"Why, yes, your worship; of course it did."
"Now, Bartlemy," said the goblin, in a confidential tone, laying his hand on the other's shoulder, "I want to tell you something. It isn't the Gold Stone!"
"It's—not—the—Gold—Stone!!" gasped Bartlemy.
"Why, no, you donkey! there's no such thing!"
Bartlemy turned fairly green and yellow with horror and disappointment.
"Listen to me, Bartlemy Bowbell," said the goblin; "nobody but a donkey would suppose that a round bit of purple glass——"
"Of purple glass!" repeated Bartlemy, in a sort of dream.
"Don't interrupt, Bartlemy—that a bit of purple glass could change copper into gold. Your master paid you the wages your work was worth, that is all. There is no such preposterous jewel on the face of the earth as you imagine; but there is a true Gold Stone, and its name is
'Faithful Industry!'"
As the goblin spoke these words, he suddenly began to change his form, and grew taller and broader. His bell-button thimbles fell off, his flat nose became long and sharp, his thread hair gave place to a bald pate, and his whole appearance became wonderfully like Bartlemy's master. He raised his yardstick, brought it down with a tremendous crack—and—Bartlemy woke!