"'Spare your breath, child!' interposed the Dwarf; 'talking makes no headway with men of my stamp. Let us come to an understanding! Tell me, Klaus—art thou content that, in ten years' time, when this pipe-head is handed over to the Grand Turk, to give up thy numskull for my evening pipe? I own to thee, I envy it. It is of first-rate thickness, and would smoke a pretty while, for thou dost hold, I think, a good quantity.'
"'Come to an end—out with it all, godfather!' said Klaus in a tone of wretchedness. 'What do you wish me to do? I am willing to fast till I die of hunger, and whatever is humanly possible to perform, I will do; but as to your cursed head-smoking, I tell you, once for all, it's out of the question. The thing must be put an end to; for it is a disgrace to me, and a shame to all Christendom!'
"As Klaus spoke in sheer vexation, he smote several times with his yew-slip into the water of the well, without noticing that the clear flood swelled over upon all sides like a lightning fire-glow; whilst a whining moan was plainly audible. The Dwarf put on a very serious countenance, his pipe slipped from his mouth, and, in a completely altered tone, he rejoined—
"'Godchild Klaus, take heed to me! I like your ways, and will make you a well-meant offer. As for this head here,' and he knocked the ducat-ashes out of Simon's skull—'it shall be transferred to thee, and thou shalt keep thine own too, provided thou wilt give me back the two shoes which yesterday one of my merry pages lost. What say you to it?'
"'Eh! what?' said Nicholas, in doubt.
"'Give me the shoes!' repeated Stringstriker.
"'Now look you, godfather!' said Klaus determinedly, 'what if I accept your proposal! Here are your shoes, and you are welcome to them. But I ask you, is life worth having, if I am to be for ever a poor eschewed, scoffed, and scorned castaway? The devil a bit you care for what the world says; but one of us, who is a mere man, spitted upon by a whole village, feels what it is to be poor and contemned. I tell you boldly, godfather, and on my very heart, you must put an end to my misery—for you can do it. Give me back my money and land, and make me honourable amongst my neighbours. I can't sit alone like a night-owl in my hovel. I like to have my fellow-creatures about me, to eat bread and drink water, or it may be a draught of beer with me. I can't live the life of a blessed hermit. I am, as you know, but a simple plain fellow, a boor, a foolish forlorn lad, the unhappy son of poor Mike, danced to death for his sins.'
"Here Nicholas stopped, sobbing piteously, and dropping big and heavy tears, that found their way to the well beneath him.
"'Have you done?' said Stringstriker.
"'I have nothing more to say, godfather,' sighed the lad; 'only be kind, and put all to rights again. I have paid dearly for cursing you upon occasion, and now I humbly ask your pardon for my fault. Give me a handful or two of ducats, that I may get my barn repaired, marry my poor Annie, and again set up for an honest boor. If you will do this, Godfather Stringstriker, your children shall dance at my marriage, and here are your shoes!'