remittance of rain from the mountain-banks. Buon pro vi faccia—much good may it do you! So every shopman hurries to become a great merchant when he gets some money, and every farmer a signore, and every signore a great lord, and every great lord a ruler at court and over all the land—prorsum et sursum. And when they get there—or when you get to the sea—then ye are all swallowed up in greater lives, interests, and actions, and so the rivers run for ever on, larger yet ever seeming less unto yourselves. And so—ad altiora tendunt omnes—the flower-edged torrent and the Florentine.’ . . .
“When he suddenly heard above his head a spirit voice, clear, sweet and strange, ringing, not in words, but tones of unearthly music—of which languages there are many among the Unearthlies, all being wordless songs or airs suggesting speech, and yet conveying ideas far more rapidly. It was the Goblin of the Tower calling to him of the tower next beyond on the farther hill, and he said:
“‘How many ghosts there are out to-night!’
“‘Yes; it is a fine night for ghosting. Moonlight is mid-summer
for them, poor souls! But I say, brother, who is yonder frate, the dark monk-spectre who always haunts your tower, lingering here and there about it? What is the spell upon that spirito?’
“‘He is one to be pitied,’ replied the Goblin of the Trinità. ‘He was a good fellow while he lived, but a little too fond of money. He was afflicted with what doctors called, when I was young in Rome, the amor sceleratus habendi. So it came to pass that he died leaving a treasure—mille aureos—a thousand gold crowns buried in my tower unknown to any one, and for that he must walk the earth until some one living wins the money.’
“Flaxius pricked up his ears. He understood all that the spirits said, but they had no idea that the man in a scholar’s robe who sat below knew Goblinese.
“‘What must a mortal do to get the gold?’ inquired the second goblin.
“‘Truly he must do what is well-nigh impossible,’ replied the Elf of the Tower; ‘for he must, without magic aid—note that—bring to me here in this month of January a fresh full-blown rose.’