We had made up a little rhyme which we sang as we danced around him. It was as follows:
“Little Mouk, we know you well,
In a great big house you dwell,
Only once a month you go
For a walk with footsteps slow.
Though you’re but a dwarf, ’tis said,
You’ve a mountain for a head,
Turn around and take a look,
Run and catch us, little Mouk.”
I am ashamed to say I was one of the worst of the tormentors of the poor little man. I would twitch his cloak, and once I went behind him and trod on his huge slipper, thus causing him to fall. This seemed a fine joke to me; but I ceased to laugh, when I saw him turn towards my father’s house. He went in and remained there some time. I hid myself behind the door and watched until he came out again.