"Good, wasn't it?" he said.
"Wonderful!" Amelia replied.
"Now it's your turn again," said the dwarf.
But Amelia cunningly replied—"I'm afraid I must go on with my work."
"Pshaw!" said the little tinker. "Give me your work. I can do more in a minute than you in a month, and better to boot. Now dance again."
"Do you know this?" said Amelia, and she danced a few paces of a polka mazurka.
"Admirable!" cried the little man. "Stay"—and he drew an old violin from behind the rock; "now dance again, and mark the time well, so that I may catch the measure, and then I will accompany you."
Which accordingly he did, improvising a very spirited tune, which had, however, the peculiar subdued and weird effect of all the other sounds in this strange region.
"The fiddle came from up yonder," said the little man. "It was smashed to atoms in the world and thrown away. But, ho, ho, ho! there is nothing that I cannot mend, and a mended fiddle is an amended fiddle. It improves the tone. Now teach me that dance, and I will patch up all the rest of the gimcracks. Is it a bargain?"
"By all means," said Amelia; and she began to explain the dance to the best of her ability.