"Splendid!" cried Corette. "But how will you know when things are little enough?"
"Do you see that door in my house, almost in front of us? Well, when I was of the old size, I used just to touch the top of that door with my head, if I didn't stoop. When you see that the door is about my present height, tell me to stop. Now then!"
The Condensed Pirate began to count, and instantly the whole place, church, houses, fields, and of course the people who were in bed, began to shrink! He counted a good while before Corette thought his door would fit him. At last she called to him to stop. He glanced at the door to feel sure, counted one more, and pulled the thread. Down came the ball, and the size of the place was fixed!
The whole of the sweet marjoram country was now so small that the houses were like bandboxes, and the people not more than four or five inches high—excepting some very tall people who were six inches.
Drawing the ball to him, the Condensed Pirate pushed out some distance, broke it from the thread, and threw it into the water.
"No more condensing!" said he. He then paddled himself and Corette ashore, and running to his cottage, threw open the door and looked about him. Everything was just right! Everything fitted! He shouted with joy.
It was just daybreak when Corette rushed into her parents' house. Startled by the noise, her father and mother sprang out of bed.
"Our daughter! Our darling daughter!" they shouted, "and she has her proper size again!!"
In an instant she was clasped in their arms.
When the first transports of joy were over, Corette sat down and told them the whole story—told them everything.