“Good,” replied the little man, “if you insist, well, I have my axe near at hand.”
He took his pipe quietly from his mouth, tapped it and put it back again. Then he rose slowly and stepped behind the pine-tree. But Peter sat down upon the grass weeping, his life had become worthless to him, and patiently he awaited the stroke of death. Shortly afterwards he heard light footsteps behind him and thought, “He is coming now!”
“Look round, Peter Munk!” cried the little man. Peter wiped the tears from his eyes and, looking round, saw—his mother, and Lisbeth, his wife, smiling at him. He sprang up joyfully, “Then you are not dead, Lisbeth? And you are here also, Mother, and have forgiven me?”
“They pardon you,” said the little Glass-man, “because you are truly penitent, and everything shall be forgotten. Go home now to your father’s cottage and be a charcoal-burner as before; if you are honest and industrious you will learn to respect your work, and your neighbours will love and esteem you more than if you had ten tons of gold.”
Thus spoke the little Glass-man, and then bade him farewell.
The three happy people praised and blessed him and turned towards home.
Peter’s splendid house was no longer standing. It had been struck by lightning and burnt to the ground, together with all his money and treasures, but it was no great distance to the old hut, and so they turned their steps towards it and were not in the least troubled about the great loss.
But what was their surprise on reaching the little hut to find it had become a fine farm-house, furnished throughout with simplicity, but with everything that was necessary and good.
“That is the work of the little Glass-man,” cried Peter.
“How beautiful everything is,” said Lisbeth; “I shall be far happier and more at home here than in the great big house with its many servants.”