As he spoke, he slipped a couple of coins into Bartlemy's hand, who, remembering the goblin's words, put them into his pouch without so much as looking at them.
Now, no doubt my clever little readers have guessed quite readily the true solution of this mighty mystery; but to the simple Bartlemy the reality of the Gold Stone's magic power was placed beyond a doubt when, on reaching his chamber and striking a light, he found, instead of the farthing and penny which had always been his weekly payment, a crown and sixpence.
"Huzzah! huzzah!" he cried, fairly jumping for joy; "my beautiful Gold Stone is doing its work bravely." He kissed the stone in his delight, and went to bed, to dream of becoming a master tailor, and making clothes for the king.
The following Monday he repaired to his master's shop the first of any one, and everything happened as on the former time; except that, being more diligent at his work, the goose and the yardstick were less frequent in their favors, and he now made a coat and a vest in the day. His master really knew not what to think; but at least so good a workman was not to be lost; so he kept his surprise and suspicions to himself, and made up by heaping more and more sewing on the luckless Bartlemy.
It didn't make any difference, however; his needle almost seemed to work by itself, and the sewing was finished by sunset; so that, really, the good-natured goblin was the original sewing machine, and no thanks to Messrs. Grover and Baker. At the end of the week his master paid him a crown and a shilling; or, as Bartlemy believed, a farthing and a penny; the next week a guinea, and the week after a guinea and a crown, which was the highest wages ever paid.
So things went on, until Bartlemy had earned enough to make quite a fortune in his eyes; ten whole guineas lay glittering in the old night cap where he kept his savings, and the tailor thought he might now set up for a gentleman. So he bought cloth, made himself, in secret, a fine cloak, coat, and breeches, and in these jackdaw adornments paraded about the streets a whole morning, trying to appear an idle fine gentleman. At last he strutted into the best inn, ordered a grand dinner and a bottle of wine, and feasted like a lord.
But his time was coming. The watchful goblin, though not at his side, knew perfectly well what he was about, and soon led him to betray his quality most fatally. When the bill was brought him, it was so long and so tremendous that Bartlemy sprang up in a rage, crying out:
"Thimbles and thread! Do you call this a decent charge for your paltry dinner?"
The landlord stared at him in astonishment; then, suddenly bursting into a loud laugh, he cried, "Why, gentles all, this fine nobleman is nothing but a tailor! ha! ha!" and he put his hands to his fat sides and shook with laughter.
"Be silent, sirrah!" thundered Bartlemy; "or I'll break my yardstick over your shoulders!"