“There are Kobolds, or House-Spirits in most old houses,” he remarked, “and it is more than two hundred years since the first stone was laid of the Herr Professor’s. I knew this noon that you were coming, and the Kobold spoke well of you, and said that you were not above taking advice from others wiser than yourself. Now, sir! What do you think of this?” And he opened a door with a great flourish, holding it back for me to enter.
“It’s grand!” I said, for so it was. The silver floor was inlaid with a gold scroll; the walls, of tinted mother-o’-pearl, were adorned with wreaths of forget-me-nots, each tiny turquoise flower having an amber centre. The furniture was of filigree silver, so fragile to look at that I was afraid to touch it, much less to sit down on one of the tiny chairs, even if I could have fitted myself in. The Dwarf invited me to be seated, and his small wife gave me a roguish smile as she brought a velvet cushion from an inner room, and placed this on the ground. I found afterwards that it was the Dwarfs own bed, and that his pillow was made of spun spider silk, filled with scented roseleaves and wild thyme.
“When you are rested and refreshed,” said the Dwarf kindly, as his little spouse offered me a sip of nectar from a crystal goblet, “I will show you my palace. There is not much to see, for we are humble folk, and this hill comparatively a small one. The estates of some of our nobles extend for miles, and that of our Emperor runs through a range of mountains. In times gone by we welcomed mortals as our guests, for we were anxious to be their friends. But they grudged us even a handful of peas in return, and met our advances with jeers. Now we keep to our hills as far as possible, and when we desire to walk abroad, we are careful to wear our mist caps, which render us quite invisible.”
He sighed so deeply that the dainty lace cap poised on his wee wife’s hair was almost blown away, and then, straightening his bent shoulders, he took me to see his Banquet Hall. The curtains were all of filigree silver, fine as lace, and on the walls of the kitchen, where silent little men in big white aprons kneaded cakes on crystal slabs, shone ruby and sapphire butterflies.
But this was nothing to what I saw in the long low vault where the Dwarf kept his treasures. At one end was a shimmering heap of pearls, some larger than pigeons’ eggs; at another, a conical mound of diamonds, which threw out marvellous lights as the Dwarf stirred them gently with one small hand.