‘Good evening, master’ said the little dwarf, stepping inside the booth. ‘How fare you?’
‘Badly, badly, my little gentleman,’ replied Jacob’s father, to his utter amazement; for he, too, did not seem to recognise him. ‘I have to do all the work myself, for I am alone and now getting old, and yet I cannot afford to keep a journeyman.’
‘But have you no son to assist you in your work?’ inquired the dwarf further.
‘Indeed I had one, whose name was Jacob, and he now must be a handsome, quick lad, twenty years old, who might effectually assist me. Ah! what a pleasant life I should lead. Even when he was twelve years old he showed himself quite handy and clever, and understood a great deal of the business. He was a fine engaging little fellow; he would soon have brought me plenty of custom, so that I should no longer have been mending shoes and boots but making new ones. But so goes the world.’
‘Where is your son, then?’ asked Jacob in a tremulous voice.
‘That God only knows,’ replied his father. ‘Seven years ago, yes! it is just that now, he was stolen from us in the market-place.’
‘Seven years ago, you say?’ cried Jacob with astonishment.
‘Yes, little gentleman, seven years ago; the circumstance is as fresh in my memory as if it had happened to-day, how my poor wife came home weeping and crying, saying that the child had not come back all day, and that she had inquired and searched everywhere without finding him. But I always said it would come to that; for Jacob was a pretty child, no one could help saying so, therefore my poor wife was proud of him and fond of hearing people praise him, and often sent him with vegetables and such like to the houses of the gentlefolks. All this was very well; he always received some present. But said I, mark me, the town is large, and there are many bad people in it, so take care of Jacob. But it happened as I said. Once there comes an ugly old woman to the market, bargains for some fruits and vegetables, and at length buys so much that she cannot carry it home herself. My wife, kind soul, sends the lad with her, and—has never seen him again since that hour.’
‘And that is now seven years ago?’
‘Seven years this spring. We had him cried in the town, we went from house to house inquiring; many had known and liked the pretty lad, and searched with us, but all in vain. Neither did any one know the woman who bought the vegetables; a very aged woman, however, ninety years old, said, ‘it might possibly have been the wicked fairy, Kräuterweis, who once in fifty years comes to the town to buy various things?’