“Why does he live there?” inquired the traveller.
“I do not know,” answered the cook; “I never asked him.”
“He must be a singular person,” said the traveller. “I should like to see him. What does he look like?”
But this the cook could not tell him; for she had never seen the little old man, having come to work for him after he had gone down to live in the well.
“Does he like to receive visitors?” asked the traveller.
“Don’t know,” said the cook. “He has never had any to receive since I have been here.”
“Humph!” said the other. “I think I will go down and pay my respects to him. Will you let me down in the bucket?”
“But suppose he should mistake you for his dinner, and eat you up?” the cook suggested.
“Pooh!” he replied. “No fear of that; I can take care of myself. And as for his dinner,” he added, “get him some radishes. There are plenty about here. I had nothing but radishes for my dinner, and very good they were, though rather biting. Let down the bucket, please! I am all right.”
“What are radishes?” the cook called after him as he went down.